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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poetry”

19 Apr 2015
6 Comments

color my world


an empty canvas in an otherwise
empty world
suspended above sands
washed clean by the hands of the moon
time after countless time

the artist is nowhere to be found
perhaps adrift at sea
in search of something unforeseen
paint brushes and palette
at rest on three-legged easel

what is lost will one day be found
the artist and canvas
reunited when least expected
bringing back color
to an otherwise empty world



april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
15 Apr 2015
4 Comments

settling the score


out of nowhere billy lost everything
waking up to a note
segued by a pink slip at work
months later evicted from his
place in philadelphia

sally took it all to minnesota
life and child crammed inside
u-haul speeding north on 35
not a tear in her eye
nor ounce of shame left behind

unable to cut it on the streets
billy hit the road south to miami
playing drums and keeping warm
lip syncing in the shower
and banging his head on blue tile

back in arizona sally arrives on time
stepping off the plane
taken in by a friend of an online friend
homeschooling by day
and singing late into cool nights

on his fortieth billy falls back in time
with a young sally on coney island
arranged by a matchmaker
from oklahoma city
wishing to remain anonymous



april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
12 Apr 2015

rumors


they fly by as streaks of light
zipping through the city
cruising in and out of sight
sometimes pausing like shadows
inside innocent songs
other times resting within sounds
of desperate poetry

they are neither real nor imagined
but they are certainly alive
much like the wind
hurtling through the night
with nothing near or far
preventing it from existing at all



april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
10 Apr 2015
9 Comments

worldwide window shopping


these marketplaces filled with footfalls
and voices and exchange of ideas
created from the minds of many
duplicated from village to small town
from small city to urban jungle
none of the gatherings remotely identical
but in essence all the same
peaceful people commingling in an
environment of constant energy
fueled by fairness and tolerance
and understanding on a sublime level
the importance of amicable inclusion



april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
08 Apr 2015
3 Comments

deciding between dark and light


the room is dark but there is this
light inside me
faint yet growing
calling me by name and making me
wonder why I am so alone

there is knocking on the door
rap rap rap
knocking
someone calling my name
but I pretend it’s just a sparrow
trying to get in
wanting to nest beside me

the light grows stronger with each
passing day
but still I remain in the dark
warming a pair of dice inside my hands
afraid to let them go



april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
04 Apr 2015
8 Comments

jesus from tokyo


I saw jesus on tokyo bay
speaking spanglish and
directing fishing boats
like a venerable traffic cop

dressed in seamless jeans
and oversized shirt
he unveiled the sun with his hands
welcoming all to follow in his wake

docking close to disney at night
the city prefect greeted him with
flowers and rings and keys
proceeding to escort his entourage
to the enchanted tiki room

swapping stories and feasting
on the day’s catch
tourists gradually gathered round
sampling the uncooked bounty
imported from half a world away





april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Fishing, In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
02 Apr 2015
2 Comments

Hands of Red Clay


She crafted the hands of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
before kiln dried
manicured and baked again

For years the hands rested on shelves
rubbing porcelain figurines and pottery pieces

She adored the hands of red clay
allowed her students to critique
but never handle them
all intrigued by the veins and lifelines
palms and knuckles
nails and cuticle
their uniqueness all but touchable

Some believed the clay was dug
from an ancient Indian burial ground
others convinced their creation was
inspired by her late husband
while a cult following proclaimed
the blood of man flowed inside them

The hands were crafted of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
while years of uncertainty
kept them alive



originally penned in 1996
rewritten april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
01 Apr 2015
5 Comments

the villain and the hero and the unsympathetic fool


accusations fly by like wayward missiles
shot out of silos a half world away
landing god knows where and
making new holes to crawl into

there is no villain to kill in this tale
not one tying down fair damsels to the tracks
nor cloaking a wide smile with black cape

the hero here is incapable of rescuing even himself
instead seeks answers from faraway stars
like a prince without an inheritance

while remote weaponry circles the earth
the unsympathetic fool carries on
in an unforgiving world
deflecting whatever arrows brand his name
with an invisible shield called mortality



april fool’s day two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
29 Mar 2015
2 Comments

cowboy country church


they whooped and hollered
every time the preacher said amen
their guns at their side
fully loaded
anxious to pull them
out of their holsters

whoa my wayward boys
the preacher bemoaned
thou shalt not keep thy fingers on
thy handles
and take hold the truth
within the good book instead

the cowboys coughed
and held their hands together
fingers twitching and praying
for the preacher
to give them good reason
not to raise the roof



march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
23 Mar 2015
8 Comments

One Summer in Vienna


The last time we danced in Vienna
the stock market had yet to crash
and the very idea of Austria as her
very own state seemed preposterous

Though a Yankee I spoke perfect German
both in and out of
pubs and proper places
quick to blame my loving Mother when
questioned about my presence

I remember you telling me Vienna would
never be harmed
because you said
she represents the soul in everyone

I remember you telling me
the foundation era would blossom into
a flower of unimaginable artistry and peace

I believed everything you told me
just like it was yesterday

Detained for questioning for what I believed
had everything to do with your talents
how could it be I would never see you again
left to search your peaceful streets
as the world around us
descends into chaos





march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , , , ,
21 Mar 2015
3 Comments

the fall and rise of the anteaters


I thought for sure the anteaters would
beat the cardinals as the game unfolded
but the more intelligent species prevailed
leaving the extant mammal departing
tail between legs and muttering
beneath exhaustive breaths
promising to return same time next year



march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Micropoetry, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
20 Mar 2015
9 Comments

broken glass worries not the gods


the world is but a china cabinet
its glass windows like curved domes
barely protecting a susceptible client
boasting beauty and fragility

stones and bulls whiz and whirl inside the place
directed by gods from trillions of miles away
neither seeking nor destroying
but mimicking and marveling
at the blue jewel’s simple complexities




march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
14 Mar 2015
3 Comments

performance of a lifetime


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

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
11 Mar 2015
2 Comments

out on their own


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

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
09 Mar 2015
6 Comments

a perfect promise


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

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
08 Mar 2015
12 Comments

realigning the natural order of things


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

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , ,

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