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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “micropoetry”

Making Buttons


Tongue stuck out and twisting
Pepsi bottlecap between thumb and forefinger
pocket knife in other
spooning out the corking from the metal

The rounded cork disappears
inside the T-shirt
reunited with the bottlecap
between the fabric




nineteen ninety-seven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

inner city haiku baseball


full moon with stitches
off-white and slowly revolving
like a knuckleball

in the alleyways
pick-up games start at daybreak
broomsticks and duct tape

tying run at plate
runners at every corner
bus driver pitching

final shot arcing
sailing over skyscrapers
shooting for the moon




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the artist and I


we will cross the river
the artist and I
and we will find a new outlet
to call our home
and we will sleep as one
falling in and out of
romantic daydreams
evening sun hiding her
eyes behind decorative fan
rising moon reaching out
to gently awaken us
so that we may create again




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one warm winter’s night


you come to me as a spirit
poking and prodding and
whispering sweet discretions in my ear
but I am fast asleep like a bear hibernating
periodically shivering
but mainly motionless and soundless
secretly enjoying a series of
interconnected dreams
leading me from one kiss to the next




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

once outside of the yard I will be forever free


so here I am held in some detention camp
along with every living soul I ever knew
one by one they are called away
until eventually I find myself alone again
selfishly gathering their freshly strewn petals




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

without love I won’t survive


it’s not easy to survive without love
someone to touch
if only for a moment in time
attempting to describe
that which can never be
like a sunset in wintertime
that was meant for only you and me




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

inside map rooms


all things are eventual
if not downright equal
why not let them play out as they may
instead of contemplating
various scenarios inside map rooms
where alternative endings
are inherently undesirable




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

old records off the shelf


so many songs about saturday night
up and down the radio dial
forever cast into eternity
thanks to artistry and antigravity

and there you are behind the curtain
hairbrush in your hand
belting out your favorite songs
younger siblings doubting your sanity




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

an evening in late april


unfinished tabletop
wishbone resting on windowsill
dishes in the sink

roses abloom on the vine
outside kitchen window
nature’s fragrance floating

scattered thoughts
pieced together like a dream
disguised as poetry




april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

santa ana winds


there is desperation in the wind
causing fires to spread
and lonely thoughts to cave in
good lord handing out hail marys
like there is no tomorrow

it’s 4:30 in the morning
and you tell yourself the sun
may never rise again
and somehow you forgive yourself
finally resigned to fall asleep




april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

there is compassion in this world


exposed to your predicament
I refuse to feed my face
instead spend my free time
determining how to calm your fears

you say there is no place to go
and I say you’ve got to be kidding
if only you would accept the hand
reaching out to help you



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

walking between rain and sunshine


glass floor to be danced upon
shiny and bright by full moon
anxious to be noticed
spotlighting raindrops
falling from tallest ceilings

I’ve been inside this maze before
and always come out
smelling like roses
blowing my kisses into a mirror
constantly reinventing itself



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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