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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

08 Nov 2017
5 Comments

when all we have is candlelight


these usual twists and turns
are nothing but sunshine
coming and going as she pleases
celebrating your finest achievements
exposing your greatest fears

exactly how she arrived here
is nobody’s business
but she’s not about to go anywhere
which is more than most of us can say
on any sunny morning

it’s hard to tell what time it is
on a cloudy afternoon
sunshine merely a recent memory
dancing inside elusive daydreams
luring you way past midnight





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Nov 2017

where it all went wrong


there comes a time when one must fess up
to what they have become
and decide for themselves if there was a
point in time things started to unravel

I once stopped a rolling stone dead in its tracks
inspired by an organist who pounded out
‘house of the rising sun’

it could have easily flattened me
but I was still on the rise
feeling stronger than any life-giving force
either here or abroad

how fleeting and how shameful in retrospect
knowing so many have no intention of
allowing anyone to continuously rise





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
06 Nov 2017
12 Comments

b-sides at play on vinyl and airwaves


how easily I fall in love with sad songs
memorizing them with little effort
replaying on the phonograph
until the grooves finally wear away

I would twist the lyrics around in my dreams
until they fit perfectly into a world
that could never be mine
the kind that circles an unforgiving sun
forcing me to awaken
each morning with tears in my eyes
and longing in my heart

how easily I fall in love with sad songs
especially the ones you sing to me
as I toss and turn trying to fall asleep
when there is nobody around

I used to think they belonged only to me
but as time wore on I realized
I was never the common denominator
but merely a vehicle to accept
the heartaches of those before me
and all those bound to follow
searching for quiet acceptance

how easily I fall in love with sad songs
playing on old-fashioned airwaves
interloping into unknown territory
aiming to catch a glimmer of hope





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
05 Nov 2017
2 Comments

same old spade


nobody sees you and if they say
that they do
they are wrong
and you are left scratching
the surface all over again

we know there is no going back
that it’s all about today
and yesterday is simply
a thin slice of overactive imaginations

it is spring already
and you find yourself in the garden
turning the clay with quiet determination

in the back of your mind
I encourage you to go on
and you step on the spade
leaving it stuck in the ground
walking away with pail in hand
meandering toward the rain barrel





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
03 Nov 2017
2 Comments

ivory box full of dreams


sun surely needs you
pale in cheek you seem to be
lose the umbrella

dream versus fake world
tap tap tap on your shoulder
wake up morpheus

quiver of arrows
sneaking around a rainbow
aiming for the moon

opiates prescribed
addiction is sure to come
endless nights awake





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
02 Nov 2017
9 Comments

up close


what happens to common heroes
after their heroic feats
do they go back to their ordinary
everyday lives
and pretend nothing ever happened
or are they forever ruined
walking the streets at night
glued to the couch by day
answering all kinds of questions
regarding publicity and adversity
and public expectations

I suppose their dreams are forever
changed and some days
they wake up unsure of their location
recalculating events
recalibrating and recalculating
ratcheting back to a place in time
where all they saw
were the whites of their eyes





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
01 Nov 2017
2 Comments

the power of repetition


I practiced day and night
but never could quite get it right

I recited words and knew them by heart
but by the time it was my turn
they escaped me and I had to walk away

silenced by critics
I had no idea even existed
they cast me back into my own little world
this joyful place
this safe place where I could simply practice

the guitar
the piano
the flute and the fife and my voice
using my fingers
and my breath with uncontrolled precision

I learned various versions of the
star spangled banner
and all along the watchtower
over time creating polished renditions
that I could selfishly call my own

I sang in the shower
and recited poetry walking wooded
trails on the outskirts of town
practicing for the sake of practicing
and for no other reason

and it was times like these I was
at my happiest





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Oct 2017
6 Comments

making a pilgrimage (for candy)


panhandlers converge downtown to pass
out sugar to unsuspecting pedestrians
some proclaiming to have arrived from as
far away as the moon

word has it they had rolled out of the desert
at three in the morning
having arrived a fortnight later
to what is often referred to
as the end of the earth

they carried with them canteens
and canned tuna and eggshell colored flags
bugles and banjos and tambourines
and every sort of confection imaginable





