I thought I was in some place that I was not
how the mind bends reality leaving you
rethinking everything you’ve learned thus far
how many lies must I tell before becoming truth
mind beginning to believe anything I say or do
I’ve been told there is an ocean on the other
side of this magnificent purple mountain
the very one I will have surfed endless times
october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the clock has struck midnight
and here I remain
similar to yesterday’s self
but somehow slightly different
I can’t quite put my finger on
changing seasons once again
a battle between wind
and cricket and creation
a jealous crescent moon
simply an innocent bystander
I sit and wonder by the window
does anyone ever win
morning sun coming into view
colored pencils on cottony paper
attempting to capture it all
october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s been raining off and on
and all I can do is dream about
early morning sunrises
and red red roses
in the basement sump pump
hums along tirelessly with
frequent irregularity
[or shall I say
infrequent regularity]
it matters not as long as the rain
water is recycled
back into the street
as long as dreams of early
morning sunrises
and red red roses
remain well within reach
october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’ve had this conversation before
how many years now
call it ten and twenty and forty
what’s done is done
you try to reassure me
but I say some things are never laid to rest
how often we’ve visited this place
sitting inside or out
whatever the reason
whenever the season
commenting on superficialities
people surrounding us
the socially acceptable
or awkwardly desirable
everyone deserves a second shot at life
we silently agree
except of course those who never
had a chance from the very beginning
october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Bring on the tenth month I say
images of monarch
and ruby-throated migrations
flashing before my eyes
nighttime baseball games
a staple in my foreseeable future
culminating with an enormous
harvest moon slowly rising
It’s the last hurrah you say
sitting cozily by the artificial fire
sipping hot tea from a tumbler
pointing at the Samsung
and dialing up a movie
I nod unconvincingly
retiring to the sunroom
pouring myself a pint of Guinness
reassured knowing
October is just the beginning
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
blackbird blackbird
visible in my peripheral
perched upon six foot fence post
barely saying a word
blackbird blackbird
surveying golden field
extant and flawlessly beautiful
dreaming up a new song
blackbird blackbird
as old as the living hills
posing ever so noiselessly
no particular place to go
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is some solace in the disorder of the day
further complicated by my inability to
distinguish the living from the dead
I used to think I was normal until I was told
I must either be insane or a genius
ever since I fired my counselor and started
self-diagnosing my own internal conflicts
I gave them their very own names
associating them with childhood stuffed animals
alive and well in the far corners of my mind
on sunday mornings we all get together
in a perfect circle and share a pot of hibiscus tea
each of us having a chance to cry a good story
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no swiping the slate clean
or turning of a page
or undoing what’s been done
there is only a new day
and even so that is never a given
we write letters and make
phone calls
sometimes we practice what
we might say
what we might commit to memory
but somehow it never comes out right
so we continue moving forward
as if everything in the past matters not
and now I think to myself on a quiet
friday night that more often than not
silence is completely sufficient
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I mean you no ill will
churches of the old world
god knows it’s high time you die
a swift and cleansing death
reborn into a new truth
distinctly separate from your
inherent corruption and greed
and preconceived paranoia
the temple is your soul
and the steeple not a structure
but a symbol of committing
to the most basic tenets
such as loving your neighbor as yourself
or even more radically
loving your enemy and blessing
those who curse you
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it rained all weekend
we slept on and off and
dreamed of eating chocolate
ice cream and brewing
flavored coffees
all weekend long
a fire burned in the stove
as we told old tales without
speaking a single word
after sunday came friday
and before we knew it
it was saturday all over again
and oh how the sun did shine
where did the rain go
we asked without thinking
it’s as if time reversed course
and monday became nothing
but an impossible reality
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the autumn equinox falls flat on my face
deep in dream state I am suddenly
wide awake
I sit up and attempt to determine
exactly what it is that woke me
and exactly where I might be
am I dead or am I alive
I wonder with uncertainty
bold numbers glowing in my peripheral
I turn and squint and see
it’s nearly three in the morning
I was dreaming of colors I say aloud
of the sunset and the moon’s shine
of the oak tree shedding its coat
atop the green green grass
yes I was dreaming beautifully
and you rudely awoke me
[mother nature or god or my own intuition]
less than sublimely reminding me
one day I will be the one who is falling
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my iphone photo from 2011
what year was it again
there’d been so many to choose from
good ones from different eras
ones we had never lived in
at least to our knowledge
we’d been drinking
homemade mead & moonshine
rolling our own cigarettes
lighting them using wooden sticks
blowing imperfect smoke rings
dial in november nineteen sixty-three
or better yet anno domini thirty-one
and get yourself a front row seat
witness for the rest of us what others
simply talk or write or read about
just be sure to come right back
and explain in granular detail
exactly what went down
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
listen can you hear it
the changing of the guard
constructively rattling sabers
as if directed by the stars
at birth we were promised
there’d be peace in our time
yet the war machine rages on
so many years past our prime
who am I but a mercenary
or a prophet sent by the lord
reborn on this earth to deliver
a final cannonball of hope
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s five a.m
my mind tells me so
having just replayed the reality
of melting glaciers
and rainforests set ablaze
a voice inside says
you can listen to the earth
and suddenly I am wide awake
I can hear the cold rain
pelting against the window pane
and for some reason
I’m afraid to open my eyes
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve got this routine and it keeps getting
interrupted by a body that knows better
master regulator of the universe
how do you do what you do
reminding me I’m temporary until
you turn me into interstellar matter
I was born in the water
learned to breathe without gills
swimming in circles for miles and miles
as if alone I’d forever be
who’s going to keep me warm come
winter and keep me well fed
who’s going to sing me that farewell song
and rock me to sleep in their arms
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Maybe I’ll eat or maybe I won’t
I heard the chicken wings at Edith
Lucille’s are to die for
If you look straight up
you’ll find mostly seventies
album covers and license
plates representing most of these
forty-eight contiguous states
[with a little luck
you just might find your own
initials or birth date carved
right there on your table
or adjacent wall
or bench or wooden floor]
Out back the parking lot is full
or sometimes not
and a few hundred yards beyond
maple branches hang low
over Indian Creek
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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