jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

not as long as you allow it so


no one can help you
is what she was trying to tell me
in a language not my first
and though I may have comprehended
I pretended not to understand

we went about our merry ways
and days went by
until out of the blue she sent
me a text in my own language
saying no one can help you

for some reason I reacted reflexively
swiftly swiping it away
and thinking to myself
when in the world was the last time
I ever asked for help

weeks and months ensued
and I went about my days per usual
all the while thinking to myself
how right she was when saying
one one can help you
not as long as you allow it so




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the wounded marionette


it was hard to see the strings
stuffed inside his rucksack
as he rode the train from one town
to the next
all slumped over and needing
a miracle or two
to bring him back to his former self

they stopped the bleeding
back on the battlefield
stitched him up as best they could
sending him on his merry way
cross bar and all

staring out at the countryside
he went in and
out of consciousness
the landscape as desolate as his thoughts
leading him to wonder if the good doctor
would be able to save
his most precious possessions




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

chasing idealism with or without wings


out of thin air resides reality
like a butterfly suddenly taking flight
reminding you of days gone by
when every moment mattered

you take a stab at it
that imperceptible tipping point
hoping to reel it in and relive
a particular space in time

your subconscious orbit
always seems to get you there
but every time you awaken
the outcome never changes
and the butterfly lives on




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

early evening reading


it’s early she said
there’s plenty of time to recreate
the world as you know it
won’t you take a long break
and come play with me

from what I could gather
she’s the one wanting to recreate
that which she’s been reading
nearly naked on the bed for an hour now
her freshly shaven legs
like parallel images of crescent moons




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wildflowers in the wind


I wish to be intimate with ideas
that have yet to materialize
brought on by a slight breeze
brushing against my cheek
and slightly opening my eyes

out of thin air they arrive
and mysteriously disappear
incomplete thoughts needing
nurturing and time to mature
like sporadic seeds in the air

I wonder how they’ll affect me
these intimately idyllic ideas
existing in the peripheral
occasionally testing my mettle
as if they know me better than me




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

white flag


she’s in my head now
[how can she not be]
having gone off to war
without saying goodbye

she’s off to change the world
oh how I want to tell her
[but never will I speak]
how there’s nothing
left to change
only pieces to be moved

lately I’ve been dreaming
of tanks and bombs and drones
awakening my bones like clockwork
[in the year nineteen ninety-one]
waving a white flag
and bringing her back home




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

forgotten isle


I did not mean to forget
but the years have a way
of hiding that which should be visible
like storms concealing waves
so very close to shore

will you ever forgive me
after forgetting to keep you in mind
having skipped away
from one stone to the next
testing the limits of time

it’s not that I’ve been lost before
but this time must be real
as if exiled on a forgotten island
where neither moon nor sun
shall no longer call me friend




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

last supper


what will it be today
she asked
a line well-rehearsed

he said he wasn’t ready
and she walked away

it was freaky windy outside
and even though
no windows could be opened
the blue curtains did blow

he knew the menu
by heart
but he read it over and over again
as if for the last time




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reworking dark love songs


I’ve been testing the limits of creation
laying down disco tracks and
introducing new lyrics certain
to get you up and dancing

I’ve been listening to ‘one of
these nights’ and practicing
the high harmony parts as if
I was a prepubescent teenager

I’ve been waiting by the telephone
line and thinking about your eyes
writing down every single line
entering my unmethodical mind




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

working on a masterpiece


it wasn’t long ago I was certain
I wasn’t long for this world
and I remember asking myself
is this all there is to life
a series of interconnected dots
sometimes beautifully displayed
other times awfully disjointed
in the end leaving you dumbfounded
exactly how it was you managed
to get from point A to point B

how many times have I told myself
I’m not the same person I was
ten years ago
and today I ask the very same question
knowing full well the future
is simply an elaborate idea
and the past is nothing but
an unfinished painting
that consistently needs retouching




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fruit of the vine


your imagination started
long before creation
inspired by compositions
streaming through space

emerging from the dark
you selectively choose
what comes naturally
like the ripest apples
hanging on the vine





june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking away


I try not to overthink it
this place where I’ll be born
whether made simply
or woven intricately
it matters not to the world

from what I understand
others are born in knot holes
or shallow depressions in the sand
kept warm by nature
and a mother’s instincts

I doubt I shall ever remember
that from which I came
crowded and loud and loitering
most of us focused on vying
to be first to break free





june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: