I picked up all my things
from the earth & air
wrapped them
inside a blanket
using a broomstick
to lift the bundle
off the ground
& over my shoulder
just like a bonafide hobo
april two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in real time
I recovered from what once
ailed me
paroled with written conditions
I was forced to sign
and off I went on my own
unconcerned about the brace
on my ankle
or the chip embedded
inside my shoulder
as the weather changed
the signals went haywire
and I found myself freer than I’d ever been
leading me to believe
how my newly found
lightning rod imagination
would forever set me free
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’re not going to talk about the weather
or the first full day of autumn
now grab your jacket & get in the car
this time we’re going all the way to san jose
* * *
shifting sleep hours is but a trick of the brain
—much like the subtle change of
the angle of the sun
* * *
beneath a blanket of sorrow much is lost
but not completely forsaken
for you see
there’s a certain chemistry in the air
that potentially changes everything
* * *
the scarf is lost
the hair set free
the inward wind & the ocean waves
calling your name
over and over and over again
september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
history in the making teaches us
there is limited accountability
to those perched in high places
while those down below
continue to be shown
their so-called inalienable rights
can easily be stripped away
by anyone wearing a badge
and/or carrying a weapon
february two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this woman I once knew always
spoke the truth
steered clear of all the haters
and did what she wanted to do
she enjoyed back rubs
and always said thank you
she once told me over chardonnay
how she was sick and tired of
nobody taking responsibility
once upon a time she acted
all whole and goody two-shoes
but that made her feel nervous
and less than virtuous
one rainy morning she told me
she had found that perfect place
kissed me goodbye
and fled on foot into the city
head stuck out
second story window
I waved and yelled for her to write
once she had gotten there
august two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I stood at the podium
declaring my faith to a world
I once called home
the strangers in front of me
knelt and lifted their arms
anticipating a deliverance
they had only dared to dream
as I breathed into the hall
they began to understand
freedom was here to stay
september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
There’s a wall without slashes of social unrest,
without lines of prejudice, modesty or complaints
not even a good thought
clean and quick to the point
might make others laugh, angry or uneasy.
It makes me uneasy to see such a wall
anywhere within a public stall
upon a school desk or through walk tunnels.
To see such a wall of inhibition
of emptiness
of conservative thinking
like not sharing thoughts, ideas or secrets
makes me wonder
when the liberators will return
to save the free walls in this free land
from backwardness
from idleness
of single bawdy colors covering progress.
nineteen eighty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing wrong with me
as i hit the snooze button
for the third time
stare at the cobweb on the ceiling fan
wondering where the spider is.
outside i hear mickey’s silverado
start up and head down the street.
it must be seven-thirty-five.
a few hours later i get out of bed
walk over to the window
and draw the shade
another half inch.
i spend the next ten minutes
sitting on the shitter.
i check my email on my android
and play a few pinball games.
“hey boss this is johnson,” i say,
talking into my boss’s android.
“listen, something’s come up,
i won’t be in today…or tomorrow….
actually i won’t be back until thursday.
“there’s nothing wrong with me
so don’t call back
and i’ll see you on thursday.”
i finish my business in the bathroom
and make my way back to bed,
excited about the idea
of doing nothing
for three more days.
author’s note:
this poem is in response to charles bukowski’s oral dissertation on depression
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
drums bang slowly into the night
keeping time with toy soldiers
marching through the streets
enforcing a curfew imposed
by the new boss promising
freedoms this world has yet to know
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Prisoners walked the lily fields
in magnetic boots
picking up pieces of shrapnel
left from centuries of hatred
Misunderstandings on Earth
are as certain as battlefields
unnecessary as bleeding hearts
never truly loved
Children of all civilizations
were fed into the factory
placed in single file lines
and taught elastic freedoms
As the elders grew past death
they’d come to realize
peaceful starships could sail
beyond the sun and back
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 