Alone in the backyard
softly singing a lullaby
I once knew by heart
so many years ago
The sky became twilighty—
I heard a lone engine
slowly whining on the tracks
miles away along the river
My little ditty drifted
& faded from memory
giving way to birdsong
ushering in the dusk
Their beautiful trills
transported me inwardly
—somehow sadness
seemed to fill the air
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I lie in darkness
but not silence
paying attention to
my breathing
barely existing
like desert sand
at some point
I will open my eyes
and wonder
where I may be
soaring high
above the clouds
or diving deep
into an endless sea
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Admitting I was a fool
is no big deal
especially while sitting
on a front porch w/a cold one
—occasional waves at familiar
faces & happy tail wags
Smiling outwardly
I mostly reminisce on the inside
secretly admiring
all the impossible hands
I’ve managed to play
—and ultimately lost
april two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
just love wearing my brand new
eggshell white t-shirt
—big black bold letters saying
‘hey (hey) you (you)
get off of my cloud’
last night’s storms
never did quite roll out of town
instead hung around
like a tiresome echo in the mind
making it entirely impossible
for any mere mortal
to hop on my improbable
yet temporary dark cloud
march two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from sunrise to sunset
the room accepts constant change
mostly affected by light
or lack thereof
by clouds & wind
& an occasional regret
at times full of shadows
altering the overall mood
—or the aura if you will
thoughts left unspoken
accepting any sort
of sounds
but mainly faint
noises from the outside
march two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had a fever
knocking me down
to my knees
calling me to rise
above a dark past
I had a fever
prohibiting deep sleep
forcing me to face
long nights
in restless rebellion
I had a fever
bringing to light
dedication required
to escape
interminable realities
I had a fever
nearly killing me
sublimely reintroducing
ancient energies
that lay in wait
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
lady of the mirror
calls you to retreat into reflection
back to the city center
where you once wandered the streets at night
or deep into the forest
where sights & sounds remind you
of a life before this one
she tells you what you crave
is a nonjudgmental environment
one in which your own
reflection
reminds you of the stars that shine
revealing all the many things
you are certain to find
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no life in the living room
except for this philodendron
its large green leaves waxy & variegated
falling off the cliff of the coffee table
it doesn’t require much love
maybe an occasional sip of blue water
ultraviolet rays a few days a week
a little trim four times a year
it used to exist in a different room
and rarely seen
back when there used to be
so much traffic in the living room
but now that it sits front & center
there is hardly anyone around
to appreciate its sweet simplicity
august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve been busy
practicing my breathing
and counting to ten
starting over when
lost in thought
or making it to the end
I’m fine with dying
in obscurity
my drive for change
often buffeted by the wind
that uncontrollable force
[nine times out of ten]
making you pause
and contemplate
the world around you
the breathing & counting
will not broker peace
though it may take you
into new perspectives
such as how the mind
may not necessarily
be reliant upon the body
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
diminishing but not beyond recognition
this stale state of mind
requires a new kind of wake-up call
one in which the soul within
is stirred but not shaken
a reminder there is more work
yet to be done
in the morning the radio & the sun
& the birds of a nation
reminds us there is good reason
to pause & reflect
to take one step backward
before taking two
into this uncertain future
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s three in the morning
having awakened after maybe
three hours rest
walking slowly down the steps
the blue moon filters
into the house from various angles
I command the corner lamp
to power on to level one
wondering what my dear mother would do
I imagine she went for the cabinet
squatting like a catcher
calling her next pitch
the shelf above the refrigerator
is where the spirits live
I blame them for awakening me
settling in on the bay window chair
I reminisce of the thousands of dreams
of flying & talking & singing like a bird
having faced countless perils
perhaps I’d not survived an horrific dive
or was shot out of the clear blue sky
how many times can you possibly die
in a bed of make-believe roses
how many species of birds can you be
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the rain falls perfectly in late november
neither hard nor soft
simply there and bringing awareness
to practically everything
many questioning their lives behind
closed doors and shuttered windows
on the laziest of sunday afternoons
the rain falls perfectly in late november
either reminding you of a
specific place in time you
wished remained suspended
or making you forget altogether
recent distractions repeatedly tugging
at the fabric slowly covering your eyes
november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It’s hard to think in third person
outside the skin and looking in
switching sides
like patient operating on surgeon
like flower attacking honeybee
like an old school artist suddenly
becoming an impressionist
I put the old brushes aside
and started understanding ocean
waves in a brand new light
accepting how shadows evolve
and reveal welcomed realities
unfolding before my very eyes
august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
while staying on the down low
I kept an ear to the ground
and an eye to the sky
surmising how many hours
would pass before the start
of the next armed conflict
after giving up on solving
the odds for world peace
I moved on to other worldly problems
proposing solutions with a
little help from friends
living inside my head
while good-meaning people
feared I had been brainwashed
by some religious cult
I’ll be damned if it was me
walking in the shadows these past
three hundred sixty-five days
september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the seasons turned but I wasn’t ready for it
I was too busy looking back on the
opportunities I had squandered
brushed aside like slight inequities
rotting into things undone
I knew the snowblower in the garage
wouldn’t start so I put a blanket over it
I brought in the shovels from the shed
the snow may be the death of me I told myself
but I’ll be damned if I can’t still dig
I wasn’t ready to go back into the house
so I pulled out a beer from the fridge
and sat on the workbench
vague images of things undone coming
to mind and mixing with telephones
ringing through these walls
november two thousand
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
close your eyes and pretend
you are the forgotten son
pretend you have lived
a solitary life
and there is no place
you’ve never gone
I did as she said and found
myself on a deserted
divided highway
my overheated imagination
in my rearview
not an oasis in sight
after day turned into night
all living creatures
converged by land and air
giving guidance
and instilling wisdom
to the forgotten son
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 