jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “loneliness”

happy hour


I felt like stepping out
but didn’t want to drink alone
so I texted Tommy to give me a call
but my phone lay silent

goddamn son-of-a-bitch

I powered up my new HDTV
but nothing was on
so I turned it off
and checked my phone again

nada – nothing – zip

I paged through my contacts
and speed dialed Randy
then Billy and then Reggie G
but nobody picked up

I walked into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator
but I had forgotten to replace
the lamp and couldn’t see shit
but I reached in anyway



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unlucky in love


he sits in his lazy boy chair
and yells at the umpire on TV who
keeps getting all the calls wrong
exhaling cheap cigar smoke
while putting down old style beer
in 12 ounce gulps

in the other room his partner
in crime fixes potato salad
to go with his pastrami on rye
saddened at the thought
mister james gandolfini
has left her lonely world



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

some kind of way out of here


in the archives
they let me spend my time
weaving tales of prison breaks
not even the watchtower
can contain

this life inside
the loneliest place on earth
would break the common man
but here I sit and sail away
stealthily

once a month
I wander the yard and chat
with all the pretty young ladies
who stopped writing me
years ago

in my mind
I lived out my days in paradise
where the flowering perennials
rooted before the breach
still flourish



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the mind reader


I lost my way along the way
and wound up in a tavern
I never knew existed

I ordered a dark beer
and sat alone
wondering how it was
I had found this place

there were so many things
I meant to get done that day
but nothing seemed to be working
so I wandered out of the city
looking at nothing in particular
and daydreaming
about all the things I had done

once finishing off the pint of beer
the bartender
poured me another without
either of us saying one word



may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

saint somewhere


the trains have all left
this dusty little town
and I’m left on the trackside
without even a dime
to buy a little more time
as my woman sits in coach
destination saint somewhere



may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

i found a box of old poems


the poetry i wrote ages ago
doesn’t belong to me anymore

the person that wrote those lines
of despair and shame and utter honesty
has long been gone

it’s almost as if he died from self-inflicted wounds
from too much booze and tabacco
and whoring around
from not giving a shit about work
or baseball
or forgetting to buy chocolate and roses
on valentine’s day

reading page after page of the drivel
i want to tear them to pieces
but something inside me
won’t let it happen
because deep down i’m in love with the words
that used to bring me joy knowing my misery
was no different than yours




february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

after the thrill is gone


i imagined
what it would be like
to be alone eternally
without a soul
in the world
to share life’s
finest moments

as my thought
began to dwindle
into nothingness
she kissed me
atop my forehead
and whispered sweetly
the thrill is gone



december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rewind


promises of glory
took you away from me
leaving me helpless
and grasping for understanding
exactly what went wrong

i sit in my chair and recall the days
watching you kill mercilessly
on the television screen
watching your back
aiding and abetting your safety
from the mindless enemy

those games now collect dust
as i wander through the house
murmuring to myself
for my stupidity



november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Cries in the Dark


Now that the house is empty
I easily awaken from cries
in the dark, sneaking in
through the bedroom window
on a cool, autumn morning.

I roll out of bed at four a.m.
and rush to the window
like a child on Christmas Eve;
eyes focused on the house
across the street, a lone light
leaking through the drawn shade.

Once the child has grown quiet
from his mother’s magical touch,
I crawl back to bed, wondering
where my own children might be
and if they ever think of me
when hearing cries in the dark.



july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I never dreamed


you forgot to tell me
where you had gone
so I wandered into the night
dreaming I would find you
somewhere safe

the night never ended
neither did the dream
of finding you
beyond the treetops
as an infinite light



july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Tuesday’s Gone


There’s something about this coffee,
I said, speaking to the cat,
knowing she knew exactly what I meant
because she too drinks the same water
from this dated kitchen.

There’s nothing right about this place,
it seems to have lost
the intimacy it once had.
Instead of doing anything about it
I’m just going to drink
this lousy cup of coffee
and wonder where the angels went.



july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Late for Supper


The morning arrived
as it always does
a soft rain falling out back
giving the apples
a special gloss
once the shower
segued to sunshine.

By early afternoon
children would arrive
to climb and pick the fruit
and patiently wait
as the owner of the tree
transformed them
into a cobbler.

With bellies full
the little ones ran off
the scent of the kitchen
following them
reminding the baker
her own precious ones
were late for supper.


may two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Christmas for One


I stayed in the house for four straight days
in mid December, discovered the world
did not miss me one iota, nor me the world.

To pass the time I would look out the window
each time finding something new: a bird, a child,
the wind. I would capture the images
in my mind, later jot them down.

When the telephone rang I did not answer
and one time when someone knocked
I cowered behind the comfy chair
until certain no one was there.

By the end of the fourth day
before I fell asleep, I created a list
of the things I would need
to spend the remaining days until Christmas.



december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

can’t you see


walking in i felt a presence
had just left
leaving behind a draft
coming from the return vent

a lone light shone
above the kitchen sink
highlighting the drip
that hadn’t been fixed for days

i thought i might find
a note on the counter
next to sunday’s newspaper
instead found a grocery list
along with a few coupons

the cat sauntered on the tile
and rubbed up against my ankle
sounding off in a bluesy way
somehow knowing
change was here to stay



december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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