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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

06 Oct 2017
4 Comments

as heavy as the sun


a weight immeasurable
sits atop garden pedestal
lone object like a miniature
crystal ball containing
oh so many worlds

a paperweight perhaps
or better yet a snow globe
but alas nothing like that
due to aforementioned
immeasurable weight

you try to pick it up
but it no longer exists
and you are left to your mumblings
but in the morning
there it is again
this weight immeasurable
(as heavy as the sun)
sitting atop garden pedestal



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
05 Oct 2017
3 Comments

tapping my foot to the beat of the drum


I liked how the crow’s nest was within
walking distance from my place
its pink rooftop like a beacon
calling out my otherworldliness

Intellectuals and up-and-comers and
has-beens frequent the place
sprouting post-modern hallucinations
by way of fermented imaginations

Of course I am an outsider with a
photographic mind and a microphone
picking up prose and poetry
that seems to reside on the airwaves

Sitting unnoticed at the dark end of the bar
I systematically imbibe local ale
memorizing their stoic faces
second-guessing my unfounded fears



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
04 Oct 2017
2 Comments

crickets singing in the basement


playoff game streaming inside
television set connected to the internet
sound muted in favor of tom petty’s
sirius xm radio channel 31

crickets in the basement seem to be
keeping time with each selection
undoubtedly unaware of the
natural order of things

how they made their way into the house
I have a pretty good idea
and as the game moves into later innings
I begin to wonder how they’ll
ever find their way back home



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Baseball, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
03 Oct 2017
6 Comments

winter without black crows


how I really feel I cannot ascertain
there are too many rats chasing facts
and not enough truths in the supply chain

and so I retreat into the comfort
that is black and white and oh so very cold

lone blue jay and two magpies
occupy much of my time
now that winter has nearly settled in

outside there are fallen trees to feed the fire
but I venture out only if I must

my deepest sleep often find bluejay
and two magpies flying from treetop to treetop

and as dawn appears they fall back to earth
sleepwalking on nearby trails

come midmorning they find themselves
back in my own backyard
eager to chatter about their escapades
and how next time I should join them



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Poetry and tagged , , ,
02 Oct 2017
14 Comments

never letting go


I was caught crying again
perfectly sober and stunned
perhaps wounded by stray bullets
kicking up dirt all along the fault line

I swear I never met her
this young woman in my arms
unable to speak due to fright
needing more attention than I could give

peace resides not in chaos
body and mind self-protecting
inner instincts kicked into full gear
frantically searching for makeshift havens

they pried her out of my arms
transporting her to safety
red lights flashing and pulsating
screaming hysterically in desert night



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
01 Oct 2017
2 Comments

breaking the speed of sound


forest edge is like the end of the world
as sure as you step one foot inside
you will never be the same

what roams the perimeter can be
seen during twilight
eyes flickering like candle tips
tap-dancing to the wind

invisible hand latches onto yours
hurling you high above using
supernatural powers
and suddenly you are soaring
tall like the trees
headlong and arms outstretched
hellbent on breaking the barrier



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
30 Sep 2017
8 Comments

those unfortunate ones


we used to have these knock down
drag out fights inside studio one
every friday night

pounding beers and pushing out sounds
was much better than
driving the ones or
hanging out shooting pool downtown

lord knows we’ve been paying dues
ever since daddy met his maker
and we’ll be damned if we don’t
do something to make him proud

while we know these east coast boys
have been following us for weeks
we just keep doing what we do
praying one day we’ll be in a position
to help those less fortunate





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
29 Sep 2017

the wisdom that is Bob


I heard they were selling tickets to Mars
down at the corner of Oak and Divisadero
but by the time I got wind of what was
going down it was too late
the little bastards were all sold out

soon thereafter I was relating my
disappointment to Bob over a few beers
and a few shots down at The Page

meanwhile on the big screen Giants
score ten plus runs in the fourth
off the Met’s lefty starter
the scattered-brained afternoon crowd
going just a little bit too ballistic

you know old boy
(Bob goes on to say)
there are no tickets to Mars
it’s just some punk rock concert

yes I say in between swigs
whatever you say Bob





august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, Baseball, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
28 Sep 2017
2 Comments

