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
there’s something missing he said
opening the refrigerator
pulling out a mcintosh and
gutting it with the round steel slicer
deliberately he ate slice after slice in
complete silence
focusing on the uneasy feeling
deep inside his core
outside on the front patio he heard
the daily paper kicking the door
out back a stray cat cried in the cold
garnering the attention of camouflaged chickadees
sitting quietly from within the pines
a gust of wind brought forth new life
from the many wind chimes
beneath his feet he feels the morning train
beginning to roll from a few miles away
a good forty minutes late he tells himself
as the first whistle blows
the sun breaks free from the clouds
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
room by room he drifted
attending to the windows
first shutting the storm
then locking the
lower sash with the upper
he moved mechanically
like an old timepiece
powered by the sun
the swift hand moving
hesitatingly from lack of light
his thoughts fleeting
like the gray winds outside
leaning on the last window
he felt oddly safe
but desperately alone
the sound of winter
forever secured inside
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
born into a colorful world
you look to the sky for answers
blinking your wanton eyes and
hiding your smile below
wide brimmed hat
anxious to live for tomorrow
you rarely sleep at night
dreaming of the day your
prince charming finally
finds you outside the box
winter arrives on cue
changing you into that girl
nobody really knew
your radiant summer skin
fading in the evening light
years turn into forever
your lost thoughts seeking
a new kind of loneliness
your mind aging
gracefully like porcelain
july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out of the blue melancholy
wrapped her arms around me
and held me close
whispering sad songs
and wiping away the tears
that formed from the
corners of my mind
she slowly swayed me
encouraging me to hush
painted pictures of the
moon and stars with her
deceiving voice
expressing how precious
and lonesome is the night
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is nothing sad in my song
it’s just that the purposefulness of it
is long gone
(I have since retired to another room)
alone I sit and bang on keys
meant to be played by a
musician high on weed
and improvising
we first discovered how the
establishment came to be
and then we destroyed them
brought them back to life with poetry
only the wretched understood
the professor did not show
up for work today so we taught
ourselves by sipping on danish wine
and reenacting a little hamlet
when the day is done don’t worry
about turning out the light
there’ll be another wave
of stark raving mad lunatics
to entertain your dying days
october two thousand thirteen
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
I wonder what lie inside
my lazy susan all these years
what one staple could it be
stashed away yet unafraid
Does she know I know she’s there
unseen and protected
by jars of peanut butter and
bags of tiny chocolate chips
Was it neglect or selfishness
that kept you in the dark
or was it simply my stupidity
not noticing how beautiful you are
october 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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