I wanted to say I saw it
coming but didn’t want
to be called a liar
but the fact is
it’s all academic
considering I’m not
sitting next to anyone
march two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the newspaper arrives long before
he descends the stairs
one slow step
at a time
he sits at the kitchen table
rifling to the sports section
locating a table with today’s date in bold
(which he circles with a felt pen)
below it a listing of all the games
including time & television channel
the table gets clipped
(including the header)
placed beside the remote
within arm’s reach from the recliner
all morning long he’ll study the list
making interesting comments
about the matchups
but more importantly
paying particular attention
to today’s date
january two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
What do you call your apparent
isolation —like a hummingbird having
the feeder all to herself
until eternity
or like a soldier dislocated
lost in the jungle
desperately needing
company
even after being found & rescued
now so desperately alone
in the bustling makeshift hospital
at the ballgame
your mind wanders onto the field
your body remaining
in the bleachers
where you believe nobody sees you
when home alone
you pray for the rain to come down
relentlessly
like nails pounding into concrete
drowning out the very idea
someone is attempting to make contact
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
here I am again
back in my lonely room
focused on nothing but my breathing
deep & easy
like I’ve done all my life
if only I could breathe like this
in my sleep
but my demons won’t allow it
won’t take no for an answer
won’t take yes either
as if to say you have no choice
we’ll do as we please
sometimes I awaken in the morning
not remembering a thing
a slight breeze from the window
refreshing my memory
a reminder of faces once in my life
as I lay there dying [again]
trying to remember their names
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
listless like a lemon tree
on a cool winter day
a little lonesome dove
sings her sad sad song
behind darkish clouds
a blue sky is hiding
the lonesome dove
wishes to change her tune
evening segues into night
now the moon is hiding
the little lonesome dove
longs to be a snowy owl
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had them all to myself
but then I lost them
a half-dozen helium-filled balloons
each a different color
I had plucked one by one
from the giving tree
in the city square
and I as I stood there
looking upward
counting them
with my index finger
a tear lost for each one
drifting higher & higher
until I became alone again
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this thing called loneliness
trending in the real
and virtual world
striking unsuspectingly
like a snake in the grass
it’s no wonder
mothers are worried
children pleading to stay home
loneliness the new norm
versus learning in school
may two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’d told them to take it away
that I didn’t want to see it anymore
and so they did
after a while I told them to take
the other thing away
and so they did
I was getting good at giving orders
surprised they so easily
obeyed my commands
soon it was one thing after another
and at a certain point
I’d told them I was tired
and they quietly withdrew from my sight
in the morning the birds did not sing
and the sun did not usher in the dawn
I turned on the light
and looked around the room
none of the things
that I had ordered away the night before
were actually gone
I had commanded only to myself
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
all the beautiful people
stealing what they may
from all of the lonely people
the ones passing you by
like ghosts in the night
listening & maybe chatting
giving & taking without
a single body
ever
knowing
march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s not like I’ve been isolated before
self-medicated & anxious
peering through the slightest peephole
finding a world reluctantly retrograding
all the while reassuring myself
this is not the loneliest day of my life
a knock on the door but nobody’s there
all the king’s men having retreated
either by foot or on horseback
carrying with them expired identities
and ill-gotten warrants
any day now perhaps it will be tomorrow
all locked doors will be safe to open
and the fever & the fear & the hatred
will have become a thing of the past
july two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
come rain or come shine
he counts the steps from bedroom
to kitchen
first peeking inside the icebox
then checking the cupboard
sometimes he’s dressed and
other times not
but usually it’s before dawn
as he meanders about
like a blindman
like a sleepwalker
like a creek lost in the woods
he has no sense of hunger
but his hearing is impeccable
and always he yearns to listen
to anything unfamiliar
but sadly settles for a cup of tea
preferably black or green or red
when the whistles blows
he knows the pain will soon subside
and from there it matters not
whether rain or sunshine arrives
september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the sun won’t rise for a couple
hours more
but already the roads
are snow-covered above
and icy below
in most neighborhoods
the morning paper never arrives
and to anyone
daring to venture outside
experiences soft wood burning
and blackbirds squawking
up and down the streets
automobiles idle in driveways
or along curbsides
warming up to new ideas
(earlier a deadly accident
occurs on a lonely street corner)
you cannot hear it
nor can you sense it
you cannot even fathom it
until it slowly disseminates into the air
over a relatively short period of time
december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one by one they left this place
a metaphorical mess
and I was left all alone
to my many devices
certain I could figure out a way
to clean things up
the morning light arrives
hours after I first stirred
shuffling my feet
to the rhythm of a fancy beat
repeating a little ditty
I recall singing in my dream
windows are everywhere
and in the dark I find each one
lifting the storms
and bringing in fresh air
whether it be cool or warm
or whispering silence
sitting at the kitchen counter
I am taken to places
I’ve not yet seen
a ripened orange in my hand
magically unpeeling itself
before my very own eyes
may two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
fields of wildflowers stretched
as far as the eye could see
and I stood there
unmoved
void of emotion
believing its beauty
could never belong to me
cloudless skies of blue stretched
as far as the eye could see
and I stood there
motionless
hopelessly lost
looking for a sign
I was not alone in this world
daylight turned to dark
and I surrendered to the earth
fell asleep in the open
curled into a ball
like a seed
praying for the rain
to bring me back to life
april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sorrowful soul mate
casting nets
from a sparse pine
comes up empty time & again
determined to move on
one tree at a time
the song forever weaves
through solitary twilight
april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on his hands and knees he pulls weeds
the kind that creep into spaces
lacking light and common sense
often seen but seldom understood
neither envious nor empathetic of beauty
and constantly forced
to start a new life in the most
undesirable places
to think that it’s come to this
he mutters to himself
furiously yanking the stalks but not the roots
tossing them behind his back
knowing full well they’ll resurrect
themselves in a matter of days
a reminder of how maddening
his loneliness has become
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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