when the earth fell
i found myself alone;
this new atmosphere
made me nice and warm.
i heard a voice sing
and i knew i wasn’t alone;
with eyes closed
i found new colors.
in the sky i spotted a jewel
fall with an explosion;
the spectacle made me laugh,
helped me move on.
april two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Prisoners walked the lily fields
in magnetic boots
picking up pieces of shrapnel
left from centuries of hatred
Misunderstandings on Earth
are as certain as battlefields
unnecessary as bleeding hearts
never truly loved
Children of all civilizations
were fed into the factory
placed in single file lines
and taught elastic freedoms
As the elders grew past death
they’d come to realize
peaceful starships could sail
beyond the sun and back
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
They kidnapped his woman
from a casino in Biloxi
sent word for a ransom
all the way from Lockhart
Sober and well mended
he packed his horse
for an interstate journey
with his pistols in his pockets
Outside Mobile fresh cornbread
filled the air from a plantation:
a reminder how his woman
used to give him some
Riding through Pensacola
the townsfolk just stared
as he grumbled to himself:
“Nobody dogs me ‘round”
Closing in on the Tri-Cities
he repeated his own motto:
“I was born in Mississippi, baby,
and I don’t take any stuff from you”
With his pistols smoking
and out by his side he sang:
“Down in Alabama you can run
but you sure can’t hide”
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Author’s Note:
The Poem “Mississippi Kid”
is an Adaptation of the song,
Mississippi Kid,
lyrics by Ronnie Van Zant
click here for youtube video
The market doesn’t care
whether your kids are in daycare
or off to college,
could care less
if your car is broken down
or your house payment is late.
It does, however, care what happens
millions of miles away
where armed conflicts,
failing governments
and pandering politicians
wreak havoc
with your monthly budget
and tomorrow’s dreams.
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I awaken on a Sunday morning,
head pounding from the 12-hour
drinking binge with a lost friend
I hadn’t seen since college.
Sitting on the end of the bed
I try to remember what I ate for supper,
shake my head when unable to recall.
From where I sit I feel angel eyes
staring at me from around the bathroom door.
Go away! I yell, please go away!
As I lay dying I admit to myself
I won’t be attending Mass today.
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The old man whittled
while rocking in a wooden chair
on the front porch
all summer long.
We visited him daily
bringing along a beer or two
we stole from our folks,
watched as he turned pieces of cherry
into chessmen.
In the Spring
he had lost his son to the war;
but in the Summer
he just rocked away
carving and sipping,
providing all us boys the wherewithal
to win the game.
april two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I waited all day to reach out
for your hand
and you accepted
after already dancing
so many songs
in your pretty white dress
Reminiscing on the dance floor
we waltzed effortlessly
to a familiar ballad
our feet light
our eyes lost
as if looking through a mirror
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The planets were here
Long before good & evil
Long before a whisper
A trillion miles away
Could paint something
As complicated
As the Pacific Ocean
Placed in the middle of somewhere
With its storms & serenity
And undying contradictions
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
thirty years to the day
the old man buried a box
wrapped in plastic
on the border of his property
he recalled the idea
of hiding treasures
complemented his playfulness
agreed with his sensibilities
even though he knew
exactly where to go
he sat at the table
and unfolded the map
he had crafted at age fifty
life had been a blur until then
he remembered
and for the first time he swore
he had changed somehow
when he traced his finger
to the spot past the juniper trees
the items he would soon recover
flashed before him
as distant memories
slowly coming into focus
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Sitting alone in the sunroom
I closed my eyes
and felt my body warming
one bright midmorning.
Getting lost in thought
an interruption soon sounded
with a thud against glass.
I blinked open my eyes,
glanced to the left,
found myself peering
out the glass door.
Knocked out or dead
I could not tell,
but a Black-capped Chickadee
lay on his back on the deck.
Move, I thought to myself, move!
Turn your white belly over
and raise your black chin.
As I reached for the handle
the little bird shook his little body
and shook it once again.
Within half a second
he sprang to his feet,
gave me a wink,
and off he went.
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
There is an area in my backyard
Where grass used to grow,
Where farmers and native Americans
Both understood and disagreed
The meaning of owning property.
A grove of ageless, desperate trees
Grow wild beyond my backyard.
At the edge terraced walls and stone steps
complement the rolling hill.
Nobody would guess how a struggle
Once ensued there, one lasting three days.
Sometimes it rains so hard it blocks
The sunroom windows.
It is then you should venture out
And climb the steps to where the perennials
Grow so well, and see how the soil turns red.
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I trained myself to awake
around six in the morning,
no matter how many hours
I slept the night before,
even the times
when it wasn’t much
due to bouts of pleasant reveries
that didn’t want to end.
On those mornings
it seemed so easy
to trick the mind into believing
arriving to work early
was more important
than anything else,
including the imaginary parties
that continued on
from the night before.
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
“The wages of sin is death”
flashed before my eyes
while driving 80 miles per hour
on Highway 13.
A pain shot up
my arm and for a moment
I had no hands on the steering wheel.
In what context, I wondered
did the homemade sign suggest?
And why did it happen
to find me there?
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The last bullet
was intended for me
came out of nowhere
like a flash of light
its irresistible spin traveling
some two thousand miles per second
much faster than my mind
could comprehend
The last bullet
remained lodged
in my brain until the day came
when I could no longer believe
I had beat it
could no longer replay in slow motion
how it had arrived there
night after night
march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It came out of nowhere
passed right through me
chilling me
to the bone
reminding me
of the time
I was slapped in the face
by a below-zero blast
outside the Chicago Hilton.
My mind usually ignored
such premonitions
but the air
still trapped
in my body
slowly circulated
until a centrifugal force
overwhelmed me with vertigo
and I was unable
to answer the telephone.
november, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as he sat slumped at the marble counter
in the master bathroom
facing the mirror which spanned
the width of the wall
he stared forward
and craned his neck
tilting his head this way
then that, slowly opening
his mouth as wide as can be
then slowly closing his lips
examining himself with squinting eyes
the routine was as repetitive as time
transforming his face
as if in a trance
first with a bleaching
and second by applying
shades of red and orange and yellow
on his cheeks and around his eyes
screwing on a big red ball
over his existing nose
and cramming a rainbow wig
atop his balding crown
november, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 