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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

14 Dec 2017
2 Comments

there goes another sad song


I don’t mind the old songs
but I want something fresh
no matter what its age

I’m flipping through forty-fives
searching for diamond or two
cute couple behind me
whispering comments about
mad magazine covers

without question new beautiful
sorrowful songs reside around here
refreshing like sparkling wine
the kind that turns your thoughts
into nothingness by way of
quiet reverberations

fast forward back home
small brown paper bag sits atop
kitchen counter
community cats returning home
chatting amongst themselves
what must be inside





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Dec 2017
2 Comments

someone get me a priest


he promised me I’ll never
die and I believed him

he said the flames of a candle
flickers not from man’s breath
but by the holy spirit itself

it’s like the wind
     it comes and it goes
sometimes unnoticed
one day it’s a breeze
     next a hurricane with a
murderous eye

not even the typhoon
can extinguish the flame
he tried telling those who might listen
those who may believe
angels are at work twenty-four seven
rescuing even the most wretched





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , ,
12 Dec 2017
4 Comments

“and his hair was perfect”


there’s a werewolf
loose again in london
disguised as a dubliner
imbibing ales with
local ne’er-do-wells

strutting down abbey road
alongside chief inspector
chatting about the weather
and that bloody affair
going down last night

in big bold letters daily mail
warns of imposters
dressed quite smartly
wooing unsuspecting partners
who love to do the tango





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
11 Dec 2017
4 Comments

december eleven


bone broth & diced chicken breast
chopped carrots & celery
garlic & black pepper
(not to mention)
a pint of winter ale or two

stovetop gives way to dining room
dark with registers closed
filtered light from streetside windows
accentuating cat’s repeated calls

pots & pans & single soup bowl
washed & stacked in strainer
strings & drums streaming midair
(not to mention)
feline sated temporarily





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
10 Dec 2017
2 Comments

I’ve Never Been to Spain


It was nine o’clock and I was still under wraps
dead certain I was done with society
and everything it has to offer

I turned on my iTouch and some familiar
voice started covering a 3 Dog Night
song about Oklahoma
or Arizona (what does it matter)

Regardless it somehow inspired me
to at least get up
put on some vagabond clothes
and set sail into the unknown

I was down to one tightly rolled dollar bill
heart-broken and convinced
heaven isn’t interested in any old fool
falling in and out of love





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
09 Dec 2017

paper snowballs


I’ve nothing to rip out of the roller
no paper to scrunch into a ball
and toss across the room

it’s snowing outside and paper
angels hang out on treetops
watching boys and girls throwing
snowballs at any moving target

gas fireplace glows unnoticed
its blower distributing warmth
as far as it possibly can
touching blanket
a quiet breath
late evening long exhausted

meanwhile I sit in same place
far away from the light
banging upon keyboard
desperating attempting to transmit
wondrous words into
thunderous snow clouds





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
08 Dec 2017
4 Comments

the tenured psychiatrist


the university paid him dearly to lecture
about his dreams
three days a week to hundreds of undergrads
recounting big winnings in vegas
trafficking drugs and humans in all kinds of worlds
and slaying fire-breathing dragons while
strolling through sherwood forest with
nothing but bow and arrow

like a time machine he dialed up
triangles and chains of events
and conflicts of interest
introducing the likes of mozart
and hitler and michael jackson
cameo appearances by jekyll and hyde
and the great houdini —
    elvis and jesus christ and charles manson
quietly waiting in the wings

he used his hands and eyes
to amplify the effect of his words
which were spoken mostly softly
occasionally loudly
and infrequently quite scarily

many would take notes
others would use smartphones as recorders
but the far majority simply sat back
relaxed and indifferent
going through the motions as if
they were living his dreams themselves





