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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “poetry”

08 Sep 2015
2 Comments

moving day all over again


we were sitting on the balcony
sipping tea and pretending to be happy
while down below piles of possessions
systematically moved from outside the
house and into a rented step van

who’s the guy with the tattoo sleeve I ask

oh that’s Billy she says
he tends bar and does stand-up

right I say without looking up
loving one instagram after the next

refreshing our glasses I wondered if she
had remembered to pack those
forgotten memories
or did she purposely leave them behind
perhaps inside a weightless shoebox
stashed high upon a shelf
or wrapped inside a linen cloth
hidden below a wooden floor board



september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
06 Sep 2015

coming out of ground


inside old boxes embers glow
building roses out of ashes
and lightning strikes

crashing cymbals introduce
a new species of climbers
busily hurrying to reach the sky
zeroing in on unknown territory

you wish to go with them
but as a mere mortal
all you can do is wave
and blow kisses
praying and hoping
they’ll find their way home



september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , | Leave a comment
02 Sep 2015
7 Comments

long road to anywhere


their land they own no more
their homes ransacked and sold
to men with prisoners as wives

nearby fields of wildflowers
once stretching to meet the sun halfway
but now scorched and smoldering
harbor pieces of unspeakable crimes

the instinct of flight is all that
remains inside human spirits

no longer questioning nor conjecturing
and certainly no longer imagining
they put up unfathomable fronts
instinctively embarking on a
journey to anywhere
fueled by fumes of the innocent



september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , ,
30 Aug 2015
2 Comments

defenseless moon rising


mathematics of heaven
on earth measure up
like the clickety-clack of
wingtip boots hitting
hot summer concrete
on the brightest of days

seven plus one rounds
normally fill a colt 45
its pearl handle concealed
inside the hip of urban
cowboy moving about
in conspicuous silence

waxing gibbous expose
skyscrapers without power
eluding bullets fired
from restless streets that
harbor outlaw scientists
who recalculate and reload




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
29 Aug 2015
2 Comments

Once upon a carnival


by Pleasant Street & J Matthew Waters

Shopping for groceries
I turn a corner near the eggs
A feather, buoyant before my eyes
Dancing in the air so I can not reach
The sound of a brass band in produce
A smile on my face for past times

Out in the parking lot
Lost thoughts become louder
Parading with yesterday’s revelries
Like souls without a care
Preventing me from finding my car
Blended amongst all the noise

The carnival days are missed
Black leather on crushed red velvet
Deep glasses of confidence
Unconcerned with consequence
Nights of ambition
Behind masks ’til the wine ran dry

How my mind wanders
Wondering where in the world
We will ever meet
And relive the magic that once
Existed in a special place
Full of color and sound

Succulent nights – joy in our fists
Carefree, somnolent days
Everything glittered
Though nothing was gold
I knew your touch
As well as my name

Passion and danger
We were never strangers to either
Japanese lanterns on fire above us
Below us thin air we danced upon
Like in a fairy tale
That never seemed to end



august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
27 Aug 2015

carry on my wayward son


how is the road less traveled
any better than city streets
teeming with possibilities

or so it seems you have gone
in every direction
sometimes at the same time
drunk on wine
and sated from pork and dark
chocolate over the course
of years to come

tiptoeing on the fringes
communication becomes intermittent
incoming messages
noisily unclear
easily dismissed by the flip of a switch

though forward movements
often travel in opposite directions
there is no denying the final
destination will repeat itself




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
23 Aug 2015
6 Comments

let the weekend begin


everyone I know is getting older
and some are even dying without
a moment’s notice
never getting a chance to say
good-bye
good-bye
good-bye sweet world

in the grocery store I ran into Joe
and asked him how his wife was doing

she’s gone man where have you been

I’m sorry I say and walk away

out in the parking lot everyone is
a ghost of their former selves
systematically going about their lives
running out of bright ideas
to reverse the inevitable

but not me I am perfectly fine
no wrinkles on my face
a rosy glow still on my cheeks

