there is information
in the grapevine
palpitations in the bleeding hearts
tiny mirrors in the garden
playing tricks with the sun
attracting wings of all sizes
protecting the evolution
of a fragile ground game
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it should have been different
than the way it transpired
the way the garden progressed
into a disarray of entanglement
above & below ground
the tame intermingling w/the wild
performing some kind of erotic ritual
—onlookers in awe & disbelief
mouths open & eyes fixated
unable to shake off the images
emblazoned into their psyche
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
messing with circadian rhythms
just for the fun of it
or out of sheer boredom
a half attempt to be noticed
a shout out to the world
how nothing seems to matter
it’s as if I’m preaching third shift
& sleepwalking by day
strangers coming up to me
on crowded sidewalks
calling for autographs & saying
don’t I know you from another life
we gather at the city center
a walled garden eight blocks square
oaks & cedars providing shade
benches & flowers & fountains
adorning the pathways
growing crowd beginning to quiet
november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let me see
let me gather my thoughts
like I gather flowers in the garden
one precise cut at a time
there is something on my mind
it lingers like a ghost
on the shady side of the garden
I sit & wait for it to edge closer
some days are easier
than others
that is widely known
and those that are not
drop hints & clues along the way
a subtle progression
that keeps me wanting more
april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’ve done this before
making something out of thin air
whether simple words or complex webs
designed to bring us closer
the power of sleep brings forth
limitless possibilities
exposing past and future lives
such as the spider or the fly
at some point it stands to reason
why the trees have knowledge
and birds perpetuate folklore
why the snake in the green green grass
will one day be your best friend
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how the garden grows
in my absence
photos clicked and sent
my way via
short message service
I don’t own a device
anymore
but I can still receive
be they still or moving
or downright blossoming
it matters not
I like the bleeding hearts best
almost always first
or second to arrive
depending upon the winter
I promise I’ll be back soon
it’s only temporary
where I’ve been
or where I’m going
if memory serves me right
the tulips will be next
april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
ice gradually melts
and ground begins to thaw
there you rest
not far from the surface
exactly where I left you
shuddering in your sleep
what you can’t see
should certainly scare you
but don’t for a moment
keep the covers over your eyes
lest you miss those self-evident
truths reflecting in the light
oh how you thought
you had massacred every aphid
that had decimated your garden
but they are alive and well
reinventing themselves
just as you are sure to do
july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she came to visit for a few hours
on a sunday afternoon
it was a blustery but sunny day
wind chimes sounding off loud and clear
inside toasty sunroom
she got up from the sofa
holding teacup below her chin
gazing out south facing windows
“it’s a shame your garden’s dying
it was so beautiful last time I was here”
(to her everything is dying so I just let it go)
I didn’t have the heart to tell her
the garden turned twenty-one this year
and is very much alive and well
october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve found myself so many times
it’s hard imagining finding myself again
in the garden everyone feasts
the bird
the butterfly
the rodent and the worm
insects and felines and canines
stamens and pistils
day lilies and night owls
tree limbs and branches hanging fruit
angels and devils and humans
shoving shovels into the ground
stirring and spawning new life
meanwhile the sun and moon
(and the season known as spring)
continue to operate like a heartbeat
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
wind chimes chatter in the mist
varied in pitch and velocity
powered by dark winds
swirling past steel spiders
rusty fish swim by twilight
nipping at one-legged flamingo
all tucked in for the night
silent rocks in aerated streams
attract ceramic turtles and
green neon frogs
settling on that perfect spot
avian whispers segue into
full-fledged sirens
scaring the wildflowers away
april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
late autumn afternoon
digging into garden bed
and separating little bulbs
from big ones
I uncover a shiny emerald stone
I rub off the dirt with soiled fingers
and polish it with my shirt
kneeling and looking up
I hold it skyward past
silent clouds drifting
my eyes squinting
my mind racing
from out of this world
it came crashing
burrowing into the earth
untouched for perhaps centuries
but now my cherished treasure
if only for the shortest
moment in time
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your garden is all grown up
said the daughter
to the old man as they
sat in front of the fire pit
listening to the wood talk
she remembered way back when
there were stepping stones
throughout the garden
and she would jump from one stone
to the next like you would
playing hopscotch
the stones were still there
camouflaged beneath the jungle
barely noticeable amongst the greenery
blossoming a spectrum of colors
rainbows inspired to imitate
do you remember
when we put in the stepping stones
asked the old man
yes I do
answered the daughter
I was just thinking about that
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The six-month winter miraculously
segues into a psychedelic fever
of blossoming apple trees
and awakening white birches
as white-fronted geese
flock along an endless sky
painted robin’s-egg blue.
Outside the city garden plots
become reacquainted
with agrarian hands skilled
from generation’s past
furiously planting and artfully
nurturing all that is necessary
to survive the next winter.
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i sit in the garden of good
and evil
and wonder if i’ve witnessed
enough
the quiet and beauty
of the garden
stands in dark contrast
to the cruel corners
of a violent
planet
i sometimes wonder
how the sunrise
will hit the acropolis
a thousand years from now
wonder in what way
i’ll be able to archive it
and recall it
again and again
(i’ve witnessed the birth
and near drowning death
of a child
only to be brought back to life
by a breath
i never knew existed)
as i sit in the garden
i understand there is more
to accomplish
on the other side of the hill
understand there will always be more
on the other side
where the fish jump
and the mountains climb
where promises sometimes
fall short
and recklessness
is always welcome
just like sound is neither
past nor present
there is no more tomorrow
there is only the garden
december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I entered the world
like a flower blooming
an experience blocked
from a memory dying
to understand
how the subliminal past
led me to this time
where I beget the pistil
and the petal
november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i’m borrowing this rock
i keep in my pocket
uncovered years ago
when starting the garden
i washed it off
in the birdbath
dirtying the water
and giving it new life
for however long i can
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 