jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

feeding on carrion


sometimes I sit in the dark
and sleep in the light
tricking myself into believing
traveling through time is as
easy as spotting a magpie
on a fencepost or road sign

eyes of the crow and of the jay
enter my waking dreams
projecting past lessons
and future flashbacks
tricking me into believing
the fork in the road is near

reading in the twilight
from a book I know by heart
I pause and listen
to those clamoring birds
convincing me my story
has already been told


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one day there will be rock concerts on Mars


they bought all the tickets they
could get their hands on
because living out their lives
in unfamiliar venues
felt like being out-of-body

they preferred one-way tickets
because it added
to the excitement of possibly
never coming back
whether cruising across the country
or sailing beyond the far side



april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

first signs of spring


everything came out of hiding
except of course
that which devoured
the other thing
like the worm to the robin
or the flower to the deer

trees blossom above the concrete
dwarfed by sun-hungry high rises
giving temporary shelter
to angels warming their wings

rising above the surface
transitory spirits take to the streets
assessing what the winter had done
by taking a simple counting of heads


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

superhighway


aliens loved to return here
to feast on information
but mainly to experience
poetic life in the fast lane


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Let the party decide


It was a murder mystery dinner
and I was asked to dress
like Colonel Sanders
and bring a bucket of chicken

Sipping on whiskey
and smoking in the parlor
I listen how Thurston and Lovey
purchased vintage luggage
on amazon-dot-com for
pennies on the dollar
had them shipped free to their
second home in The Bahamas

In the next room Charlie’s angels
watch Norman Mailer
play chess with Jesus Christ
briefly interrupted by the
unidentified host whispering
something or other in their ear

I kept expecting Colonel Mustard
to make an appearance
but I guess that would
just be too weird
but then I heard there was a drug scene
going down in the lower level
and I raised my eyebrows
and thought twice


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

as if I had been there


a thin vapor trail
slipped in through the front door
but nobody was home

if I had been there
I would have noticed something
was quite different
but I was gone on a
journey of a lifetime

the place had not changed
all these years
everything perfectly in place
as if nobody had really
lived there

while my mind wandered
away from worldly ideals
seeking out transcendental gurus
residing on new moons
my spirit remained behind
waiting patiently
to be seen


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a conversation that wasn’t


sitting in the natural light in
an outside cafe
one warm spring day
I cross my legs
exposing their whiteness

an elderly woman asks
if this seat is taken
and I shake my head and stretch
out my darkened arm
palm open toward the metal chair
across from me

I remove my satchel from my shoulder
and place it under the table
sliding it further with my foot

we hold a pleasant and somewhat
intelligent conversation
she drinking sweet hibiscus tea
and me a double espresso

I told her I was from the third world
and she nodded and laughed
saying she was from the old one

I went on to confess I shave my legs
but seldom my face
and she smiled and said
she did just the opposite

she listened to every single word I said
even the ones spoken in another language
attempting to give clarity to my predicament

I went on to say I don’t believe
I belong here
that I was thinking of checking out for good

If you don’t mind she responded
please give me a head start
and I’ll be on my way
before you take me with you


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

garden of confusion


wind chimes chatter in the mist
varied in pitch and velocity
powered by dark winds
swirling past steel spiders

rusty fish swim by twilight
nipping at one-legged flamingo
all tucked in for the night

silent rocks in aerated streams
attract ceramic turtles and
green neon frogs
settling on that perfect spot

avian whispers segue into
full-fledged sirens
scaring the wildflowers away


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

disappearing act


they sat in a circle
boy girl
boy girl
boy girl
making up a story
one sentence at a time
a story about a stickman
made out of salty pretzels
wearing a white paper hat
and strutting around
outside the ring
twirling a magician’s cane
and making each one disappear
with a simple tap of their crowns


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fighting solitary confinement


there’s no reason to cry
but go ahead if you want to

there’s nobody around
not in the parlor
or the kitchen
not even in the sunroom

if you look outside you’ll
notice it’s bright
and quiet
and windless

it’s early spring
but it feels like late autumn
and this feeling
hits you in the gut

something tells you
something’s not quite right
a subtle reminder
there’s work yet to be done


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Highway Rhythm and Blues


Shining brightly on stage
in her girl-singer suit
her diverse voice invoking
emotions to even the
least concerned listener

There is loneliness
on the road to stardom
unknown and unexplained
as all eyes watch her
barreling to that next place

Mistrust at various angles
jump from behind telephone lines
hoping to catch her off guard
and taking advantage of
her future earnings

Cutting through the noise
and preparing to live her dreams
she sings herself to sleep
to a lullaby intended
to comfort lonely children


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lilies of the field


little flower
do not grow old today
keep yourself firmly grounded
in the earth
and resist the temptation
to be cut
to be owned
only to be resold

little flower
do not weep today
but welcome the wonders
of the world
with open eyes
and open arms
reaching for the sun

little flower
do not die today
like those gone before you
in seasons past
beckoning you
flying past you
courtesy of the wind


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


when do I get that phone call


he didn’t mean to hurt no one
he told the officer
he swore it was in self-defense

he gave me an ultimatum
he went on to say
my bankroll or my life

he said he was supposed to be
at church in the morning
but there was no way
that was going to happen
not with all the blood loss
a found silver switchblade
and a missing body

(the dogs have been out for hours
tearing up the neighborhood
looking for the least signs of life)

I didn’t kill nobody
he repeated
blood beading through
homemade stitches


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

an army of one


I sat documenting a million lives
stretched across the globe
not kings or queens
but mere men and women and children
lost in pages of history
     only to be reborn
           centuries later
void of memory but striving
to improve their worth to a god
seldom offering second chances

time and again they returned
to earth much like wayward souls
unable to let go
cast down by a god convinced
they will one day lay down their arms
and see for themselves
there is love for all the ages


march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

she stood at the top of the stairway


opening the front door
the foyer gave way
to the intricately woven staircase
the bottom board wider than a mile

each riser was narrower
than the previous one
each step velveted in red

she stood at the top in her
baby blue evening gown
strapless and bell-shaped
from the waist down

she twirled and curtsied
and blew kisses
from the palms of her hands
wet kisses that floated into
sweet nothingness

she did not want to descend
did not want to walk down
one slow step at a time
revealing to all those below
her inner beauty
her flawless imperfections
destined to revolve into her
next reincarnation


march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

manning the square-rigged caravel


it’s two in the morning and I find myself
chasing the obstinate moon across the north
atlantic en route to newfoundland

the rum had run out days ago
and tonight we tapped the second
of three kegs of hopped ale we
commandeered at gunpoint from an
english galleon with a skeleton crew

the monster waves are angry as hell
thanks to the bulging gibbous
but I’ve managed to tie myself down
at the base of the long beak
getting bashed and spitting out
marching orders
to all the flying ghostfish of pirates past




about the square-rigged caravel


march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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