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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

20 Sep 2017
7 Comments

heartbreak and misery


castaway doves pick at debris
stretched across the beach
turning white into off-white
and sunsets into nothing

groups of people walk along
waving trash pickers & grabbers
like out-of-control metal detectors
stashing treasure into potato sacks

the fog used to roll in here
like clockwork every foggy morning
setting the tone for an uneventful day
but now all we are left with is this
god-forsaken sun





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
19 Sep 2017
2 Comments

bitter creek


bitter creek flows through quiet earth
shaping butterflies and recycling tales of
rivers carving out new tomorrows

peyote blossoms flourish on the border
desert beauties dispensing spiritual guidance
sometimes influenced by bitter creek

old-school artisans steal from night sky
charting reflections onto banks of bitter creek
exposing black cats and neon damselflies

this place comes and goes as she pleases
tricking and mimicking and repeatedly born again



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , ,
18 Sep 2017
2 Comments

children breaking new ground


perpetual revolution
a lifelong struggle defined by tiny stories
woven in and out of blankets
crafted in afghanistan

messages fly halfway across the
planet in a matter of mere seconds
complicating efforts of diplomats
struggling to keep up with the flow

you and I can meet on any street
corner on any given day
reaching for something undefinable
something certainly not touchable

one day children will be forced
to teach children the basics
digging and uncovering
discovering and enlightening

true possibilities do exist
and this concept of history
repeating itself for centuries on end
gradually gives way to hope



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, Poetry and tagged , ,
17 Sep 2017
4 Comments

sunday evening blues


the massacre on the moon
was plastered all over the news
succinctly too gruesome to be true

how everyone got there
was a matter of simple physics
(having occurred far into the future)

it was an experiment of sorts
and of course a complete failure
while all those living on mars
carried on with their lives
clearly in the dark



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
16 Sep 2017
8 Comments

suddenly there is no tomorrow


my feet are hurting but my heart
is beating just fine
it may have skipped
once or twice or trice
simply by finding you here

we always look forward to october
though hate to see september
slowly burning in rearview
like those hybrid pumpkins
glowing in the twilight

there are no perfect days
but the harvest moon
is as cool as cool can be

and you kiss me unexpectedly



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
15 Sep 2017

destined to live and die here


wild horses stampede across
artificial hill outside waterloo
approximate to major shift
mountains and men bleeding
causing much exhilaration

kilometers away once free men
soon comprehend how bravado
and bondage have consequences
banished behind underground bars
joyous songs piping in

it’s been seven months or more
since the sun has shined
yet people continue to arrive
pilgrims and commoners and nobility
partaking in the simplest pleasures
praising daily powers that be



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, In the City, Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , | Leave a comment
14 Sep 2017
6 Comments

looking for miss molly


the dude called midmorning
asking if his car was at my place

you took off with her after
punching six tequila shots into
my foyer’s drywall
(have you tried looking out
your back window (asshole))

I’m surprised the dude is still alive
awake and sounding halfway sober
but then again nothing’s changed
he’s always looked half his age

okay he says but call me back if you
hear anything (and oh yeah)
I’m looking for miss molly too

I hang up and shake every
thought from my crowded head

all this time the cat’s
been sitting pretty at the bay window
curiously studying fat robins
feasting on dried crabapples



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Sep 2017

it was a case of corruption or there was no defense


judge sat on bench eating dutch
apple pie and french vanilla ice cream

you’ve got to be kidding me the finger-
pointing prosecutor shouted from
behind darkly stained wooden rails

though jurors would never forget his words
they quickly struck them from the record
and watched aghast as hooded bailers
swiftly and briskly escorted the bastard out
tips of his toes barely touching floor

judge promptly hammers his desk trice
and orders up another slice of pie
garbling specific instructions
how the prosecution may come to a rest



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
12 Sep 2017

stepping up the karma


I’ve got until ten is all she said
heading for the living room
where spiders levitate
and idle flies die young

there was always this waiting
spinning world placed on pause
rendering the moon stationary
all the while turning the living room
into the center of all things

I would have preferred to remain
in the warmth of the sunroom
but the karma just didn’t allow it
and it was only a matter of time
before I became someone
not quite myself



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
11 Sep 2017
2 Comments

under dual control


nobody can seem to find the other
key to the harry potter room

it’s been like this for decades
and probably much longer
since only a handful of the living
have actually stepped foot inside
none of whom have been able
to communicate ever since

what was once an embarrassment
in the wonderful world of wizardry
has since become an afterthought
old news and stale bread
crumbled into pieces by way of
its own publicity

and those conspiracy theories
popping up when least expected
they should certainly be considered
but buyer beware
lest you too become trapped inside



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
09 Sep 2017

best good time in town


jam packed humbled house
entertains the multitudes
people of all color coming and going
(as they please) commingling
like rain does with dust
stirring pots and mixing drinks
transforming the ordinary into
something never before seen

stepping outside
a jet airliner roars overhead
pointing and shouting ensues
followed by glasses rising high
singing breaking out

nobody dares to think
outside of the moment
nobody dares do anything
except be whoever they care to be
lest tomorrow comes back ‘round



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
08 Sep 2017
4 Comments

surviving the winter (in four parts)


I am hopeful you will remain
like the timeworn stone wall
blending amongst rustic
late blooming flowers
returning year after year

white shadows lean upon
weathered wooden bench
etched with lines that
crisscross and divide
crevices like rivers carving out
deep deep memories

I am hopeful you will remain
and have not taken an early leave
before the solstice

though my eyes are weary
I am unafraid to cast my
sights westward
where the two of us sit in silence
until the late february thaw



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Sep 2017
3 Comments

river landing


there was dancing down by the river
or so we thought we heard something
streaming on the radio
either that or it was a just a feeling

by the time we reached the river
disco lights and glittery balls
stretched across iridescent banks
ordinary people dancing
like radiant aliens in a trance

past the main dance floor
ushers carry flashlights of sorts
escorting the elderly and tired and mad
the displaced and the misfits
methodically boarding unchartered ferries
destinations undetermined



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, Poetry and tagged , , ,
06 Sep 2017

children playing in the park


I see her running down the same dream
dressed in white to match her riding horses
locks untamed and slightly afire
tricked into going this way (then that)
ultimately cornered by the eye of the sun

there was nothing left to be done except
bury the dream someone tried to say

that’s laughable they cried in return
for shame
for shame



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
05 Sep 2017
3 Comments

eternity’s breath


waxing gibbous on chilly night
reddish-orange and
taking center stage
her breath barely visible
to the naked eye

december sun is never overrated
though at times plays second fiddle to
low-lying celestial occurrences
you swear you should be able to touch

flashing satellites mimic wishes
made every single night
like lost thoughts in the northern sky
they fade and brighten
alternatively



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
04 Sep 2017
5 Comments

sunflowers in the backyard


master of alibis placed under house arrest
charged with aiding and
abetting petty thieves and local con artists

sheriff deputies wrap crime tape around
old oak tree and burning bushes
new jailor taking names and
removing all hummingbird feeders

there are no wolves nearby or so we’ve been told
but violinists disguised as bumblebees
tap dance atop oversized sunflowers

by the time autumn arrives everything
has pretty much been shuttered
including water and gas and electricity lines

by the time spring arrives all the local realtors
have their own story to tell



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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