jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

Long Lost Friends


I didn’t make the bed.

I meant to take the dog for a walk.

I forgot to take the garbage out.

When I went to the store to buy some milk
and bread I ended up spending
all my money on lottery tickets.

I was late for work again and they promptly
fired me.

Years went by and I forgot everyone’s birthday.

I couldn’t afford to pay the rent so out the door I went.

I found a new world living below the surface.

I lost my dog.

As I walked the sunken streets at night
I came to realize not even death wanted me.


november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

where does it stop


in pregnant fields
tractors with high beams
gobble up grain in the dark
turning golden ground into
piles of dirt

cereal-mobiles rumble
on gravel roads carved
through ever-swollen hills
fueled by ethanol and
kicking up dirt

rolling stock races
for the eastern seaboard
destined for distant lands
where little bluebirds
play in dirt



november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

three day weekend


she left her stockings hanging
in the shower
leading me to believe
she would be back

but I knew she wouldn’t be back

there wasn’t much food
left in the house
but I didn’t feel much like
eating anyway

after a few days
I talked myself into believing
they were just a gift
so I tucked them away
somewhere she might find them

november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

new moon rising


we walked between the lake
and the rail yards
smoking cigarettes
and spitting on
century-old ties
wondering if the midnight train
will ever arrive on time

it was a year ago tonight marshall
died on these very tracks
attempting to escape
his own restlessness
his dream of starting a
new life
in st louis or kansas city or santa fe
seemingly interrupted

we made a fire
like we always do
and sat in a circle
our voices as quiet as
stones skipping on water
our karma just a little off kilter
one of us asking out loud
why there is no moonshine




november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

somewhere near the equator


rhythm walked down the
brick road of jakarta
offering everyone
yellow roses
and exotic wishes

seven thousand islands
usher in oceans
pretending attention
is the last thing
on her beautiful mind



november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

afternoon matinée circa 200 bc


they brought me onto stage
and explained to the
thousands of participants
seated in the open air theatre
exactly what it was
they were about to witness

young ones dressed in white
laid me down on the
table and calmed my fears
naturally deadening my body
before skilled surgeons
unveiled my open heart


november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

change in forecast


we talked about the weather
how it would destroy us all
how it would appear out of nowhere
and blow away our dreams
just when everything seemed
to be falling into place

we spent hours catching up on time
that never really belonged to us
that somehow tricked us into thinking
seasons forever cycle

in the end all we could talk about
was the weather
and then we went our separate ways



november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

where have all the leaves gone


I’ve seen that tree die before
long after exploding with
shades of every living color

I’ve watched her time and again
come to life by the breath of a
thousand birds

She lives in my heart and
comforts my ailing mind
sharing her knowledge with a
world dying for light


november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

some things we don’t talk about


there are certain things I’ll take to the grave
I said as I raised my half-filled glass
trying to figure out
if it was half full before
transferring the past down my throat

to the grave the patrons chanted
swallowing what remained of their
bottomless dreams
contented by the friendship of
lonely people
unbothered by next month’s bills

morning arrives without a demon in sight
the truth temporarily impaired
allowing me to get on with it
as they say
and forget all over again
those things going to the grave



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

gingerbread man


shadows lengthen and darken
inviting imaginations to consider what
shades of color scare you

those gremlins that still
sleep with you
the ones that keep your back
when you’re lazy or drunk or sedated
protect you by never telling you
what it is lying in wait

without time to worry
about where the shadows of
doubt reside
you forgo daydreams
and other childish pursuits
in favor of running away from
everything breathing down your neck



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lennon’s cat


this cat lived with us for about a year
and she was far out

she spoke many languages
and loved to recite poetry
while sipping on herbal tea

we loved to listen to her stories
about how she always
caught her mouse
or made the dude next door
shit his pants

one day she left the house and never
came back

we just figured she needed a break
before spending the rest of her
lives at the dakota





october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sometimes I see her


there is this beauty
inside you
existing secretly
behind the artificiality
of your everyday routine

this beauty inside you
speaks to me
in my living dreams
allows me to understand
it’s smothered beneath
your colorful skin

the beauty that is yours
dies to be noticed
and so you continue
to scratch the surface
hoping to find her




october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

revolution number nine


row after row of desktop
computers play leapfrog in a
pentagon controlled pole barn

outside angry peasants wave
baseball bats and throw
expletives at robotic guards

as night collapsed into chaos
revolutionaries trade flashlights
for burning man torches

lights darting above oversee
armed forces hellbent on
accelerating the tipping point

morning fog surrenders to man
and his drum machines
moving on to the next outpost



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

waiting in the wings


there is nothing sad in my song
it’s just that the purposefulness of it
is long gone

(I have since retired to another room)

alone I sit and bang on keys
meant to be played by a
musician high on weed
and improvising

we first discovered how the
establishment came to be
and then we destroyed them
brought them back to life with poetry
only the wretched understood

the professor did not show
up for work today so we taught
ourselves by sipping on danish wine
and reenacting a little hamlet

when the day is done don’t worry
about turning out the light
there’ll be another wave
of stark raving mad lunatics
to entertain your dying days



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Dances with leaves


I stood looking out the window
at a small pile of leaves
I had raked and forgotten about

Damn I thought
I can’t believe I left behind this pile of leaves

It was then as I had these thoughts the wind
came out of nowhere
hitting the pile of burnt colors
and sending them high into the air

Hey honey I yelled
you’ve got to come see this
the leaves are dancing

Crosswinds continued lifting the
leaves higher than eye level
twisting them into a stream of
irregular circular motion
fully fluid yet shapely
as if produced by a child
playing spirograph on a table

Hey honey I yelled
you’ve got to come see this

This time she leaned her head back
and turned her neck my way

What is it she asked – I’m reading

The leaves are dancing I said
you’ve got to come see this

First there was a pause as the
leaves continued to dance
and then there was closure



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

A bump in the road


She thought a thorn
had broken the skin of her ankle
while horseback riding near
old Route 66 in the
North Valley of Albuquerque

It looks like a snake bite
I said as I brought my eyes closer

You know she said
I thought maybe I heard a rattle
as we skirted past the brush
but I thought it was your iPhone
making one of its noises

We better go get yourself
fixed up now I said
we’re supposed to be at
Doc & Eddy’s at seven-thirty



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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