late autumn afternoon
digging into garden bed
and separating little bulbs
from big ones
I uncover a shiny emerald stone
I rub off the dirt with soiled fingers
and polish it with my shirt
kneeling and looking up
I hold it skyward past
silent clouds drifting
my eyes squinting
my mind racing
from out of this world
it came crashing
burrowing into the earth
untouched for perhaps centuries
but now my cherished treasure
if only for the shortest
moment in time
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
to the newborn child
we toasted promise
to the graduate
we toasted career
to the foot soldier
we toasted godspeed
and to the bride
we toasted happily ever after
to the winners of the world
we toasted success
and to the losers
we kicked them in the ass
there was so much to cheer
so we refilled
and re-raised our glasses
shouting for joy
for the kings of the world
and their terrible entourages
have finally been blown away
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we worked both sides of the stream
looking for deep pools to cast our souls
it was late september and a cool breeze
had gradually reddened your cheeks
we had strolled along for an hour now
stopping on two occasions
enticing brown trout to strike live bait
filtered light shone through a network
of ripened limbs losing their luster
revealing a part of you I had never seen
without saying a word we picked up
our things and moved on empty-handed
over the years the stream had changed
but over my lifetime remained the same
looking back I spotted a young me
pretending to be someone I was not
catching my limit in very short order
little did I know you were always near
guiding me back to this solitary place
years before you were meant to be born
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so I hear everything happens for a reason
which certainly includes my birth
a byproduct of an irish girl
and a self-determined misunderstood man
sure I got kicked around
but that was for my own good
degraded and humiliated and put in place
for no other reason than to be reminded
exactly who was in charge
but as the bible says a man must leave his mother
and cling to his dreams
but my dreams were awkwardly inconsistent
and so I ran away on god’s command
and became a soldier child
joining the ranks of the finest of misfits
who learn to forget they ever had a past
and learn to kill without thinking or feeling
out on the fringes there is no need
for marlboros or whiskey or california weed
there is only the desire to survive
by sipping on desert spring water
and feasting on exotic butterflies
and if you are fortunate enough
to die a violent death
there is an even better chance
you will find yourself adorned within
a field of the brightest wildflowers
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
dense fog rolled in
long before the awakening
muting streetlamps
seen as glowing orbs
dotted along lifeless streetscapes
behind the shroud
crows gather atop barren
unseen trees
calling upon a breakthrough light
delivering beacons of hope
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Halfway through ‘Californication’
I realized there wasn’t a designated
driver in the place
we were thirty miles away from home
and knee-deep in a melting pot
patrons calling out for shots
in at least a half-dozen languages
I nailed that song even though I stumbled
through the second verse
lost in my own thoughts
worried about how things might be
come tomorrow’s sunrise
but then
when the entire house came to their feet
whistling
and shouting
and clapping above their heads
I could only imagine how Lennon
would one day love it here
This poem prompted by Poetics: War for peace – or just hard work? via dVerse Pub
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
bones tossed in a pot
dissolving into a swirling mess
left unattended and simmering
until the fire burns out
what once were aromas
are now stagnant smells
like stale gas escaping
brick laid chambers
behind dusty hallways
bite-sized carpenters retool
gnawing like lost ghosts
trapped in their own past
down below true life stories
may one day be found
perhaps by bloodhounds
on a futile mission from hell
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they rolled into the cul-de-sac
on a cold and lifeless monday morning
equipped with trucks and chains
saws and chippers and ropes
called upon to put to an end
what seemed to be an eternal bond
in her glory days she stood
taller than a timeless story
beckoning christmastime carolers
on the longest of nights
lifting the spirits of the dead
lighting the neighborhood in primary colors
bursting from within teardrop shaped bulbs
I loved her now like I loved her then
her indiscriminate arms
folding and weeping
forever welcoming weary souls
needing a winter place to call home
Note: this poem prompted by Poetics: Secrets of the Universe via dVerse Pub
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is death in the desert
and death in the sea
there is death in the streets of paris
and on the avenue of the saints
in the halls of washington the president
designs death in new ways
and those around him applaud
and he smiles
in the meantime he decries death in the theater
and death in the schools
and his people will pretend they don’t know
what is causing all the death
they are too busy with their own superficial lives
to question why army drones are supplying weapons
to enemy camps and into the
hands of every enemy of every nation
they are numb to the concept of violent death
because it is simply ingrained into their psyche
and they spoon-feed it to their children
in the form of horrific death on television screens
on movie screens and computer screens
on the tiniest of handheld screens
the idea of mass death does not faze them
and when a day goes by without it
they think something must be wrong
and when dreamers talk of peace they laugh
because they know peace is unnatural
and takes too much effort to pull off
and so death simply goes on
long after the final curtain call
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as evening fades like a memory
of a faraway dream
I am reminded of words spoken
barely audible above nightingales
ushering in a rising moon
a promise so to speak
made beneath the warmth
of december clouds
that the spirit of the flame will forever
prevent our love from growing old
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
fear infiltrates educated hallways
racial tensions fill the streets
a mother trying to quit worrying
where blue birds land on their feet
homegrown violence simmers
deep within inner city alleyways
hooded teens swagger and curse
knives sheathed inside ragged socks
street smart kids wired for sound
defend themselves from unjust laws
backpacks filled with jagged edges
sit unnecessarily beneath bus seats
homeland security doesn’t work here
not where children fend for themselves
either all alone in darkened classrooms
or recruited by enemies of the state
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
winter came early this year
and nobody seemed
to give a damn
instead everyone was frozen
glued to their personal devices
as if they were mere machines
screams coming from across
the pond fell on deaf ears
except for those cheering
from the other side
meanwhile dark-eyed juncos
just got back in town today
while fat-breasted robins
continued to hang out
for some dumb reason
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Not so random acts of madness
attack all corners of the world
leaving me with a bluesy feeling
I can’t seem to overcome
I barely hear your raspy breathing
passing through undefined lines
your outreached arms
nearly invisible in my peripheral
your cries indecipherable
beneath a rubble of mistrust
Who will show us the way
to safely reach the River Jordan
where its healing powers
give light and rebirth
to those seeking to start anew
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I awoke in the darkness
and stood motionless
unable to feel my own legs
In the darkness I stood
as if floating on air
my mind fixed on a pain
I could not feel
I imagined there was light
somewhere near
beyond the closed door
or on the other side of a shaded
window slightly cracked
I welcomed the silence
both from without and within
like a tortured creature
wishes death
It was like an explosion had
left my world perfectly still
neither spinning
nor traveling around a light
that for centuries had promised
prosperity to a diverse population
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we studied together
and recited psalms
years ago
when nobody knew your name
you kept mostly to yourself
reading scripture at night
and eschewing violence
while everyone else
danced beneath artificial lights
when the world fell apart
you slipped through the cracks
resurfacing deep inside a madness
that was nothing short of prophetic
years later I was called before
a makeshift court
forced to testify
how you had solely masterminded
a roadmap of revenge
leading to misery and destruction
what I had witnessed
would make no difference
not as long as you continued
stabbing westward
unseen and unafraid
daring an uncertain world to stop you
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
piece of shit chevy
idling choppily blocks away
lone lunatic in driver’s seat
under the influence of the almighty
setting his sights on suicidal destruction
certain to be caught on film
and reconstructed on the nightly news
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Author’s Note: The accompanying instrumental was performed by Jeff Beck from ‘In My Life,’ an album compiled and produced by Sir George Martin in 1988.
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