she sails the high sands
a spanish galleon
having drifted off course
from the gulf of california
centuries ago
prospectors & geologists
die to find her treasures
buried perhaps
beneath laguna salada
or further north
along the salton sea
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
You have imagined
what it would be like
to live in the ocean again
though possess no desire
to make it a reality
The shadows of your past
will soon catch up with you
though have nothing new
to pass on
instead encourage you
to seek alternative paths
You once thought
you were brought here
by accident
that your parents had nothing
to do with your presence
To be abandoned
never seemed to bother you
though deep down inside
you’ve always wanted
to be found
april two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is nonsense in her reasoning
often mistaken as a mistletoe
on a cool summer’s eve
she sparkles like champagne
on the rarest of nights
a warm sky lit up in the countryside
as the townsfolk fall fast asleep
unknowing what they are missing
except through their dreaming
out in the fields she dances all alone
the wind light & airy
at play with the rhythm of the music
swaying through the trees
contributing to her mysteries
that of a forgotten night
and the brilliance of her eyes
february two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
At the corner bodega
some el gato genial
told me they sell tamales
& mudslides in the musty cellar
after closing time on Friday nights
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the fire must have gone out
in the middle of the night
and whoever was responsible
for keeping it going
was nowhere to be found
outside the snow drifts
nearly reached the eaves of the garage
and opening the front door
would probably—to say the least
be a bad idea
out back the barn doors
were wide open & banging
against the wall
both horses out of their stalls
the sleigh also missing
gazing out the front bay window
we noticed not one chimney in sight
had smoke billowing out of it
and suddenly
we became frightened
november two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was down in the dumps
staring into the palm of my
left hand
a couple digits on the other
practicing chopsticks
I hadn’t been to the junkyard
in what seemed like a lifetime
not looking for anything
in particular
especially not a porcupine
but this time I had technology
on my side
mystery & manipulation
lifting me out of my doldrums
and onto a path
never before seen
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wouldn’t know where to start
except to say the vault was left unlocked
what got out isn’t exactly known
assets with financial & emotional value
like a painting
a portrait of someone special
who used to walk the earth like the rest of us
now stopped in time
expressionless
it’s remindful of the saying about the horses
and the barn doors
how you can see them racing off
like a bird out of a cage
speed demons never to be seen
I guess it’s less about what was inside
than why it was there to begin with
in the end
cornered like a mouse facing the guillotine
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on a cool moonless night
ubiquitous catcalls occasionally
pierce through tightly locked windows
it is a preternatural occurrence
the hairs on your arms
spontaneously rising toward the ceiling
the ceiling itself is a misnomer
and once grasping its possibilities
the sooner you’ll want to leave this world
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the cops wanted
the surveillance footage
but all that was there
was white noise
watching for an hour or two
not a single one
could possibly tell you
what was what
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I cut back the rose bushes
branches & stems & canes
right down to the green
It is early April & cold
a slight wind bemoaning change
—& just like in a recurring dream
a set of eyes (or maybe two)
watching
my every move
I should be wearing gloves
but I never do
my hands with an occasional puncture
blood beading & oozing here & there—
their eyes focused on the color scarlet
I imagine they are imagining
what it would taste like
to lick my wounds
I try to guess what animal
the eyes belong to
but they are shadowless
& possess no language
how I know they are there
remains a mystery to me
but a movement of light in my peripheral
has me looking inward
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
do you see it there
a foreigner in the night sky
a light never before seen
solid & unblinking
perhaps a child of mars or venus
or a runaway satellite
hungry for attention
& inching closer
with each lunar cycle
until one night suddenly
completely out of the picture
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so I agreed to met with this person
who said they had no agenda
—up to twenty inquiries allowed
but I had another thing in mind
(having awakened in a bed
that was not my own)
such as presenting each question
in the form of a wrong answer
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
here we are again
on an uninhabited island
as if characters
in a sociological novel
in the process of being written
you kick up your feet
and everyone else [reflexively]
does the same
on any given day there may be
three or seven or thirteen of us
sitting ‘round the table
the fluctuations a subject of
deliberation
and of course
disbelief
there are no seasons here
making it easy to keep time
due to the sun & moon & tides
only occasionally does someone know
what day it is
the last time there was a quorum
someone proposed
there must be a conduit somewhere
a wormhole if you will
which could very well explain
all the fluctuations
but not our continual presence
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it took to the air
disappearing like a whisper
it could be anything
a petal a leaf a feather
in the end becoming nothing
save a memory
thoughts escape into thin air
like nessy
or the abominable
whatever happened to
white rabbits & top hats
UFOs or UAPs
—what of entire cities
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how am I to decide
which is the right way
the fork in the road is deceiving
there may be another route
underground
or aboveground
someone stole the signage
that pointed in so many different directions
—some say it may have been
banksy himself
they used to keep the extension
ladder
hanging in the garage
but now it leans against the back of the house
the kids in the neighborhood
fooled into thinking
there must be something worthwhile to photograph
through that second story window
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was driving home crossing the tracks
followed by a moderate left bend
a car parked on the river side of the road
to my left a dark figure walking along the railbed
hands in jacket pockets & eyes cast downward
it was early december & the sun had all but set
creating bright streaks of color along the horizon
sparkling across the quiet wakes
the lone figure becoming darker by the second
what could he be looking for this time of day
a scarf or pair of gloves or glasses
maybe some sort of precious keepsake
suddenly I smell rock & wood & steel
as if I was right there with him
but of course by this time
it was too late for me to turn around
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 