Uncle Albert (Reprise)


I’m beginning to feel this pain
shooting across my left hand knuckles
telling me an early autumn storm
is fast approaching

Alone in my flat I speak out loud
saying I believe it’s going to rain
but when turning on the telly
weather man tells me fat chance

It’s been years since they all left me
taking nearly everything except
kettle on the boil

of course I was right about the rain
and that’s just fine with me

by the time soaker reaches full steam
my pain is already subsiding
relieved mainly by a cup of tea
and butter pie





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
27 Sep 2017
5 Comments

trying to be less informed


everybody’s keeping score
whether it be with chips or dowels
bowling pins or price of gasoline
pegged to some financial instrument

man made natural disasters
don’t go down by happenstance
official recordkeeper bullied & bloodied
quarantined for centuries
rats and cockroaches running amok
inside and out and multiplying

everyone knows how it all ends
so what’s the point in keeping score
especially when there’s a perfectly good
baseball game streaming live
just about anywhere you can order a beer



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Baseball, Poetry and tagged , ,
26 Sep 2017
7 Comments

winter on our continent


heavy is the rain falling on disquieted river
awakened from a disturbing dream
troubling and bone-chilling
springing forth afterburning energy
recycled into virgin snow
gently blanketing mountaintops



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Micropoetry, Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
25 Sep 2017
3 Comments

case of the missing king


london county magistrate orders
court jester to appear in propria persona
forced to testify wherein lies the king

according to other testimonies
he was seen swimming past the breakers
sea ernes circling curiously high above

queen slightly adjusts her listening ear
practices breathing in and breathing out
lest the cold hard truth unfolds

stories of palm trees and pretty faces
ushering in a brand new way of life
certainly did not please the court

for goodness sake she declares
please take the liar away from me before
he blasphemes god almighty himself

forcefully shushing suppressed laughter
magistrate politely asks her majesty
shouldn’t they break for tea & biscuits





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
24 Sep 2017
5 Comments

forgiveness


we snuck inside farmer moses’
pumpkin patch one early sunday morning
october moon hanging out
at about nine o’clock

we knew we had to be quiet
but it was the place to be
and between the three of us
there was a half-pack of camels
and a case of colt 45

the girls said they’d meet us there
right around midnight
but they never did show for reasons
we would never know

morning sun does rise
as do farmer moses & his boys
pursuing instincts with rifles in hands
zeroing in on blacked out trespassers



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
23 Sep 2017
4 Comments

madmen and gravediggers


while giant sleeps talking heads
project his awakening
questioning las vegas odds telling the world
it’s not going to be anytime soon

meanwhile there are no magic fixes
for natural and manmade injustices
dished out wickedly and
allegedly randomly
broadcasted real-time ad nauseum

and so it seems the world is ruled
by madmen and gravediggers
feeding off their own gruesome stories
daring the world to take them out
one sleeping giant at a time





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
22 Sep 2017
5 Comments

where your life may lead you


walls covered in chalk
brilliant stories of the day displayed
by way of collective determination

black and white illusions evolve into
colors bolder than daredevils
expressions distorted and magnified
bricks quietly chirping among themselves
mortar becoming perches for little birds

that larger than life mirror on the wall
wants to be a window to your soul
begs for you to pause and take a look
at the very least consider what’s inside



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
21 Sep 2017

radio free america


play-by-play deejay
dominating the airwaves
feets stomping and voices shouting
ordinary citizens rejoicing in city square

they pipe in radio from the clouds
or so the children are told
it’s absolutely magic they cry
dancing the night away

far away high-stepping drum majors
lead troops out of war zones
prisoners bound and singing
bringing up the rear

meanwhile baseball diamond
becomes makeshift refugee camp
address announcer recounting
nineteen sixty-seven world series



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Baseball, In the City, Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , | Leave a comment

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