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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

19 Jan 2016
2 Comments

flash powder


what have I contributed
to the cause
keeping the music alive and
guarding elephants
from poachers

I’ve given up aerosol sprays
and gasoline
marlboro lights
store-bought soup
and religion

how much more do I have to give

that constant humming in my ear
is that just a warning from
my guardian angel
or simply a reminder
how those widely admired
can easily be swept away
like a night owl’s prey
silently screaming

absolution doesn’t exist
in the blink of an eye
and even if it did
no act of contrition could
prevent anyone from
seeing the light


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
18 Jan 2016

Walking for Justice for All


Born in a veil of freedom
I walk through the streets
of Birmingham
holding my head high
gazing into the whites of the eyes
of faceless people
fading into unforgotten crowds
cheering and jeering and
throwing insults at my ancestry
at a time when vengeance
superseded facts
and justice was unleashed
without due process


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
17 Jan 2016
3 Comments

Ciudad de México


To this day pieces of my past
remain scattered
in the Valley of Mexico
consumed into the warm soft clay

When you said you didn’t love me
lightning struck
three times in the distance
portending tears of a sad affair

In Mexico City I remained
for years on end
taking to the streets
smiling and laughing and enjoying
the companionship
of a compassionate people
accepting the art and music
and language and history as my own
living a lie that my heart
had never been broken




View the Spanish translation version by Lina Ru by clicking here


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
16 Jan 2016
6 Comments

triangles in her eyes


the sails in this watercolor look
like albino shark fins
she said while stretching her
neck to one side

the whitecaps are amazing
she went on to say
they’re perfect equilaterals
one rolling into the next
below the prismatic horizon

she stared at the painting
for another minute
dabbing at her eyes before
reaching out for my hand

what’s the matter I asked her

I’m bored to death she said
we’ve got to get out of this place


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
14 Jan 2016
6 Comments

all alone inside the big house


I woke up to what sounded like
faint laughter coming from the living room

of course I could have been dreaming

I lay in the dark fully awake and surprisingly
at ease
just waiting to hear more laughter

the blinds were drawn but I knew damn well
it was still cold and dark outside

I looked at my wrist watch and wondered
if it had snowed

and then suddenly
the laughter came again
this time livelier and from multiple sources
much louder than the laughter
that had initially stirred me

(the big house makes many sounds anymore
now that I am the only one left)

I wondered if they had found the goods
stashed inside the walls
and false ceiling
wondered if they had found the mind-altering
substances that left me paralyzed
and perfectly at peace


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , ,
13 Jan 2016
4 Comments

one step closer to the sun


maybe gasoline is so cheap
because it’s disgusting
and everyone’s had enough of
smoke and (sideview) mirrors
totally fed up with the oil wars
and those big machines
tearing into the earth

when the economy nearly died
a few years back
and gas prices
ripped wallets and families apart
I threw up my arms
and grew out my hair and beard
and bought a one-way ticket
to the land of confusion


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
10 Jan 2016
2 Comments

In Search of Clues in Phoenix


In the sink there is a teacup
half filled with water
while on the drying rack
there is a perfect match
upside down and clean

I understand twenty questions
is just a game
but so is jenga and jacks
each requiring simple dexterity
and a playing partner

When you didn’t show up
I figured I’d gotten it wrong
but when rechecking the facts
discovered my recordkeeping
perhaps was incomplete

Like a child raising his hand
dying to answer the question
I become void of thought
incapable of speech
when called upon

Blindly crawling in the dark
I shift through ashes
of bones and feathers
sniffing for that elusive spark
certain to bring you back


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
09 Jan 2016
18 Comments

four season poetry


in the unpredictable spring
the poet writes of rain and birth
welcoming freshness
unfolding everywhere

in the hot summer sun the poet
writes of sweat and stifling heat
lemonade and iced tea
and the faraway sounds
of the ice cream van

when autumn approaches and
death is sure to follow
the poet writes of impending doom
and desperate days to come

but when winter arrives
and sub-zero temperatures set in
the poet remains silent
except when northern winds
or black bird wings
bring back to life
backyard metal chimes


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Jan 2016
4 Comments

outside it was stone cold


there were photographs
everywhere
plastered against the living
room walls

the place was a mess

there were old newspapers
and magazines
on the coffee table
and end tables
some of them cut up and
some of them barely touched

the place smelled of coffee and
cigarettes and kitty litter

some of the photographs
on the walls
had been scribbled on with blue
thin-tipped sharpies
scribbled with dates
and names
and emoticons
and many many question marks

outside it was stone cold

deep down inside
the photographs
were the only sane things
that kept a hopeful tomorrow alive