I tell myself this is the last time
I’m going shopping here
and I rev up the engine and
drive my case of american pale ale
back home where we belong




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
21 Aug 2015
6 Comments

into the great wide open


a box on the side of the road
not a box really but a folder
a small folder at that
the kind with a rubber strap
wrapped around to keep the flap shut
ensuring that whatever would be inside
could not easily be outside

it was just sitting there on the
graveled shoulder of highway 13
and somehow I had spotted it
driving some sixty miles per hour
its image now just a snapshot
first and foremost in my mind

traffic was light but each time
someone drove by I imagined
the lunchbox-sized folder
fluttered from each sixty mile per hour draft
the rubber strap gradually shifting
loosening and eventually opening
exposing what was once concealed
launching the contents up and out
into the great wide open



august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
18 Aug 2015
2 Comments

Lemonade Stand


Outside Damascus on a Sunday
morning small hands press
ripened lemons recently
arrived from Istanbul

Years earlier there would be
no need for imports
and those lemonade stands
operated by the most beautiful
children of the world
exist only in memory




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , , , ,
16 Aug 2015
3 Comments

promising young stars


he was seriously injured on the playing field
aired on prime-time television last night
the announcer commenting how
the promising young man may
never suit up again

if only those innocent children worldwide
could be so lucky
those massacred by rockets or knives
or handguns or anything else heartless
cowards can get their bloody hands on




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
15 Aug 2015
3 Comments

my maddening tipping point


all I hear are echoes anymore
echoes from anything making a sound
a blender in the kitchen
going round and round
its motor never quite leaving my mind
mixed in with machine guns going
rat-a-tat-tat
competing with armies of lawn mowers
and battalions of snow blowers
while little bumblebees buzz around
alongside birds of every nation singing their songs
echoes of bed sheets entangled around
myself and a young woman I once knew
echoes of clock towers turning back time
with chimes ringing backwards
bringing forth a new century
that would eventually become
my maddening tipping point




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Aug 2015

chorus practice


cicadas alive and loud
sounding off above and below
sunny treetops
sublimely casting wavelengths
across the heavy air
noisily rhythmical to anyone
subconsciously dreaming of
reaching faraway places




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Micropoetry, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , | Leave a comment
09 Aug 2015

test driver


she didn’t steal the car
she just borrowed it for the night
drove up and down the one ways
under the friday city lights

puffing on one hundreds
she sang along with the am radio
a cold six-pack by her side
the night slightly becoming cooler

there were plenty of dragsters
biding their time
chomping for a race
but she kept the four-barrel
carburetor purring like a puma
wanting to give chase

local coppers let the young ones
enjoy their weekend fun
but when special bulletins
point to grand theft auto
those boys in blue quickly learned
exactly what’s she’s got




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
06 Aug 2015

especially ever since


you cried and I don’t know why
and suddenly a rainbow
appeared and we toasted
to everything unexpected

I cried and I don’t know why
things happen like they do
finding myself accidentally alone
tossing a salad and tearing
cold chicken with my hands

the rain barrel’s been near empty
for half a summer now
and I’m beginning to wonder
if autumn will ever arrive
before winter settles in




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
04 Aug 2015

Ménage à trois


I saw the sister of Taurus plain as day
and wondered how in the world
she had put me under a spell
with Mars lurking so near

Meanwhile the god of war fumed
in a confounding cosmic fog
waiting patiently to snatch Isis
once she wandered too far

As for me I refused to budge knowing
Venus was transiting my way
figuring all things eventually work out
inside this servantless house




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
30 Jul 2015
4 Comments

my little blue kettle


my monday a.m. mood
never surprises me
feeling under the radar
like my little blue kettle

rain falls consistently
hitting window pane
keeping perfect time
like my little blue kettle

off in the distance
passenger train rolls on
sounding off through the fog
like my little blue kettle



blue kettle

‘The Blue Kettle’ by The Crazy Bag Lady – Sketch of the day no 677 in her moleskine art journal – Visit her wonderful blog at Bulan Lifestyle and follow on Twitter @BulanLifestyle

july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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