science & data can’t explain
emotions of the heart
longing & loss
compassion
depression
love & loneliness
numbers alone
cannot asses
the true condition
of a broken heart
like a fractured melody
a rhythm lost in the dark
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where she went
I could not say
having disappeared
once my heart
went missing
alone on foot
I wander city streets
her reflection
in puddles
& storefront windows
street lamps give me
little to no solace
their brilliance
but a reminder
of her smile
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my wooden heart
what color shall I paint it today
do I feel blue or green or tangerine
anything but blood red
I should think
perhaps today I’ll pull the nails
from my wooden heart
saw the slats & repurpose them
into a bench or table
or a simple decoration
to hang on the wall
perhaps it’s an apple
inside someone’s eye
or a starfish elevating
above the dirty blonde sand
—this very day
casting its faint light
inside my wooden heart
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what doesn’t ache
cannot be touched
at least not without
a surgical knife
on the third day
the sutures remain
the heart’s whereabouts
undisclosed
november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the little farm girl
bespectacled
& tanned from the summer sun
walked out of the barn
chicken wire & snips in hand
skipped across the way
and entered the house
by way of the kitchen door
brushing back her yellow
tangled hair with the palms
of her hands
she sat at the kitchen table
working feverishly
as she shaped the wire
into a three dimensional heart
slightly smaller than her head
she tore strips of newspaper
and dipped them into
a flour-based paste she’d learned
to make at school
and speedily & completely covered
her hollowed out heart
she left it to dry on the window sill
whistling while cleaning up
the mess she had made
anxious to take it back into the barn
where she would paint it
the color purple
february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my heart was water
like a single solitary pond
alone in a field
surrounded by wildflowers
a man-made pump
somewhat in the middle
keeping the circulation going
there once was a trail
starting from the roadside
a circular route
to the center of my heart
beaten down by foot
eventually replaced by
mechanisms purely natural
november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my heart’s once again
connected to the outside world
beating irregularly
sending mixed signals
online & offline & back online again
sometimes unsuspecting angels
come in & take a look
but only when they have time
in my mind
I’m back in the garage
putting the improvised band
back together again
working my rock star drum kit
in an attempt to attract
rising or fading stars
willing to give it another shot
august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
first thing in the morning
the stage will be set
and I will be the principal actor
lying flat on my back
waiting to be anesthetized
an ever growing crowd
quietly fills the twenty thousand
seats of the amphitheater
the acoustics so perfect
I can hear an infant sleeping
later I would be told
my heart was entirely exposed
entertaining all the spectators
by beating in perfect rhythm
in someone else’s hands
july two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
her heart is racing
easily exceeding one hundred
beats per minute
she came in for a simple procedure
but we’re sending her off to emergency
to get her beating heart
under control
how many specialists does it take
how many second opinions
how many prescriptions
here try this & if that doesn’t work
we’ll give that a try
and if that doesn’t work
take two aspirins
& call me (maybe) in the morning
now she’s stuck in the middle
of the staircase (to heaven)
mostly because there’s no elevator
no contraption she can sit in
conveying her body
from one cloud to the next
in reality they were able
to stop the bleeding
finally took the thing out from her leg
but what about that beating heart
one hundred beats per minute & counting
I mean just how fast
is fast enough
may two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
listen to your heart
quickly picking up the pace
beating in five and seven sixteenths
for no good reason
if only to let you know she’s still around
able to get your attention with a simple
snapping of the fingers
eventually quietly settling back down
minute by minute
and retreating
to a healthy resting rhythm
december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
pretend I am alive and well
breathing deeply
focusing on my heart
how it beats slowly
like a little drummer boy
bringing up the rear
marching off to war
though fear abounds
peace surrounds his heart
beating steadily and true
rhythmically purposeful
settling the nerves
of all those around him
one measure at a time
no longer afraid
the war is finally over
joy and jubilation
taking over city streets
his ever beating heart
bringing new meaning
to peace on earth
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
I’ve been working on my buzz
ever since I got off medicine
be it session brown ale
or good old-fashioned sipping whiskey
I used to have this voice
but now all I have is electronic means
jotting down my lost thoughts
eventually cast into cyberspace
told myself I won’t cry no more
especially now that my beating heart
(seemingly stronger than ever)
belongs to someone else
october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
off and on my heart beats
depending upon weather conditions
or latest traffic reports
whether or not your thoughts
infiltrate mine coincidentally
unannounced yet always welcome
oh how my heart beats
off and on depending upon
time of day or moon phase
sometimes reliant on outside forces
like a good night’s sleep
or promises of pharmaceuticals
despite off and on promises
made with the best of intentions
broken hearts beat willingly
always depending on the here and now
in the happily ever after
as if time was never a factor
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
stained glass hearts
tarnished over time
void of even the faintest
hint of crimson on the
brightest of summer days
on occasion lonely hearts
glisten back to life
slowly reaching out on the
clearest of nights at a
bulging moon turning blue
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Note: this poem is linked to Crow’s Open Mic Invitation
they brought me onto stage
and explained to the
thousands of participants
seated in the open air theatre
exactly what it was
they were about to witness
young ones dressed in white
laid me down on the
table and calmed my fears
naturally deadening my body
before skilled surgeons
unveiled my open heart
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he walks alone
because he has no place
to go
yet he knows
as long as he keeps moving
the world will never slow down
he smiles because
he was told it would keep warm his soul
and he figured
that would be a good thing
in case his heart went cold
remembering is what
he does best
not the yesterday kind of remembering
but the kind
where you go way back when
the kind
that makes you smile
and makes your heart reminisce
july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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