jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “november”

08 Nov 2020

coming down from the high


it’s a few minutes past november
and already I’m bracing for the calm

at some point I won’t be able to speak
the obvious truth
having already crossed the golden bridge
standing & waiting on the other side

in the meanwhile I continue my research
attempting to prognosticate
(with a little help from la niña)
how this very november
will be remembered
long after the first day or spring




november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
22 Oct 2020
4 Comments

returning to the beginning


the garden
the aroma & beauty
opening your arms for me
smiling & inviting
I believe I’ve seen you before
I swear I have

maybe because
I was born
or abandoned here
and you took me in
turning my skin brown
by working the earth
teaching me how to love

it’s been too long
a lifetime maybe
the most powerful winds
bringing me back home
back into your fold
your aroma & beauty
slowing fading
into sweet november




october two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
23 Nov 2019
6 Comments

waving november goodbye


there it is
southern sun on a cool autumn day
reminding you of birthdays long past
spent in the silence of your own shadow
pretending it would be impossible to be found
if not for your breath escaping into the sky

but escape you do
slipping past the guard and beyond the yard
running and jumping in a dying open field
chasing ghosts of moths and butterflies
sun as bright as the smile on your face
arms waving ecstatically overhead




november two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Oct 2019
6 Comments

not a single one


november beckons differently
than all other lunar cycles
there are no lions or lambs
just sheer madness
whether it be for better or worse
or ‘til death do us part

there may be anniversaries
or birthdays or holidays
they take a back seat
to the reality of november
its unpredictability and certainty
of death and sex and taxes

not a single one is alike
varying by degrees immeasurable
even the moon knows not
what to do come november
either boasting pure beauty
or bashful like a hungry child




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
27 Nov 2016
6 Comments

the rain falls perfectly in late november


the rain falls perfectly in late november
neither hard nor soft
simply there and bringing awareness
to practically everything
many questioning their lives behind
closed doors and shuttered windows
on the laziest of sunday afternoons

the rain falls perfectly in late november
either reminding you of a
specific place in time you
wished remained suspended
or making you forget altogether
recent distractions repeatedly tugging
at the fabric slowly covering your eyes



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
02 Oct 2016
7 Comments

in search of november one


wishing and praying
for some things to change
not intending to look back
too far though
when mistakes happened often

sometimes I ponder the things
she used to tell me
about baseball games and
voodoo dolls
about false gods and how
to stay in the clear on the
cloudiest of october afternoons

thirty days yet to go
down that moonlit alley
where alien notions inside your head
contradict any fears you ever had
about entering the next dimension



october two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
22 Oct 2012
10 Comments

When November Comes


It doesn’t matter what day it is
and no one seems to care
which way the wind blows.
The only thing that seems to matter
is November will arrive without fanfare,
and now everything can get on with dying.

The day might be bright but it will be short;
city parks will be littered with leaves
that never completely dry.
Street walkers and their dogs
will be hard to recognize
once November has taken hold.

Towering trees become dancing skeletons
reaching out for a partner in the sky.
Peering through their branches
at just the right time,
Venus or the Moon or the Sun
can be spotted, pretending
to be ornaments dangling.


When November Comes

october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , ,

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: