jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poem”

the lull after the storm


I thought I’d seen it all
now how ridiculous is that to say
this day & age

the thing is what you’ve seen
thus far is the tip of the melting iceberg

when it comes to expressions
we seem to take
the easy way out
like taking up arms for real estate
or bullying out of sheer boredom

truth is the fat lady will never
stop singing
and the pot is sure to boil
but what’s up in the air
seems to never want to come down
like an alien in waiting





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the gray room


the communication
has been spotty
mostly due to
long fought wars
& some climate change

I was told to go to my
gray room & there I stay
a prisoner of my own mind
solving rubik’s cube
after rubik’s cube
but unable to temper & tame
not a single thing
not a cat nor a mouse
neither a mangy canine
nor bengal tiger

I have paper & pencil
& there is a slot that
wants to be a window
one that gives & takes
one that admonishes
in one breath
& forgives in another

at least the gray room
is no longer white

I like it that way





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lunatic fringe & blind eyes


scores of countries
are currently at war

can you name them
can you name them all

insurgencies & civil
drug & trade
so many wars in so little time
death & destruction
urban cities or rural countryside
children & women
men & animals
mass murdered by war
recycled like raw material

leaders become illegitimate
in a matter of minutes
pushing buttons
calling on their machines
to massacre before our very eyes
this the twenty-first century





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


the long goodbye


we are ingrained in repetition
long before we were born

before then we already knew
rivers run into the sea
& stars fall from the sky

you’ve learned by way of music
how riders of the storm
were born into this lonely house

and so you close your eyes
dancing in the center of
your own universe

one in which has no ending





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

seashell


nothing’s new in the world
striped tigers in arenas
& armed men in jungles
thousands dying by day
inside cramped quarters
or in ever greater expanses

escapes are different today
not like whipping ‘round
the dark side of the moon
so many eyes set on the west
vast migrations looking up
at passenger starships

you’ve been uprooted
recruited & participating in
some master grander scheme
born as nothing but a bit player
soaking in the sun
& walking the beach

(waiting for the call)





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rewriting the revolution


the daffodil knows
everything about the first & last
the beginning of the end
of eternal spring

what is not written
holds steady like stasis
handed down by way of mouth
word for word for word

underground stories
are the most dangerous
everchanging
& subversively challenging
the status quo





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

assassinations


whose machination is this
capable & probably taking out
the dark prince

when it’s all over
nostradamus will be
prognosticating again
this time from mars
resurrected & freely roving
by way of artificial intelligence

the wars will never end (on earth)
neither on the ground nor in the seas
not in any airspace
either here or in outer space





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

overnight in the underground


paranoia is a dangerous thing
unpredictable & delirious
like a deadly spider in a dream

there are no photographs to be kept
either having been burned
or lost to the forest
taproots turning them into new
memories for the dead

fear the dark knight
the rider of your subconscious
galloping full speed in the darkness
consumed by the fog of war
& willing to die by the sword





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

chaise lounge


it is in between seasons
a mixture of worn out colors
making the ground & sky
appear as an open sea

a baby’s cry can be heard
from within
a sure sign that someone
is coming back to life

not long ago I could behold
or perceive your breath
in the open air    or beyond
my wildest imagination





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

it’s sunday night & I don’t know what to say


in the kitchen I keep a jar filled with words
but for the past few days it’s been empty
and I can’t seem to do the math
to have it refilled again

though he’s not been seen for days
I’ve been told curiosity (the cat) is alive & well
hanging out on the west side

maybe he’s the reason things are off-kilter
and if only he’d return
the world would simply right itself





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

carbon copying blackbirds


burning down the forest
doesn’t seem like the right thing to do
whether in times of peace or war

it’s not like you can make carbon copies
of hundreds of thousands of trees
replacing them within a generation or two
after having the enemy succumbed to flames

it’s not like you can stitch & sew time
making it nineteen ninety-nine all over again
before the world became more complicated
than la niña or an impossible crossword

ever since the first shots were fired
blackbirds continue to gather at the border
in numbers innumerable
patiently waiting for all hell to break loose




february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

no man’s land


where has the queen gone
now that war has broken out
does she dare show her face
in person let alone the air waves
or will she remain in the shadows
laying low like a commoner

they say the opposing forces
are invisible like the wind
moving in & out of the kingdom
like a knight without a country
picking & choosing allegiances
one war-torn city at a time





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

shopping list


how many of them are us
born without a homeland
left to find your own identity

displacement is not new
go ask any dinosaur
having survived the initial blast

news of a madman’s war
infiltrates the airwaves
something old is new again

the house down the street
caught fire overnight
will probably take a year to repair

I look out the bay window
counting my blessings
adding peanut butter to the list





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the color of her soul


the little farm girl
bespectacled
& tanned from the summer sun
walked out of the barn
chicken wire & snips in hand
skipped across the way
and entered the house
by way of the kitchen door

brushing back her yellow
tangled hair with the palms
of her hands
she sat at the kitchen table
working feverishly
as she shaped the wire
into a three dimensional heart
slightly smaller than her head

she tore strips of newspaper
and dipped them into
a flour-based paste she’d learned
to make at school
and speedily & completely covered
her hollowed out heart

she left it to dry on the window sill
whistling while cleaning up
the mess she had made
anxious to take it back into the barn
where she would paint it
the color purple





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hope in this world


the lines are infectious
now the whole world is at a standstill
the little one tested positive
waiting on a number to be called

to mask or not to mask
that has become the question
bad actors reciting shakespeare
contradicting the next conspiracy

there are so many open seats
at this year’s final table
be prepared to answer yes or no
when they call your number





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

havana syndrome


it’s a balancing act
most people take for granted
like riding a bicycle
or reciting the pledge of allegiance

invisible forces
come & go like visible drive-bys
bullets replaced by microwaves
locked & loaded & fired
victims incapacitated
by way of an inner blasting
that is nearly indiscernible

conspiracy theories
run rampant around the west wing
the latest front line without a guard post
a virtual war zone
the enemy undefined





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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