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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

07 Feb 2018
2 Comments

passing through yet again


I sat on inner city park bench
and wondered what had
become of poetry

it was sunday
and god knows where the
transients had gone
especially on such a warm
and peaceful winter day

I like to hear church bells
ringing from blocks away
imagining all the men in
black overcoats and top hats
children holding hands with
women in white gloves

it was an overcast day
and I felt the urge to embark
if not sometime soon
definitely by sundown
destination yet to be seen

sitting inside idling aircraft
I try to imagine what will
become of tomorrow





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged ,
06 Feb 2018
4 Comments

waiting for you there


you dig stones out of the earth
as if they are potatoes
stuffing them into a sack

once filled you sling them
over your shoulder
make the short trek
down to nearby stream

children of all ages follow you
along the way
one by one
and two by two they get in line
some holding hands
some chatting and some not
all fully aware what’s
inside the burlap

once at the water’s edge
all becomes quiet except
for the stream itself
speaking a language you
have learned to accept over time

the children watch in silence
as you fall to your knees
dipping and cleaning
and handing out
one stone after another





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
05 Feb 2018
2 Comments

interpretive footpath


bluegrass nature trail
brings back ancient memories
sometimes green and
sometimes slightly snow-covered
always surrounded by
black-capped chickadees
zip-lining happily between oak trees
chatting noisily and
encouraging all to follow
skyscraper shadows
stretching all the way back
to prehistoric wetlands





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
04 Feb 2018
6 Comments

seven come eleven


travelers and visitors
and even some locals
could never resolve
north from south
in this dirty rivertown
mainly due to mississippi
snaking through from
east to west

when floating casinos
arrived at the docks
it made the rich
even richer
leaving the poor
picking up the scraps
and scratching
state-issued lottery tickets

downtown bus station
sees greyhounds
coming and going
on the hour every hour
from 6 am until midnight
taking out the weary
and welcoming in the
delusional and the hopeful





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged ,
02 Feb 2018
6 Comments

I’ve never been to Pennsylvania


Groundhog lives in public library
or so I’ve been told from some
somewhat reliable source

He’s got a girlfriend or wife or whatever
a furry green-eyed special kind of lady
who loves to keep him company

It’s a most transparent kind of life
but at least it’s quiet in the library
and I suppose there is much snoozing

How he lives a fairy tale kind of life
one where townsfolk and wayward travelers
pay heed to his annual prognostications

And everyone knows his name
so there’s no point in repeating it now
this sunny second day of February





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
01 Feb 2018
11 Comments

chasing down color pink


sky is pink
it’s absolutely beautiful
to think it won’t always be

some days I fail to see sun shining
leaving me to wonder when
pink will fill sky once more

to think it’s nearly twenty twenty
my eyesight far from failing
undoubtedly evolving
picking out shades of grey
amongst camouflaged clouds

obscure hues and obvious
tints infiltrate my dreams
dashing in and out
like a mad prankster
expecting me to give chase





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Jan 2018
18 Comments

a winter that wasn’t


there is a package on the doorstep
but nobody is home to accept it

another package is added to the first
and then another and yet another

letterbox has slowly been filling
and gradually overflows

passersby notice the accumulation
their curiosity growing
some thinking they can hear telephone
ringing and ringing and ringing

a grey tiger gazes out picture window
but nobody seems to notice how
desperate she may be

eventually thieves pick up the packages
and empty the letterbox
eventually cat abandons window sill

weeks go by
followed by people coming and going

gradually things seem to change for the better
the color of the siding
the style of the windows
the vehicles parked in the carport

come springtime there are children
playing in the backyard
and the people strolling by
are once again smiling





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged ,
30 Jan 2018

two parlors


practicing piano in silence
exercising like stranger in the night
bouncing high tides off lows
mixing black keys with white
breaking barriers near or far
like rising moon trying to hide

next room artist paints on canvas
debutante draped in sprawling blue gown
practicing scales and
segueing into newfound adventures
like solitary mariner chasing down
old stars from dusk until dawn





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
29 Jan 2018
4 Comments

I smile when I’m nervous and sometimes I laugh


there are marks on my skin
some naturally placed
others self-inflicted

I told you I’m afraid of needles
but that doesn’t seem
to matter much anymore

what used to be painful
has transitioned into
this numbing of thought

believe me when I tell you
everything will be fine
once morning comes ‘round

you gaze out picture window
arms behind your back
anticipating moon’s rising

I refrain from breaking the silence
dead certain I only ask
rhetorical questions





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
27 Jan 2018
2 Comments

call me crazy or call me dead


it’s never too late for poetry so queen
says to her tea party

it’s past midnight but fire is alive like
bulging moon high above

sometimes long lost friend surprises you
coming back from shallow grave

brand new vinyls replace old school ones
rising up from hellbent ashes

I’ve never been to heaven but I’ve been
to southern california

newly arrived house sparrows build nests
using hammer and nail and trust

in central park all is calm and quite cool
long before all hallow’s eve





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
26 Jan 2018
5 Comments

count your blessings


eggs in a carton sitting
next to basket on counter

what could it possibly mean
and which came first
the basket or the eggs

in the fridge there is guiness
and I pull one out
meticulously pour its contents into
slightly larger than pint glass

I’m home alone
except for this here stout
and one dozen farm fresh eggs
latter of which has no idea
if they’re coming or going





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
25 Jan 2018
4 Comments

healing power of venom


she called me baby
like spider said to butterfly
giving pause for thought
and endless possibilities

youthful wings grow tired
folding in and suspended
giving into paralyzing sting
and singing in my sleep





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
24 Jan 2018
8 Comments

there are few places to hide yet so many to be found


she has slumbered into
some unrecognizable state
her smile not quite sincere
perhaps bordering on sinister
her dreams once beautifully relevant
now unabashedly contradictory
especially to the majority who know a
thing or two about wings and prayers

petty characters in fairy tales
continue to play their part in grander things
participating in tea parties and
feeling free to criticize alices and mad hatters
all the while ignorant and/or unconcerned
how their imaginary enemies may be
digging tunnels or scaling walls





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
23 Jan 2018
6 Comments

see how they run


I imagine you’re sleepwalking
while I’m intermittently dreaming
your whitish curly haired lap dog
dressed in holiday sweater
leashed and pleading to go outside
to greet rising curved moon

it’s another mid-winter night
and I roam from room to room
trying to track you down
but as usual you’re one step ahead
sometimes disguised
as three blind mice
other times the carving knife





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
22 Jan 2018
2 Comments

waking up entire neighborhood


pretending new moon
shines upon streets of singapore
I am reminded
of candles in window

flashing lights scream across
inner city streets
red and blue and white hot
giving chase inside
some long forgotten dream

bursting open barriers
words make inner sounds
slowly raising my consciousness
at two twenty-two in the morning

unopposed to where I landed
I play out my part in the dark
arms raised
and mouth wide open
cornered in some well-lit alley





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
21 Jan 2018
6 Comments

ticket to ride


it’s way past tea time
just like it was on the night
they called you away

you had no place to go
so you were told
and they strapped you in
one-way ticket in hand

everyone seemed indifferent
about seeing you go
but I was not convinced
pleaded with anyone who would listen
to please reel me back in
and explain one more time
why moon keeps changing her shape

nobody really knows
but there are better ways
to decipher between good or bad
reality versus fantasy
or better yet why this world
keeps spinning without you

it’s best to keep
bullets by your bedside
just in case night watchman
decides it’s your turn to take a ride





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,

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