jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

station to station


I found myself repeatedly moving the dial
clapping randomly at small somethings
flying in my face
sent in one by one by some
strange god testing my mid-summer mettle
uninterested in my inner well-being
let alone my outwardly comical countenance
instead secretly intercepting frequencies
concocting far worse consequences
involving matters of life and death




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

cemetery trees


candles are made to be lit
just as wishbones
are meant to be broken


I’ve no idea where they come from
but they just keep on giving
like there’s no tomorrow

yesterday’s best ideas are nothing
more than a passing fancy
notwithstanding indecipherable rhymes
capable of sneaking through cracks

around here we talk about what
will be or what may have been
all the while knowing full damn well
we’ve no intention of being caught
dead in our tracks




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

snapshots of rainbows


we used to chase them just like we chased
butterflies and rabbits and tornados and daydreams
pretended to store them in mason jars in the cellar
(or the lower level as we like to say)
sealed tight and placed on web-laced shelves
like ordinary bottles of homemade beer or wine
or better yet experimental body parts
ensconced in formaldehyde
and though we talked at great length of our
supposed prized collection
nobody in their right mind dared go underground
to disprove their existence




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one man band on the run


I had crossed the line
the one that I was warned about
and away I went into the night

search lights were summoned hours later
but by that time
I was into the next county
well heeled and map in hand
determined to cross the river by daybreak

there were plenty of supporters
along the way
all wanting in on the action
a piece of clothing
a selfie at the c-store
fingerprints on an empty water bottle

by the time I reached colorado
the hurried pace had finally slowed down
and I became as high as the mountains
at least for a night
or two or three or four

once I had returned back to earth
I became convinced nobody was on my tail
except for a small clan of brown bears
I must have stirred awake with my
recently acquired kawasaki




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

house across the street


it seems a ghost I know may be dying
once firmly grounded
has suddenly opened second story windows
red curtains flowing outward like fire
white doves waiting in the wings

I was sitting on the front porch
right across the street
rocking on the slider and sipping
arnold palmers and drawing
cigarette smoke to my lungs

at first a single entity easily escaped
but as time quietly passed
locusts hungrily congregated
wailing and screaming and extolling
forming their very own shadow

I watched dumbfoundedly
their storm drifting northwesterly
saying under my breath ‘good riddance’
knowing it was just a matter of time
before new neighbors rolled in




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

quick reality check


welcome to my new reality
facts succumbing to feelings
new leo moon spotlighting
authority figures weighing in

apples hanging lower than low
yet unrealistically out of reach
whether stretching or jumping
or wishing upon my favorite star

I’ve been shot down many times
to my dismay I’m still standing
currently resting inside 10th house
refusing to give up my seat




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

single speed


mind may be racing
but heart is slowing down
counting days until
current surroundings
suddenly take a turn

she says come look
and see for yourself
sphere has but one speed
yet all inside her
tumbles chaotically

I believed her
like I believed in rain
softly falling
keeping me company
breathing on our own




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lifting up the blinds


there is an undefinable sweetness
lingering in my mind
leaving me curious as to whether
I may be dead or alive

I’ve been walking in a fog now
for nearly a fortnight
kicking the dirt beneath my feet
wondering if it’s the very earth
I was miraculously born into

there’s no need to worry
or so say the angels in the field
shadowing flock beneath their wings
guiding them toward shelter

sooner or later morning fog will clear
burned away by memories
past and present and future




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

anomaly


remove yourself and retreat to that special place
where chains no longer bind you
free from fault and pleasantly surprised you’re still alive

worries are but worlds away
that smile inside you a constant reminder
there is work yet to be done

I pause and consider choices
I’ve made or not made in good conscience
and yet I’m still bleeding

I’m never quite sure which gods to believe in
whether they be friend or foe
forever knowing I’m just an anomaly in my own right




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

finding your comfort zone


midnight arrives and a sudden
something wakes me from my slumber
a strike of lightning perhaps
a thunderclap inside my head

I can’t breathe here lying on this bed
lazily and precariously I remove
myself off the comforter
nearly in a trance I pretend I’m
sleepwalking down the steps

I’m far from alone on the main floor
sounds of human breathing
omnipresent and unmistakably eerie
incoherent words babbling barely

I distance myself from dark thoughts
and curl up against sunroom door
cool to the touch my warm body relaxes
moonlight waxing and shimmering
exposing my off-white stripes




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

magnanimous immortality


emotions are in charge of the world
and my own creations are nothing but
manifestations that are either killing me
or my next door neighbor
forces sending us in different directions
either deep inside our own agony
or propelling us outwardly into the
beauty of the next world
whichever seems to be reasonably
relevant at the time




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

portrait of an artist


you’ve a fearless imagination she tells him
as he positions himself at the easel
placing certain charcoals on the tray

you’re beautifully sublime this morning he replies
I love what you’ve done to your eyes
but please stay relaxed and keep talking to me
and hold that cigarette up just a little higher

I’ve been so bored lately she exhales
cloud of smoke drifting toward the back light
her neck craning backwards
her head dropping back on the futon
jet black hair sinking into white pillow

I know dear I know he says
sketching feverishly
stopping ever so briefly for a mouthful
of homemade farm fresh ale

I’ve missed you she says
but you’re always coming and going
you never have time for me anymore

yes yes yes he says
please pull your slip up just a little higher
I need to feel more of your inner mystique




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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