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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “pistol”

07 Feb 2015
7 Comments

obscure crimes and self-inflicted wounds


that man you once knew
full of anger and pride and misguided
intentions
he’s gone now

I made sure of it

I got him drunk on his own whiskey
and drove him far out of town
kicked him out with just a knapsack
and a flashlight and a pocketful of change
told him to never dare come back

I was just glad I didn’t have
to threaten him with my pistol
and as soon as I get stitched up
and cleared to go home
I’m going to bury that damn
thing out back
for the very last time


february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
02 Mar 2014
7 Comments

Aim of the Gunfighter


I stand perfectly still
at dawn
my hands by my side
eyes frozen in time
staring fifteen paces ahead
focused on the pistol that once
taught me all I knew

If I should not live past this
moonless night
collect all the weapons
from inside my mind
and bury them deep by my side
as immeasurable treasure
in an unmarked grave



march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , ,
10 May 2013
2 Comments

word quickly spread when the outlaw came to town


born and bred to never
trust a stranger
he rode into town
in the dark of the night
and spent the evening
with spirits of his choosing

his debts forever
remained unpaid
well into the next life
and those who attempted
to collect his bounty
would never ride again

from out of the fire
he brandished pistols
as fluid as quicksilver
anxious at exacting
vengeance upon those
who did him wrong

towards the end
there was no settling in
and the road to redemption
became an allusion
the posse presented
as a possible way out



may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
19 Apr 2012
2 Comments

Mississippi Kid


They kidnapped his woman
from a casino in Biloxi
sent word for a ransom
all the way from Lockhart

Sober and well mended
he packed his horse
for an interstate journey
with his pistols in his pockets

Outside Mobile fresh cornbread
filled the air from a plantation:
a reminder how his woman
used to give him some

Riding through Pensacola
the townsfolk just stared
as he grumbled to himself:
“Nobody dogs me ‘round”

Closing in on the Tri-Cities
he repeated his own motto:
“I was born in Mississippi, baby,
and I don’t take any stuff from you”

With his pistols smoking
and out by his side he sang:
“Down in Alabama you can run
but you sure can’t hide”

april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


Author’s Note:
The Poem “Mississippi Kid”
is an Adaptation of the song,
Mississippi Kid,
lyrics by Ronnie Van Zant
click here for youtube video

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,

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