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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

16 Jan 2019
8 Comments

pagination


I keep bookmarking these pages
thinking of you
saying to myself how you’d
love this or adore that

virtual pages made of words
or pictures or both
moments in time captured
perfectly
reminding me of you

as I scroll slowly
through countless bookmarks
I feel a slight presence behind me
as if your breath is in the air
leaving me imagining
how your storied adventure
could ever possibly end




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
15 Jan 2019

the unanointed one


the people sentenced him to death
and the supreme judge
possessing the power bestowed upon him
allowed it to be so

how cowardly can one ordinary man be
washing his hands without
looking in the mirror
swayed by the maddening swirling of the mob

truth does not prevail in his proclamations
delivered from on high
promising blind injustice to the many
and deliverance to the few




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
14 Jan 2019
4 Comments

asylum seeker


I was listening to rock and roll
like I tend to do after midnight
eyes closed and breathing deeply
allowing every chord and note and lyric
to possess my otherwise vacant space

I find myself climbing stone walls
wondering if paradise resides
somewhere on the other side
and for some reason I am smiling
as I methodically scale the barrier

comfortably seated on the top ledge
one song ends and another begins
observing without judgment either side
one in which I’ll always know by heart
the other my soul destined to love




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Jan 2019
6 Comments

counting sheep on a sunday night


it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
my favorite moon having left me for another

lying down I give in to silence
barely breathing in the dead of night
counting blessings and honestly questioning
whether or not I can feel my age-old bones

two scores ago I’d be falling fast asleep
transistor radio my only companion
rhythmically influencing my dreams
mysteriously quiet come mid-morning

if I could escape I certainly would
exploring the night like an owl or dormouse
flying high above or crawling on all fours
secretly returning home in the nick of time

it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
the midnight hour peacefully drawing near



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged ,
12 Jan 2019
8 Comments

a day on fictitious lake


she’s pleaded to tag along
and the boys reluctantly agreed
the five of us stuffed inside
my lime green hatchback

fictitious lake was frozen solid
a good eight plus inches thick
perfectly capable of supporting
whatever weight we might carry

checklist included four-man tent
rods and reels and ice auger
life vests and assortment of jigs
5-gallon bucket and case of beer

there must be a rainbow somewhere
she said as the boys drilled into the ice
multi-color parasol above her head
designer aviators shielding her eyes




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Fishing, Poetry and tagged , ,
11 Jan 2019

sitting down and taking notes on skull hill


I’m not about to stop whatever it is I’ve been doing
skating or stumbling or sleepwalking through
the course of ordinary events

history books never did get it quite right
whether written on walls
or stone slabs or paper or clouds

the best stories are told by the campfire
be they fact or fiction
held to the strictest of standards
handed down from one generation to the next

here I sit alone atop my very own calvary
looking down and shaking
loose the cobwebs
wondering how many more men must die
for the sake of a single solitary hill




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
10 Jan 2019
4 Comments

my story retold in the third person


these flashbacks
occurring with greater frequency
how young will I be
three or four hours from now
once giving in to the idea
the night is endless

I’ve come to accept
they’re no longer merely dreams
rather ageless recordings
reshuffled and replaying
a not too distant past
from a totally different perspective

at three-thirty in the morning
I’m wide awake
and quite positive
I’ve always been fast asleep



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
09 Jan 2019
4 Comments

so far away from the sea


zero to twenty
seemingly a lifetime
long ago microfilmed
now locked away
in a seashell vault

footprints on reflective beach
washed away ages ago
moon phase
after moon phase
erasing whatever proof
there may have been

out in the deep blue sea
young sailors
become old men in a single season
long off course
and desperately sober
stuffing farewell messages
inside empty beer bottles




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
07 Jan 2019
15 Comments

one fresh lemon and frozen peas


carrots & celery & radishes
those are the easy ones to remember

instead of making a list
I try to recall what’s in the fruit basket
lazy susan and freezer

if only I didn’t have to stop at the pharmacy
everyone hates me there
plus they have my number and long memories

I rarely go down the middle aisles
afraid I may never come out
instead stick to the edges
where I can see real people
peddling real ideas

I tell my text-by-psychiatrist
that I’m not a druggie and never was
but I do like to get high
in the strangest possible ways
and most conspicuous places

she tells me to go on but I don’t
believing she’s really not a she
but rather an under-age sex-bot created
by four freshmen software engineers
at iowa state university

I sort of come back down to earth
when the bell rings and they ask me
if I found everything all right
leaving me scratching my head
and fumbling for my car keys




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
06 Jan 2019
5 Comments

a song for the dead


I keep telling myself I’m not afraid
repeating the phrase as if it’s my mantra
each letter embossed on my skin
images of hearts etched in my mind

I tell myself I’m no longer afraid
to fall asleep in the dead of night
grateful to have found my voice
relieved knowing I finally have a song




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Micropoetry, Poetry and tagged , ,
05 Jan 2019
5 Comments

simply by closing your eyes


listen and the words will follow
though they may not be the ones
you want to hear

if you practice patience you will
learn to rearrange them
turning lies into truths
and hatred into understanding

on the banks of fortuity
you may be able to slow things down
simply by closing your eyes
and making good use of your breath

and if you’re willing to travel
further on down the stream
letting yourself go
allowing otherworldy sounds
to become your rhythm
the gods that be may take notice
making an exception to the rule
by granting you a bird’s eye view




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Poetry and tagged ,
04 Jan 2019
6 Comments

the inevitable flow of life


they enter this world as children
of the same spirit
learning the laws of the land
and the laws of nature
exploring causality and karma
testing the limits of physicality
touching that which cannot be felt

they’ve been known to walk on water
and fly like the birds of the sky
but in reality they are simply children
born of the same spirit
free to define themselves here on earth
living to learn and learning to die
just like you and me




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
03 Jan 2019
2 Comments

january thaw


winter winds unusually warm
bringing back birds I’ve not seen
in what seems like ages
suddenly returning in waves

I’ve been flying and foraging
for nearly a fortnight now
blending in with a family of
black-capped chickadees

I almost forgot what is was like
to be amongst a family
of five or fifty or five hundred
coexisting effortlessly




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Poetry and tagged , ,
02 Jan 2019

the law of wavelength


listen to the vibrations within
a part of your living self
faintly beating since conception
growing stronger incrementally
from fetus to eventual live birth

they’ve always been there
[these beautiful vibrations]
a window to the non-physical world
constantly tapping your shoulder
revealing mysteries while you sleep

though you may suppress them
through disregard and self-destruction
they can never be destroyed
always remaining in waiting
like a dispirited guardian angel




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
01 Jan 2019
7 Comments

Catharsis


Or so I’ve been told there is drama
in the afterlife
but I am quick in begging to differ
having already experienced
a time or two the act of purgation

You see I’ve long since cried
my last tear
long before my last breath
experiencing or better yet
coming to terms with stepping
through to the other side

I am like a leaf discovered
by a child after a long long winter
pressed and preserved
in psalm one seventeen
soon thereafter stitched together
and placed back on the vine

I’ve missed you more
than you will ever know
but I will always remind you
[in my own little way]
that I never really did leave
I simply ridded myself of everything
that never truly belonged to me



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Dec 2018
2 Comments

creation in waiting


bored by an ancient past
afraid of what lies ahead
I sit in front of metal easel
white canvas but a mirror
sable paint brush in hand

painting myself in and out
of an imperfect circle
how many times must I try
turning apple into orange
or barren earth into sky

I keep telling myself
a masterpiece is awaiting
one without a beginning or end
brimming with suspension
like a virtuoso escape artist




december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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