poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “immigration”

in pursuit of peace

the bounty on my head
keeps going up
or so I’ve heard from the
monotonous talking heads
streaming in the air

I’m feeling much better
since crossing the mississippi
heading east by northeast
toward an unknown place
where sanctuaries still exist

secret agent men
keep hunting me in my sleep
but I manage to elude them
by rolling over into
a new form of reality

I know every inch of concrete
and railway between
this world and the next
where I am destined to settle
into indescribable peace

february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the invasion of invisible aliens

standing at the corner of 1st & 3rd
waiting for the light to turn green
fingers tumble down pockets
only to resurface empty-handed

unnoticed by the masses
newly born immigrants jaywalk
these inner city streets
crossing four lanes once occupied
by gas-powered vehicles

I’m told they’re everywhere
but mostly inside your head
emptying out your pockets like
some sort of arcane video game

I used to walk the streets at night
but it became too bright
making me feel like a second class citizen
like a moving target dodging
in and out of alleyways

february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

border crossings

they come out of the woods
and nobody seems to notice
foreign forces desperately
crawling beneath the earth
constructing tunnels of desperation

a once finely tuned back yard
quickly becomes unmanageable
attracting disparate dichotomies
unwittingly tearing up the fabric
of well-manicured neighborhoods

bloodhounds and barb-wired fences
provide no security along
these once peaceful borders
where old school kings often called
fair maidens from the other side

october two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Researching the Madness

The lines go back far they do
lines drawn on a map
from somewhere in Pennsylvania
via Antwerp and Brussels.

The little girl grew into an iron-fisted
Matriarch who rang the bell at five
to feed her boys the holiest of bread
while reciting hymnals of fear and guilt.

Her shepherdless husband
followed her trail to Illinois
to a sleepy town her brother first discovered
years before boarding SS Vaderland.

It was there tempers raged within
from the ethnically charged populous
but she managed self-restraint
and seldom raised her hand
against her own Motherland.

But for her brother the chains broke
and wickedness unleashed itself
on Christmas Day
as the quietness of the neighborhood
exploded with a single shot of insanity.

That dying branch still hangs crooked
on the corner of Rose and Lexington
its venomous DNA lingering
inside a sleepy little child.

february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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