poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “music”

reworking dark love songs

I’ve been testing the limits of creation
laying down disco tracks and
introducing new lyrics certain
to get you up and dancing

I’ve been listening to ‘one of
these nights’ and practicing
the high harmony parts as if
I was a prepubescent teenager

I’ve been waiting by the telephone
line and thinking about your eyes
writing down every single line
entering my unmethodical mind

june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

putting the band back together

I keep looking around
wondering when everyone
will wake up from the dead
and get back on with their lives

from what I understand
they’re still putting out live music
on streaming television
the kind where you can
stomp your feet and sing
right along with the band

weatherman says things
aren’t looking so bright
along the eastern shoreline
but we have our eyes cast
on the western horizon
where the sun perpetually sets

somehow we managed
to find ourselves on the same page
bags packed and fleet refueled
next stop isle of rhythm and blues

april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lost inside last encore

orchestra plays in the back of my mind
coming through not too loud
but perfectly clear
drowning out anything and everything
attempting to keep me alive

there are dozens of channels
scrambling in thin air
all of them wanting in on the action
dancing on the ledge of creation
like alternative rock & roll

others are eager to get involved
in my invitation only affairs
crawling in sprawling lines
imagining catching a glimpse of
yesterday’s american pie

september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

“Miss You”

out of the gate he broke a guitar string
but he kept on playing as if
nothing happened
rest of the band maybe noticing
maybe not
rhythm section cool as could be
never missing a beat

it was a guest appearance
covering a Rolling Stones song
on and off stage in a mere six minutes
and he kept shredding that Fender
E string gyrating crazingly
as if it was an orchestrated
part of the show

july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

listening to singles on a friday night

she had this voice
sultry and sad
band behind her
rhythmically energetic
and ever so melancholic
mesmerizing really
freezing you in thought
and action

there is this trumpet
somewhere in the middle
a wake up call really
shaking you to the core
reminding you
how much you miss her voice
and how badly
you want her back again

march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the violin and the piano

their sound supersedes the
clamor and the simmering pot
not quite boiling
not quite understood

the floors mean nothing
they’ve since been replaced
replaced but not restored
never to be the same

appearing out of nowhere
like a silver moon in disguise
the music filters through
making my world come to life

the violin and the piano
still echo in these walls
comforting my sorrow
and giving me repose

september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

surfing station to station

I turn the dial to 107.9 fm
but all I hear is ozzie or zepplin
van halen or ac/dc

I tell myself if I want to hear classic rock
I’d dial in 100.3 or maybe 105.7

whatever happened to my once
favorite retreat called rock 108
where I could always hear
something beautifully brand new
no matter how good or bad

I mean seriously
is there really not enough new rock
to make the world go ‘round anymore

the population on this planet
continues to explode
but meanwhile
I’m stuck here half-dazed
(from all the static)
surfing station to station
hoping to find a brand new groove

january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

we should go there more often

we used to go there often for inspiration
but when the well ran dry
we hit the road and looked elsewhere

cruising down the highway we listened
to all the greatest hits
asking ourselves repeatedly
where do all the good ones come from

lady luck seemed to be nowhere in sight
so we stopped for a fortnight
at somebody’s cabin
smoking hash and drinking gin
hoping to awaken those rhythmical spirits

we pretended there was a sasquatch
down by the lake patrolling the perimeter
throwing rocks at strangers
from behind the brush

when evening rolled in we started to hum
and strum some simple chords
the earth beneath our feet
beginning to tremble

june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

The Soul Bar

We go there after life and live it up
for as long as we can stand
on our own two feet
or get thrown out for playing
karaoke with the house band

We go there after life and swap
stories about the strange times
on the old blue jewel
when it was easier to feel
the pain of man’s music
than wake up sober
and pretend everything is just fine

We go there after life and find
new pals who nobody ever
heard of before
the kind of fellows who died
young and never got a chance
to spread their wings
until they stumbled upon this place
hidden beneath the rubble

february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

before the wall is smashed

we listened to pink floyd
all afternoon
before settling on watching the wall

neither sunlight nor lightning
could penetrate the electronic den
stocked with essentials and
adorned with colorful matter
that shined on the four corner speakers
slightly exposing fellow clan members
relaxing on the supersectional
and loveseat
and futon
and pink bean bag chair

sometime before the wall is smashed
a pizza delivery boy arrives unannounced

swarmed by our open arms
we tear into his flesh
only to stitch him
back together
like some old rag doll

november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

morning blue

I love to play the piccolo
just before the birds awaken

my own imagination
enters their waking dreams

before the song is over
just as the sun smiles
trillions of feathers
usher in the morning blue

november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Big Time in Reno

I made my way to Reno by accident
with a woman much older than her age.
She said she knew a married man there
who seemed to have a ton of money.

It didn’t take long before she left me
for a drifter with some blow, so I decided
Reno was as good a spot as any
where I could work on my old acoustic.

By day I had a gig dealing twenty-one
at Fitzgeralds; earned enough in tips
to keep my lungs full of Old Golds
and my lips wet with whiskey or rye.

I kept telling myself I’m gonna make it big
in Nashville one day, but until then
I just kept singing my railroad songs
for the cockroaches in the rafters.

november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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