love is like an open prairie
self-sufficient and showcasing
every true color this world has to offer
weaving blankets of warmth on
cool autumn evenings
and providing shade to weary souls
love is like the birds of the prairie
welcoming each day with
songs of praise
awakening the flowers whose petals
unfold and open their hearts
without a single solitary condition
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
click click bang
reload your clip and
take aim of my heart
I don’t give a damn and
I don’t want to know
how you found the courage
to become someone you’re not
click click bang
bring me to my knees
and make me close my eyes
but just promise me one thing
promise me the world
won’t end tonight
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
an old top hat tumbles
down an urban alleyway
one gray wintry night
a single boot and smile
stopping it in its tracks
held beneath a streetlamp
scratches appear in the
faded charcoal felt
each crooked line a story
in and of itself
silvery lining holds imaginary
tales of happenstance
and midnight waltzes
murmuring like a seashell
untouched for centuries
gloveless fingers slide across
bent brim collecting
snowflakes and glances from
all the homeless eyes
seeking cover for the night
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bad man could care less
about fingers pointed
in his general direction
could care less
when blamed for the sun
not shining
or the dark clouds
not forming
when all anyone really wanted
was a little rain falling down
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
moderation is but a stranger
he thought
sitting on a park bench
and feeding the pigeons
bread of life meant to last
the entire winter
somewhere down the road
everything became all or none
as those earthly habits
siphoned off the fuel
that once powered his
beautiful thoughts
the very idea of divorcing
such influential forces
from his daily rituals
sent his mind tumbling
deeper into the fray
knowing there could never be
one final straw
he walked along the river alone
his destructive tendencies
seemingly out of sight
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
an inside energy aspires foreign
motivation
to locate new places for
cool isolation
working on remedies
to century-old habits
inside this allusion the mind’s
eye flits
like a butterfly
along winding stone steps
digressing into a deepening
pool of true change
even while away the doubts remain
false distractions replace
memories of sure
familiar space
progression continues on time
unchanged
the path homing around
new worlds
unfolding alien landscapes
and welcomed perils
incomplete thoughts bring
incomplete conclusions
halting
progressive forward movements
in favor of slow motion replays
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we searched
under rock and earth
and alongside the water’s edge
where the dying winds
welcomed the night
without a trace
you escaped the city
headed for a restless countryside
offering perspective
to tired old bones
in the woods
echoes follow every
footfall and heartbeat and thought
reshaping consciousness
from the very start
signals flare
from rugged elevations
seemingly shooting down stars
much too young to die
let alone live
early morning currents
meander your voice
throughout the valley’s curvatures
barely audible above
forgotten shadows
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
unlocked
she turned the handle and
let herself in
supplanting footsteps
left ages ago
when she could barely breathe
standing tall in the landing
she listened for her
heartbeat barely audible
down the hallway
eyes looking waywardly
as shoulders effortlessly
let go the knapsack
unashamed
she stepped forward
and further into the past
kicking every single ghost
trying to settle back in
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when someone says they make
their own luck
I can only imagine how blatantly
foolish they must be
believing having control
of their own destiny
is actually possible by someone
other than the gods
for free spirits such as these
I hope they never
ever know
it’s just a matter of time
before they come to realize
luck has nothing to do
with their lot in life
nor their untimely demise
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she keeps old zippo
and stick matches
stashed inside denim pockets
just in case something
ever needs starting
innocent dragons
breathe in knowledge
exhaling old world ideas
to winded children
dying for fresh air
oceans rock and roil
worshipped by clouds
parading as aliens
showering the coast
inexorably
deep within the soil
life awakens
stirred by foot driven shovels
uncovering rock
never before seen
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no stopping and staring
into darkness
there is just doing
or there is nothing else to do
(I used to raise my voice to be heard
because I was sure nobody would listen
who really does that anymore)
there is no reason for such foolishness
it only reminds me of punishments
handed out unjustly
(eventually getting kicked across the floor
becomes nothing but a diminishing recurrence)
though the sun and moon may shine
brightest at its apex
their lowest moments inspire me most
when the world is neither
alive nor awake
and the playing field is perfectly level
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
strips of bacon appeared
in my high-definition dream
alongside ripened tomatoes
farm fresh eggs
and quarter pound cheeseburgers
I could hear them pop and sizzle
in their own searing grease
could smell the sweetness
originating from the kitchen
and infiltrating the entire house
pretending I’m fully awake
I tuck a linen napkin
up under my chin
march down the staircase
wielding flatware and a hefty appetite
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they fell from the sky
these transparent wings of mine
tattered and torn
and superfluously useful
night and day I stitched away
new leather onto old
rubbing and shining and redefining
a finer shade of gold
I hung them all alone inside
an unlit closet
wherein they stretched and glowed
and quietly repaired
imperfections I could not mend
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how do i decide
what to believe is real?
should i follow my thoughts
or just live out my dreams?
there once was a time
i worried about my heart
but as the years pass on
i know it’s my soul
i most trust.
september two thousand seven
audio january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let go of the anger
leave it at the doorstep
ring the bell and run away
there is no room for it
anywhere or anymore
all it does is drag you down
leaving you
and everyone around you
exhausted
let go of the anger
and reach out to someone
in need
someone you’d never thought
would need help
or someone on the other side
let go of the anger
and instead practice humility
and patience
and gratitude
start proving to yourself
you can live without it
and be someone better
than you were the day before
think of the restraints anger
puts on your life
how it prolongs your depression
and reinforces your addictions
preventing you from ever truly
enjoying the benefits of positivity
hospitality and endless creativity
think about it
think about how losing your anger
would be the best thing the world
would ever know
food will taste better
the air will smell sweeter
and those streaks of light
racing through the sky
will be nothing but beautifully peaceful
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I crossed the bridge on the coldest
day of the year just as the noon
whistle blew
on the frozen river below
hundreds of geese huddled together
on the sunlit ice
once inside the downtown deli
I warmed to a cup of soup
and toasted sandwich
driving back across the bridge
the geese had vanished
into the bitter winter air
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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