poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “photography”

as if silence could breathe

in the darkroom
he could see independently
gradually bringing the past into focus

how those snippets near and far
are but a mirror for the soul
artistically developed
rinsed with a touch of reality
and hung under safelights

it was easy letting go
once able to stand on his own
composite prints defining himself
one eye-opening exposure at a time

october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reflections in black and white

there’s much mystery in the theory
and to prove or disprove
has no bearing on outcomes
outrageous or otherwise

what is that you say
oh it is nothing I reply
it’s just a theory I have about
what it takes to make it out alive

as I return to my research
you regress back in time
discovering the inverse square law
examining how past photographs
infiltrate your pluperfect thoughts

april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

postcards to mother

I told my mother I keep all my
photographs in the cloud now

I knew she didn’t quite understand
though I sensed on the other end
she was nodding

what if you want to print them
she asks me
and share them with others

well I can certainly share without
printing them I say

not with me
you certainly may not

august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the blue in her eyes

the little girl sat on a park bench on
a late sunday morning in her
white freshly pressed dress
and white lacy gloves
holding a petite black purse
and wearing black catlike glasses

a slight breeze
brushed back her wavy blond hair

a young man kneeled before her
pointing a camera her way
snapping photograph
after photograph
telling her to look this way and that
using words like angel
and baby
and darling
as if she was a magazine model

now smile he told her
but she would not smile

please smile darling
show me your lovely smile

but she refused to smile
without offering an explanation
clenching the clasp of her petite black purse

becoming frustrated the young man
stood tall and begged her to tell him
why she would not smile

moments of silence ensued
except for the wind traveling between them
brushing forward her hair
and shrouding the blue in her eyes

january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: