the apple lives large
atop the head of tells
or so the story goes
bad ones get tossed from
beneath bridges by
witness protected trolls
I’ll be damned if you can’t
find a bad seed in this
eight by eight orchard
gravity knows no bounds
not as long as dear Isaac
has anything left to say
fleshy and newly picked
still life object shines
brightly upon teacher’s desk
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Tension in my arm stays tight
but I’m strong for my age
a fence jumper
and tree climber
a better shooter than William Tell
I thought I knew myself
better than this
nonetheless always find myself
transgressing with every
errantly blown kiss
I may not be the original
but I possess two sharp eyes
and even sharper arrows
let loose from treetops
piercing the loneliest of hearts
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this never gets easy
this guessing game with no
real answers
written on the back of cards
how many times do I
just get in the car
looking for something
that doesn’t exist
how many times do I
open a door
just because I think
somebody is knocking
that thing around the corner
it’s pretty fucking scary
some of the time
and sometimes it’s more than scary
and that’s when you understand
just how alive you really are
so I hear this weekend is
supposed to be super nice
I suppose I should take advantage
of the situation while I still can
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he said his name was jesus
and I started following him
up the jersey shore
and though I’d never been
there before
I felt like I was in the right place
there were dozens of us
musicians and poets
landscapers and local artisans
walking side by side
and consumed by
one man without possessions
despite threatening winds
we trekked northward
toward sandy hook
a bay he preached about
days earlier when the
sun was much brighter
I can take you no further
he went on to say
(my days are always numbered)
and it was then and there
he set us free
like sheep amongst wolves
howling in new york city
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i could see you
out of the corner of my eye
my angel
wrapped in her own
feathery blanket
uninspired for over an hour
i picked up my brush
and hurriedly
lashed out at the paper tacked
to the easel
scratching our plumes
creating locks like thin-haired pasta
eyes ocean blue
half-open and watery
lips closed and
relaxed like a worn-out child
she did not move
and did not make a sound
while everyone else
looked the other way
satisfied
i picked up my things
and waved goodbye
told everyone i’d see them
again next week
especially
my tired little friend
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s the same message
many years removed
waiting to be read
or heard
dying to be understood
void of any accusations
rife with insinuation
and inside jokes
words pretend not to be
what they seem
throughout the city
electronic billboards throw
darts into unsuspecting eyes
clouding them with mystery
perhaps mesmerized
by the power of the light
there was no crow
on sunday morning
ballasts and shades
transfigured into science
needing further observation
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
somewhere in michigan the tap water
is very hard to drink
and somewhere in minnesota
somebody is cracking jokes
the old couple down the street
did themselves in
like in a bukowski poem
but this time the neighbors
didn’t have a clue
because the old man nuked
the TV dinners
these politics in these
united states
need somehow to reinvent
themselves
their labels clearly out of date
unable to stop the wave
that is about to take them over
some of us work on mainstreet
some of us forty stories high
some of us strive
to be alive
in the wires or better yet
on wifi
sometimes barely seen
except when needing to strike
in the meantime economic
inequalities stretch elastically
chartlines hitting new lows
and testing resistance points
while more and more children
act as runners in the alleys
just another piece of the puzzle
royal princes might say
that keeps the status quo
from taking life too seriously
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
love letter never shared
never signed
nor placed in the mail
words on a sheet
crying to be heard
like a wounded bird
cursive thoughts
weaving sad stories
short and never-ending
lost inside words
images burn bright
only to fade away
unfolded like a map
pressed by cold hands
tracing all the creases
refolded and returned
jewelry box without song
safeguards empty promises
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
boots in the distance pounding the street
sounding off in perfect rhythm
like a faraway train
legs run in many directions
escaping lawless neighborhoods
arms signaling to the sky
screaming at nobody in particular
just calling out to be heard
airwaves are crowded with inaudible
communications
delivered in technological languages
subjected to interception and
precision translation
there is nothing secret going on
throughout the greatest cities
where multitudes
of the most ordinary
amass in breathless harmony
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve studied and analyzed
so many
who have come before me
reconstructing their lives through
research and poetry
As I lay here daydreaming
(perhaps dying)
motionless (projecting translucence)
I bid adieu to friends and foes
by clicking my heels
and tipping my old gray hat
spiritedly introducing to the world
those we’ve yet to know
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
new moon rises over aquarius
directing my attention to the 4th house
an empty nest simmering with thoughts
stirring and swirling with a little
help from mars and uranus
stoking the fire so to speak
pushing and pulling unnecessary things
encouraging inner conflict
that doesn’t deserve to be unleashed
this new moon in aquarius
seems to know everything
testing one’s resolve by delivering
glad tidings and dire straits
directly to my front door
determined not to give in
I breathe deeply in the silence of the mind
choosing instead to scatter
seeds in all directions
knowing full well
inner workings are best gathered
when the moon is full
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on the coldest of sundays
I read the paper in bed
sipping hibiscus tea
radio station streaming
top forty songs from 1972
though the sun shines brightly
casting diagonal rays
at my concealed feet
its perceived warmth is merely
an allusion of spring
sometimes I turn my head
and count cardinals
flying past the window
probably insanely curious
as to when I’ll make
my next move
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he found himself often
talking to himself and others
at the tavern
where bartenders were able
to read his mind
through a silent language
or some other nuance
he loved to talk sports and politics
religion and economics
no topic too toxic for his liking
quick as a flash he was
and sharp as a tack
there was no disputing
his tongue never got drunk
everyone knew he made
a living catching fish
you could smell it on his breath
beneath the whiskey
underneath the fluency of romantic
languages he often
inserted into his american english
poetry is of no importance
he often told his listeners
even if there wasn’t anyone
listening
but he would continue on anyway
telling the story of the love of his life
a mermaid from the mediterranean
who indiscreetly broke his heart
and the bartender would nod
and pour something neat
between them
“aye you are johnny on the spot”
he would say
“despite my inconsistencies you’ve
always managed to understand me”
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we germinated seeds wrapped in
moist paper towels
trapped inside teacup saucers
left behind beneath the kitchen sink
evicted for reasons unbeknownst
to the uncaring eye
we migrated into the metropolis
finding security amongst the living
barely surviving into the spring
we packed our things
heads held high and singing
like the birds following in our wake
crossing into newfound fertile lands
we planted something new
prayed to the gods that be
our resurrected hopes would grow
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
voluntarily confined in second story room
four walls with one door
one window
locked inside for hours
watching outside world
smartphone connected to headphones
down below frenzied family interacts
fingers pushing buttons designed
to simplify lives
modern distractions creating confusion
dinner overcooked in oven
baskets of clothes stacked high
little ones devouring soggy frosted flakes
curfew sets in
lights faintly glow
cold air and distant sirens
stream in through wide open window
convoluted dreams turning sideways
by a single scream
fists pounding a simple door
barricading teenage aspirations
february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the cat chased the crescent moon
deep into the night
encountering near death experiences
along the way
living and dying by the hour
until inevitably unseen
with the scent of the cat
fresh in the dog’s
sensory perceptions
he searched for days on end
until finally losing track of
his long-lost friend
promising to return another day
the dog headed back home
guided by a bright satellite
looming over the city
stray cats springing from the shadows
and jumping over the moon
january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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