off to half a world away
a place never set foot upon
I pray she will accept me
I keep checking my pockets
for identification
but they’re empty now
forever surrendered to the state
I was one of the first
to sign up for mission to mars
my resume somehow
lost in the shuffle
leaving me rethinking
what little options remain
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on good friday parish banks locked
their doors at noon
those inside looking out
waves of worshippers walking by
everyone of them jesus
on his way to calvary
there are no motor cars motoring
no laughter or alcohol
permitted on the streets
groups of pilgrims advancing
visiting nine churches from
cock’s crow ‘til sundown
thunder precedes rain
pelting down like hammer on nail
thinly layered crowds
dispersed by lightning strikes
only the most devout
atop the hill and wailing
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s a perfect fit
basking in the moment
but it was short-lived
like a lost talisman
like a grand slam
or coup d’état
there is piano
and saxophone at play
filling the air
and dissipating
bandaging all cares
only to unmask
you pick something
out of thin air
be it rose petal or
raindrop or damselfly
further defining
recollections scattering
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you’ve seen these people
talking with their hands
I want to know what they know
somehow tap into their insights
they are not like those politicians
or preachers or snake oil solicitors
using sleight of hand maneuvers
like a charlatan or imposter or pretender
like an everyday carnival barker
like a false prophet delivery incoherent babble
promising some sort of tipping point
ever since yesterday’s crash
time has blossomed
supposedly ushering worldwide prosperity
the disadvantaged growing in numbers
thriving in ways inexplicable
like a resurrected angel
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she said we were friends
but I never believed her for fear
it was only a dream
I never knew who to believe
ever since I was five years old
when neighborhood boys
kicked the crap out of me for
reasons never known
on christmas eve restless eyes
survey the skies from darkened
room with oval window
bringing in the faintest lights from
places secretly existing
I spot a particular star dying to be seen
a little gem with a wry smile
promising myself I’ll revisit her
as often as possible
as long as she would have me
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
winter stars have long moved on
replaced by tin soldiers
recaptured and rehabilitated
forced to wear bold
and vibrant colors
and pledge allegiance to the queen
eastern front is nowhere to be found
come february
not without a rifle and bayonet
nor any working instrument
allowing you to chart
new stars unveiling new gateways
boundary waters gradually thaw
making moon appear
much more liquid and palatable
racing across land by day
seven seas by night
everchanging like an adversary
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sitting in the dark
watching cars pass by
snow quietly falling
not a star in sight
everything’s unplugged
sound of winter settles in
pulsating candlelight
casting shadows on walls
touching rags and bones
other world sleeps upstairs
while down below you
redraw black & white dreams
subtracting out the bad
adding new color
until every ornament
collected throughout the years
is perfectly placed
on your imaginary tree
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
all the universe is about to change
turning nothing into something
you’ve never seen before
make a wish upon a star
this one and the next
rising over your shoulder
giving you a kiss
it’s like a candle
dancing in the wind
flickering high and
simmering low
bending below the horizon
only to reverse direction
soaring timelessly
beyond its own apex
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s getting late she says
and I agree silently
lights turn on and off
flickering like christmas tree
inside new year’s eve
did you put that bird back
in the pear tree
she asks nonchalantly
I did indeed I reply
and fed them both
six ounces each of your favorite
chocolate porter
outside felines are screaming
after having witnessed
albino barn owl eyes
both of us smiling slightly
neither of us moving an inch
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
quintillion of stars shine
down upon all corners of planet earth
perhaps an inspiration to us all
but alas we are far away from reversing
billions upons trillions of dollars spent
equipping programmatic minds
beautiful machinery capable of killing
singularly or massively like clockwork
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is strength in numbers
whether advancing or
retreating in dead of night
something rushed through last night
like a freight train unannounced
leaving in its wake
an odd curiosity
to go onto the next metropolis
that is the trick
sometimes easier said than done
depending upon weather conditions
and level of determination
somehow you find yourself
smack dab in middle of caravan
cruising down interstate thirty-five
final destination to be continued
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they went honey hunting they did
christopher robin and pooh and piglet
and of course tigger too
they flew to the moon and back
their spacecraft refueling on the far side
rocking them back and forth in time
hurtling them toward the old blue jewel
more specifically the hundred acre wood
looking down from the heavens
you can see where they landed
a burst of light microwaving
and expanding through the trees
awakening all creatures
big and small and minuscule
awaiting for what must happen next
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is intimacy in the air
you can feel it like an imminent
thunderstorm on a midsummer afternoon
instruments shake and shout
going off the charts (as they say)
little ones hunkered further down
seated in circle of arms interlocked
chanting brand new psalms
preparations embrace for the inevitable
battening down hatches
buttoning down last minute details
counting down time
like some spaceship launch
there is intimacy in the air
you breathe it in deeply (embracing it)
knowing full well
you may never feel again
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the change in wind’s direction
clocks wound back or forth sixty minutes
exiting happy hour without a plan
the gradual tilt of the earth
there’s 85% cocoa in the fridge
beer & root beer & jerky
16 oz. plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper
help yourself ~ mi casa es su casa
two weeks ago & four blocks away
sinkhole kidnaps a family of four
never does ask for ransom
word on the street saying its
bound to happen time and again
polltakers go house to house
writing down dishonest answers
to the most innocuous questions
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
men at work with picks & shovels
unseen in the cemetery
some working ditches
others tape-measuring rectangular
holes in the ground
the youngest and strongest
roll boulders from river’s bank
straight up to monks and artisans
stationed atop copperhill
chisels and files and sandpaper
further refine godly physiques
resurrecting new life from the fire
that never stops burning
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it may be the same song but
absolutely not the same dance
I’m not looking to tell a story
beneath downtown streetlamp
shining brightly on a particular corner
young hopeless couple
dancing to piped-in music and
big fat snowflakes
falling down at midnight
in mid december crows
grow in numbers along the river
where homeless often roam along
natural and artificial lights
sirens often interrupt airwaves
screaming across bridges
troopers and fire trucks and ambulances
chasing down their own stories
there is a small fire down below
keeping warm the cold
occasional small talk sometimes
turning angry
questioning the powers that be
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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