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
05 Jan 2016
19 Comments

anyone other than me


I could have been a taxi driver
picking up musicians from
Carnegie Hall

I could have been flipping a coin
dressed in zebra stripes
standing at the fifty-yard line on
Super Bowl Sunday

or just as easily stranded in Iowa City
waiting in line at Hamburg Inn No. 2

I could have been slam dunking
donuts into black coffee in
New York City like some beat cop
on Sunday morning

I could have been that priest
in the Exorcist novel
placing my hands on a child
and my faith in the Lord

I could have been a medic
or a mystic or a miracle worker
trapped inside any given war
these past thousands of years

or I could have been a starving child
looking for someone
like myself
to save me


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
04 Jan 2016
6 Comments

stealing diamonds from the virtual sky


information flows freely
between these so-called
chinese firewalls
where there isn’t much anyone
can actually do about it

they put up some drapes
heavy as sleeping bags
across the front bay window
making it impossible for the sun
to shine through
though somehow moonlight
sometimes leaked in

in the first lower level
there was a darkroom where on
weekends amateur photographers
gathered to develop
black and white mineral mines
pushing them out undetected
into the secondary marketplace

in the second lower level
there was the infamous wine cellar
where on any given sunday
you could enjoy the rarest of merlot
picking out the oldest of stones
at your leisure

the local police carried no search
warrant as they came
crashing in on horseback
shooting first and asking
questions next
long after the webmaster
and his virtual entourage
slipped past the gate


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
03 Jan 2016
2 Comments

bringing me back to life


when the heart monitor flatlined
I arose from the operating table
sat in the corner and studied the eyes
of frantic men and women
shouting and striking me relentlessly

on the far corner of the room
an agent stood faintly glowing
arms crossed and toe tapping
occasionally glancing
at the monitor on the rack

it was a friday morning and I
found myself comfortably curious
pondering what enlightening
adventures this pulsating persona
had in store for me

prepared to move on I reached
out my hand over my dead body
determined to become absorbed
into the rhythmically blinking light
before it was too late


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Dec 2015
6 Comments

inside a thriller novella


there is a certain kind of quietness
that fills an empty box
where light as we know it
is unable to penetrate

you can breathe in the cold but you
cannot see where it dissipates
and you wonder when you whisper
how far your voice will carry

dog days fade and cats run away
but inside the book they remain
as if nothing has ever changed

old mysteries become solved
inside the quietness of an otherwise
thriller novella
where old lovers and killers
are introduced as heroes
who should never be trusted



december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
28 Dec 2015
8 Comments

apple orchard hired hands


the apples in the orchard
have ripened beautifully

they are calling out to passersby
saying pick me
pick me
pick me

neighbor boys arrive from
miles away
unfold their ladders and
climb like monkeys
picking apples by hand and
dropping them into wooden crates

sometimes they miss
sometimes they bounce out
but mostly they are spot on

when the boys have exhausted
all of their resources
they haul away their crates
full of ripened apples
and disappear into the horizon

on their way out they are met
by pretty maidens
dressed in bib coveralls
marching like soldiers with
apple pickers in tow
called in from a nearby county
to finish the job
the boys could not


december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
27 Dec 2015
11 Comments

House on the Rock


A stretch of granite stones
long ago embedded into
the hill by supernatural forces
was once stepped upon
by grazing sheep
herded by determined men

On this firm foundation
a house was built
made of marble and glass
hauled to the top of the hill
by man and beast
masterfully pieced together
by sweat and skill

Down below children gather
pointing skyward and
marveling at the dazzling light
sparkling like a star
whispering to themselves
the house of God is near


december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , ,
25 Dec 2015

Tilapia Galilaea


At home in the sea
he embeds himself inside cedar planks
contoured and shallow and
pieced together by artisan mariners
who row and chant
a square canvass hoisted high
harnessing the wind atop low tides

Calling into the waves
his mesmerizing cries enchant
Saint Peter’s fishes
swarming and succumbing and blessed
to be inside the netting
hurriedly emptied into the boat
and saved by the grace of God


december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Fishing, Poetry and tagged , , , | Leave a comment

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