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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

five oaks at the top of the hill


and so the rest of story can be told
now that the sheriff and his deputies
have been stripped of power
marched to the top of the hill
tried with haste and quickly
hung from the row of mighty oaks

it was a reddish pinkish dawn
and the dead men looked surreal
hanging there amongst tears and disbelief
amongst joyous cheers
and raucous jeers

historians and poets and other writers
as well as various artists
work feverishly before their inspiration
is lowered to the ground and taken
away by various men without faces

why women marched their children
up the hill
was a matter of personal perspective
and if you asked any one of them
chances are they would not tell you the truth

long after the hanging this town will continue
to be under attack from inside
as well as out

and all those who participated at the top off the hill
whether actively or passively
will sooner or later come to understand
how one must die for the sins of many





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, Poetry and tagged ,
29 Oct 2017
2 Comments

jailbreak


covertly they were collecting doves
over a thirty day period
rounding them up like common criminals
caged in underground cells

there were marches in streets
and scuffles in alleyways
pigeons and geese and sparrows
fleeing the city
lest they too be taken into custody

on the outskirts of town
swallow-tailed kites and red-shouldered
hawks circle high overhead
co-conspiring to take out the sheriff
now that all hell has broken loose





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, In the City, Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
28 Oct 2017
4 Comments

night before the days to come


sunrise pushes back with each passing morning
telegraphing how the inevitable comes upon us

red plastic hummingbird feeder sways outside
stained glass window on late october early evening

all hallows’ eve opens door to saints and souls
seeking asylum in my walls or another dimension

I’ve plenty of mothballed costumes up in the attic
though oftentimes wonder who is wearing them





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , ,
27 Oct 2017
4 Comments

chocolate chip porter


I don’t have an agenda
and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna
make one up now

in the kitchen a five gallon
pot is rapidly boiling wort down
to a targeted original gravity

the house is empty
not counting myself and
year-old kitten named napoleon
who understands beer making
is all about unruly patience

just before sparging I pretend
I’m tugging on a cigarette
blowing imaginary smoke rings
jamming to new rock blaring from
vintage panasonic radio

temperature and timing are
critical to the process
but like previously mentioned
there is no agenda
(hidden or otherwise)
only an overt desire to create
reinventing age-old recipes





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
25 Oct 2017
10 Comments

breaking new ground


three in the morning wakes
me like clockwork
as if the cock is crowing at
stars falling from the sky

was it fever or dream
that shook me wide awake
both former and latter
leaving me in a cold cold sweat

I sit up & shift to the edge of the bed
my feet unable to reach anything
             this room is not mine
and where the door resides
I can’t begin to surmise

how do you escape from a place
that has no address
and how will I ever find the sun
if there are no windows to open
or cracks in the walls to scratch





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
24 Oct 2017
2 Comments

snowbirds


things keep changing up
mainly due to nature of the beast
moving in and out of the neighborhood
with predictable regularity

monarchs migrate southward
replaced by dark-eyed juncos
looking to keep cool all winter long

there are no children here
not since uncovering all the
truths and falsehoods
that used to line these streets

half the houses breathe faintly now
at least until the vernal equinox
phantoms inside flashing lights





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
23 Oct 2017
5 Comments

looking in through revolving door


back of my hands are cold
I shiver at the thought of death
creeping on me invisibly
he dares not show his face
knowing I won’t go easily

temptation placed on hold
insulated from princely wrath
replaced by deceit and trickery
dancing in sweet embrace
revolving throughout eternity



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
22 Oct 2017
4 Comments

Bed & Breakfast Open for Business


Getaway from the city
or whatever workaday world
surrounds you

Slow things down
by way of
Italian vegetable soup
and tapioca pudding

There are trails out back
reminding you
of wars long fought
and strategies undeployed
certain memories retained
others lost in recesses
of prior lives

What have you to
go back to
now that you’ve found
this place
where cold showers
and
made-to-order breakfasts
jumpstart your day

This business of
nothing but business
can only get you so far
    or so you
interestingly
          begin to tell yourself



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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