he’s dead she said
as he entered the scene
on the television screen
and I nodded my head
heroin isn’t much of an inspiration
but then again I wouldn’t know
how one can fall so far
after rising so seemingly high
how stardom and make-believe lives
can’t possibly satisfy an ego
starving for the ultimate
out-of-body experience
I don’t want to watch this
anymore she said
and I nodded my head
and we moved on with our lives
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you see them often from all kinds of angles
there right in front of you
real life people dying on real life stages
up close and in your face
in color and featured on screens of any size
delivered to the comfort of your own home
or wherever you may be roaming
though they may look like you
may have your eyes or nose or cheekbone
they don’t share your problems
their predicaments are nothing but a distraction
or occasionally interesting
like a saturday morning wildlife show
where all the creatures of the world
figure everything out on their own
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I didn’t expect this empty space
to be this warm
the quiet space where heartbeats
keep time with thoughts
that never rhyme
I remember you telling me
to keep the door shut
but I never did figure out why
or exactly what was out there
you didn’t want to be seen
I can’t see much light
passing through your ageless eyes
once dashing but now
hopeless like a waning moon
casting half-lies
while forgetfulness lurks
truth stalks along the outer edges
promising a perfect distraction
while washing youthfulness away
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
spade in hand
he didn’t have to go far
to reach rock bottom
sinking the blade into the earth
at the base of the limestone steps
ground firm but forgiving
from a wet winter
it didn’t take long to uncover
a row of sunken treasure preserved
by a mother’s touch and
protective nightcrawlers
this won’t be the last time
these stones have been moved
from one place
to another
won’t be the last time uncovered
by human hands and
reassembled into some sort of order
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my angel waits patiently
neither complaining of doing nothing
nor withering away over time
she’s played this game before
and pretends that I don’t see her
standing silent like a lampstand
wherever did she take them
those como se dice ‘yesterdays’
when all we did was our own thing
disappearing for years on end
barely carrying a pulse and not caring
what tomorrow would bring
how could I never fully comprehend
my angel is my lady luck
smiling at me from afar
and whispering sweet promises
only I would understand
teetering on the outer edge
how I wish she was with me now
contemplating nothing
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you’ll find it in the middle of somewhere
surrounded by a fog in a field of woods
discoverable through a natural maze
filled with a variety of wildflowers
walking through the door you swear
you became someone other than yourself
and the moment you sit and open your mind
the shack is filled with a beautiful light
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from what I remember a tire swung
from the rafters from inside the barn
the motion putting me to sleep
safely wrapped and held in arms
I loved but would not know
the difference between reality
and dreams remain indistinguishable
from the night or morning lights
arms swinging from the canopy
rocking me endlessly to sleep
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I
I’ve been trying to save myself
Long before I ever met you
I’m trying to understand
Why I feel so alive today
I found a message on the ‘net
That said you had gone away
So why do I keep searching
In a world that’s now unplugged
I don’t recall the last time
I walked on shallow water
There must be something in the air
That makes my eyes turn red
I looked much younger yesterday
When the sky was so much darker
I try to focus past the logic
But the clouds stand in the way
Flying solo used to be easy
When the birds kept in the trees
Hid behind camouflaged branches
Their songs were barely heard
But now the death of fall draws near
And they gather and form rainstorms
Is it any wonder I can’t find you
When my feet stay on the ground
II
I used to think I could find you hiding
But now I wonder when we’ll share
That moment in time together
Why does the sun always hide
When I walk between the lines
There’s a reason I keep looking
There’s a madness in my mind
I think maybe I should look elsewhere
Is it possible I will find you
III
It’s been a long long day
I’ve spent miles on this road
I’ve gone a long long way
Going to find my way back home
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in my place it’s so quiet
I can hear them performing upstairs
to an empty venue
reciting words or strumming chords
leg wrestling or listening to music
or simply adjusting
sitz bones on wooden chairs
outside their windows
a modest breeze animates life
young leaves sway slowly
keeping time with wooden
and ceramic and metallic chimes
while arms reach out and stretch
to catch a moment in time
one by one they escape
down the patchwork trellis
their voices hushed and excited
pitching a new game where
they scatter off forever and a day
only to reconnect back upstairs
whenever least expected
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they appeared out of the west wing
of a virtual stage
sleepwalking puppets
marching along a shoulder-high wall
made of various shades of reddish
brown pavers
held together over countless scores
by weeping concrete
their wooden heads bobbed and weaved
eyes dark as night
and gazing at hazardous skies
some carrying arms
while others waved flags of various nations
those pushing up the rear
keeping time on tom-toms
and bamboo fifes
off they went systematically along
the bloodlined wall
never again to return
surely to be replaced by a band of brothers
temporarily held together
by the thinnest of wires
or no wires at all
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
driving down the interstate
doing seventy-seven
city lights nowhere in sight
he routinely checked his side view
his rear view
his front view
occasionally checking in on
his quiet companion riding shotgun
they hadn’t spoken for over an hour
and he wondered if she had awakened
what’s wrong she whispered
I was just thinking about the grid
he said
how fragile it may or may not be
and what will happen next if it gets hit again
how much further are we going tonight
she asked
I don’t know he said
maybe until my hand stops hurting
or we see some morning light
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they said nobody got hurt
when the madman driving
the sunday school bus painted blue
loaded with dozens of inner city children
went belly up in two feet of snow
somewhere along highway 13
inside the old bus without seat belts
nearly all the little ones were improperly
dressed for the outside conditions
and when the madman
lost all control of the vessel
everyone inside stumbled and tumbled
on top of each other
screaming for the almighty himself
to appear out of nowhere and save them
notwithstanding a little frost bite
it was a miracle nobody got hurt
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one hundred miles an hour
is not that fast compared
to the past ten years
gone in a flash
such a blurry mess
god knows where everything
lost or stolen ended up
chasing the southern sun
down a divided highway
a cold one on my lap
flashing red lights
materialize in my rear view
sirens demanding I pull over
this souped-up monster
I don’t think I’ll let them
catch me today
and I disappear by bleeding
into the faraway landscape
my mind and body seemingly
finding new life
plugged into this fine machine
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we can’t ever forget hate
it’s tattooed on our biceps
trademarked on baseball bats
and army issued khaki pants
we walk around with grudges
taped on our faces like some
splintered biblical family that never
went to church on sundays
nor practiced what they preached
real estate is abundantly spacious
once you are dead and gone
catapulted into the farthest
reaches of the unknown
but in the meantime
we treat it like some precious ring
nobody in this world
deserves to possess
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out in the fields
bonfires consume the air
pushed by the wind and shoving back
sparkling like stars
and speaking in new tongues
eons away prehistoric microlife awaken
hypnotic and unknowingly
attracted to the light
traveling at the speed of a lifetime
before effortlessly giving in
with unmitigated enthusiasm
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation
looking back I saw a woman
dressed much like mother earth
giving birth to a king in the
land of promise and humility
an enormous red dragon
possessing master intelligence
and unchallenged authority
long ago recruited an army of angelic
host to destroy the newborn
and though succeeding at having him
put to death
the child was raised on the third day and
spirited away to his heavenly kingdom
since the deception in the garden
the red dragon has successfully ruled with
fiery abandon against all inhabitants
this mother of earth fled into the desert as
commanded by her lord
hiding from the red dragon during the
time of the great war that began in heaven
a war in which the winged general michael
drove the red dragon and his rebel angels
back to earth where they remained
forever confined
privy to all things seen and unseen
the lord of lords hid his people’s church
in a special place
as well as securing the believing
remnant of israel in the desert
near the dead waters
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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