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Dec 2017
2 Comments

church bells will be ringing


there is no turning back
(not now)
after all has been said and done

though regret begets misery
you occasionally look behind you
knowing you can’t take anything back
your precious recollections
much different than other realities

it was a saturday and the church
bells did ring at noon
rain giving way to sunshine
enlivening stations of the cross
etched upon stained glass windows

invisible gates sway wide open
light infiltrating and reflecting
exposing twelve concrete steps
you’ve stumbled down too many times





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged ,
06 Dec 2017

the worst is over (or love me when i’m gone)


abraham chopped wood because he liked
to burn it on cold winter nights
or because god commandeth it so

in the early hours when fire in his eyes
diminished to near nothing
he’d awaken from lack of oxygen
and proceed to jump-start his day

chain of events unfolded inevitably
one altar leading to two or three
challenging false belief that sacrifice
somehow supersedes life itself





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
05 Dec 2017

beyond next prosaic hill


champagne corks will pop like wild
wild west pistols shooting for the moon
like fireworks on the fourth of july
quickly consumed by darker forces

many will die but many will take their place
and they will do it over and over again
time and time again
for the sake of exercise
repeating without comprehending

more champagne follows each advance
short celebrations followed by praise
more ale for brothers and sisters in arms
their invisible halos dying to be seen





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , | Leave a comment
04 Dec 2017

god willing there will be work


she may have been an angel
but often let the weather
affect her daily mood
unpredictably

lightning could easily set her off
or calm her nerves
depending on time of day
and task at hand

the homeless knew her best
had no idea she was not human
but loved her stories
especially how she romanticized
being born under scorpio’s sign

she’d often go missing for days
sometimes weeks
stray cats patrolling at night
commissioned as her private eyes

my work is never done here
she often complained or cajoled
depending upon who would listen





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
02 Dec 2017
5 Comments

rock cornish game hen under glass


at the rehearsal dinner father
decided on cornish game hen and
purple potatoes and string beans

everyone eventually figured out
how to get at the damn thing
either by word-of-mouth or
step-by-step instructions

as the servers cleared the tables
all I could think about was how we
used to smoke hash under glass
right there on his dining room table





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Poetry and tagged ,
01 Dec 2017
4 Comments

meanwhile shadows linger downtown


they put in sidewalks where there used to be grass
on the old side of town thanks to that penny tax
three whole blocks for three whole weeks
disrupting traffic and making everything ugly
heavy machinery and piles of dirt
candy corn pylons and cement trucks
men and women dressed fluorescently
an occasional open hand in my face
or arm motioning me to get on with my life





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Micropoetry, Poetry and tagged ,
30 Nov 2017
7 Comments

rapid eye movement


you just don’t go out and become a cat
you have to wait for it
and wait and wait and wait

sometimes he never comes around
but if you wait long enough chances are
he’ll be knocking on your door
pleading for more treats
begging you to swap lives

other times nothing ever happens
and when you open the door
there is nothing but darkness
and undomesticated screams

eventually all the sounds subside
and you are lost in the zone
pretending to be in a deep sleep
two eyes blinking atop starlit dome
casually seducing your next precious life





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
29 Nov 2017

how I wonder


alien boy sits on curb
waiting for night to fall
desirous of first star to appear
bringing back his smile

fast cars with one headlight
impersonate meteor showers
sweeping up passerbys
unable to pay the freight

it’s a million to one chance
but what else is there to do
besides singing the blues
or counting red cars

tomorrow’s hitchhiker
catapults away from superhighway
discovering alternatives to
hunger and desire and fear

there he learns falling out of grace
is not an option
nor dashing through the night sky
perhaps unseen



november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, In the City, Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
28 Nov 2017
4 Comments

left behind in rearview mirror


shortness of breath
I decide to hold it
pretending to be a child
cheeks expanding and reddening
eyes bulging like goldfish
it’s all you can do not to laugh

nonetheless there is much laughter
crescendoing and sad
easier than simply crying
surrendering to the crash
like a desperate goldfish
dying to breathe



november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Micropoetry, Poetry and tagged , , ,

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