jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

dawn’s early light


he was afraid to fall asleep
for fear he’d never wake up
but when morning arrived
and he arose
feeling refreshed
he swore he was in his element

if only he knew what that meant
to be in his element
unable to fully grasp
the importance of those
euphoric moments
should they last a minute or more

and as the day wore on
so the dread of night did creep
a faint reminder of past lives
never truly lived
having transgressed
long before dawn’s early light




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

house sparrow


they come and they go
these brown and grey passerines
small and plump and
multiplying throughout millennia
successfully occupying six continents
including continuously subletting
caramel corn tin house
inconspicuously hanging
outside my window




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

this one’s on me


I’d been meaning to give you a call
meet up for a drink and talk
poetry and race cars

I’d no idea
your love affair with the mississippi
but then again I should have
put two and two together
when I had the chance

today your pastor tells me
you broke some sort of world record
yesterday
and I respond (to myself)
how this doesn’t surprise me

why I never called you is beyond
my understanding
and as the gathering begins singing
‘how great thou art’
I sneak out the back door
determined to find you at your favorite
watering hole




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bucket list


you fill the bucket
then you empty it
time and time again

you walk barefoot through village
basket atop head and well-balanced
curious children scurrying along
multiple guessing what must be inside

you empty the bucket
then you fill it
time and time again

you finally reach home by midday
made of mud and straw and love
all the children stopping their guessing
quietly sitting and awaiting a miracle

you fill the bucket
then you empty it
time and time again




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

October Winds


There’s good reason the wind’s
gone crazy this time of year
a time typically reserved for
pause and serenity and reflection

I’ve known this part of the world
counting days immeasurable
only recently interrupting dreams
once ever so pleasurable

October winds ushering change
welcomed or otherwise
providing comfort to the living
offering light onto the fading




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

story of my life


up and down
and down and up
that’s the story of my life

what’s that noise
just outside the door
a bark
a meow
an unexpected package
a girl scout selling thin mints

doorbell rings
I get up and walk
through the kitchen
and family room
mumbling beneath my breath
this better be good
this better be good

door opens
nobody’s there
I look at my feet
no dog
no cat
no package
no cookie salesgirl

before closing door
I look all ways
up and down
and down and up
from side to side
straight forward and behind
shaking the cobwebs
out of my head
and gradually regressing
to my former state




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

off the charts


it’s not like you haven’t dived deep before
searching for treasure or love or knowledge
your mind unfocused and wandering
occasionally skyrocketing

you’ve scouted for places to rest your head
you’ve loved and lost time and time again
unload any notion of second guessing
brace yourself and securely strap in




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

mirror for the soul


black on grey aviator high in flight
solitary and void of thought
soaring and sharing potentialities
to shadowy souls down below
their earthbound eyes
transfixed at effortless emotions
smiles forming and fingers pointing
curiously considering the possible
inevitability of one day doing the same




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I don’t want to die today


give me the gun
the lady with the english accent says
(demands actually) at the young person
pointing a finger at her

intermittent tears start to escape
from the corners of the young
person’s eyes
slowly creeping past her well-
defined cherry red cheeks
beginning to touch the corners
of her upside-down mouth

I won’t I won’t she responds
nervously but defiantly
you ruined everything
with your so-called utopian teachings

the woman with the english accent
begins to talk in a language
the young person with the gun
can maybe understand
non-threatening and nonsensical
yet sounding awkwardly comfortable

and as the sky begins to cry
ever so softly
the gun is altogether abandoned
and the world
(as fragile as she is)
is momentarily at peace




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

never waste a good crisis


I’m not prepared for anything
be it good news or bad
delivered by barefoot paperboy
or hopeless carrier pigeon

I understand chicken little
runs around with head cut off
half-baked and half-believable

on the highest branches
hawks and doves jockey for position
invisible wires coursing through
their leaf-like veins

eventually everything must break
be it wishbones or promises
whether made in earnest or haste

evening sky blows up peacefully
giving way to distilled silence
lanterns flickering far away
quietly ushering brand new day




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pharmaceutical blues


concocted chemicals wreck havoc
inside transitory brain waves
slowing down destructive forces
or speeding up creative processes
depending upon time of day

though perfectly aware where I’ve been
I certainly don’t know where I’m going
any given day of the week

and the more I read
the more I’m convinced this world
isn’t meant for either you or me

rewinding and replaying scenarios
works just fine in cinematology
but back home far from big screen
there are no body doubles
capable of resurrecting dying roles




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

transposing public transportation


I am reminded of nothing
save shrewd tactics of those I know not
tearing and snarling and shredding
turning fabric into mayhem
like a mongrel in distress

leashless on the streets
roaming like a werewolf in london
big dawg strides unencumbered
attempting new tricks inside
buses and trains and taxicabs




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

mandolin blues


there’s no anticipation of any sort
driving down this rural rollercoaster-like road
emotions tucked inside glove box
top down and speakers outperforming
background warblers racing along
and singing gloriously

I’ve been chasing recurring dreams
for such a long time seems like reality
somehow though it never gets old
eclectic mandolin relaxing my inner ear
keeping my spirits perfectly in tune
with this endless country road




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

like wars fought near and far


I’ve been practicing my lines
sometimes while drinking
other times in my sleep
saying them out loud when
nobody’s around
whispering them under my
breath at check out lines or
while idling at red lights

though the world is dying
the coming winter should
slow the process down
allowing for pause
and consideration
whether well rehearsed lines
(like wars fought near and far)
actually require repeating




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reworking reality virtually at will


there are no masterpieces
on my horizon
no one and dones
or one-hit wonders
only baby steps softly falling
taking me from this place
to the next
wherever that may be

when nobody’s looking
I dive deep into
a nearby galaxy
jotting down virtual notes on
similarities and differences
returning home and
reworking my memory
into everyday realities




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Southern Man


My idol died in a plane crash
(some forty years ago)
yet here I sit reminiscing
imagining how much more
should have been accomplished

Perhaps I’m thinking it all wrong
as I sit here backspacing
collecting dark thoughts
and listening to the blues

I keep telling myself I ain’t
going anywhere anytime soon
but truth be told my idol knows
much better than I ever will

Adjusting to continual change
(as well as latitudes & attitudes)
I stick with kentucky whiskey
reworking decades old lyrics
and booking chartered flights



october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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