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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

year of the earth pig


do not dare pick up the sword
and take exception to the earth pig
having last been seen
extending generosity
some three score years ago

as a citizen of america
[make that a descendant
of many an immigrant]
I’ve been molded to admire
the likes of porky and wilbur
piglet and petunia

come february four
let us indeed move forward
with the earth pig
relieving stress
through movement and meditation
picking up the pen
not only to communicate
but to draw blossoming flowers
[popular among friends]
and offering them when fully bloomed
to perfect strangers



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

contrails paint an invisible sky


one by one the cities fall
blackened by fire and ice
falling from the heavens

late night broadcasts
capture angels
as floating globes of light
escorting lost souls
to their next destination

once the airings cease
those alive in the countryside
watch in amazement
the setting sun consuming
what was left behind

dawn and twilight
become but an abstract idea
the moon and stars and planets
mere memories burned
deep within the naked eye

a nearby stream and crickets
can be heard at certain times
young ones sprinting wildly
as an occasional rocket
blasts off yet another spacecraft




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the most beautiful woman in the world


helen of troy
hatchling of zeus
or so the story goes

oh how the gods loved
to play their games
this time disguised
as a beautiful white swan
protecting the lovely leda
from predator eagle
before seducing and raping
the queen of sparta

how forcefully did he
execute his will
on the helpless beauty
his enormous wings
pinning her down
in violent copulation
perpetuating the commingling
between god and human
further complicating
true bloodlines
throughout the course
of human history



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

120 moons


when life can’t get any better
something hits you with
indiscriminate authority
leaving you reeling and rewinding
forcing you to go underground

fast forward and here you stand
garden spade in hand
having dug your way out
over a period of 120 moons
well rested after presumed dead

the old outer you no longer exists
unlike your inner revolution
which continues to evolve
redefining a checkered past
with a future that has no end




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

oracle of antiquity


she believes in blue skies
and the power of silence
alone in her thoughts
moonshine above shoreline

she believes in pure magic
supernatural abilities
coursing through her veins
flying past her fingertips

above and beyond all else
she believes in herself
reborn from relics of a past
fashioned via retrospection




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the house of displaced poetry


it’s not easy finding inspiration
on low visibility nights
so you just move on from
one thought to the next
hoping to find a place to call home

without a charge nights are lonelier
inner city sky void of lights
artificial ones hard to see
thanks to cold wintry mix
forcing shelters to exceed capacity

I’ve lived through this odyssey before
pocket book of poetry
pressed against my heart
three or four layers deep
every single word still very much alive




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

watching cartoons in little pink houses


everyone sees him except you
my dear inspector
walking amongst the living
and very much in the thick of things
whether taking five in the studio
[sitting cross-legged in the director’s chair]
or strolling down the walk of fame
hand in hand with julie andrews

he turns your blues into pink
right before your very eyes
but all you realize is yourself
as if that oversized magnifier
is nothing but a looking glass

some say that ever elusive diamond
never did exist
but that colorful far-out cat
now he was the real deal
blending into every kind of scenery
be it on the big screen or otherwise




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pagination


I keep bookmarking these pages
thinking of you
saying to myself how you’d
love this or adore that

virtual pages made of words
or pictures or both
moments in time captured
perfectly
reminding me of you

as I scroll slowly
through countless bookmarks
I feel a slight presence behind me
as if your breath is in the air
leaving me imagining
how your storied adventure
could ever possibly end




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the unanointed one


the people sentenced him to death
and the supreme judge
possessing the power bestowed upon him
allowed it to be so

how cowardly can one ordinary man be
washing his hands without
looking in the mirror
swayed by the maddening swirling of the mob

truth does not prevail in his proclamations
delivered from on high
promising blind injustice to the many
and deliverance to the few




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

asylum seeker


I was listening to rock and roll
like I tend to do after midnight
eyes closed and breathing deeply
allowing every chord and note and lyric
to possess my otherwise vacant space

I find myself climbing stone walls
wondering if paradise resides
somewhere on the other side
and for some reason I am smiling
as I methodically scale the barrier

comfortably seated on the top ledge
one song ends and another begins
observing without judgment either side
one in which I’ll always know by heart
the other my soul destined to love




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

counting sheep on a sunday night


it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
my favorite moon having left me for another

lying down I give in to silence
barely breathing in the dead of night
counting blessings and honestly questioning
whether or not I can feel my age-old bones

two scores ago I’d be falling fast asleep
transistor radio my only companion
rhythmically influencing my dreams
mysteriously quiet come mid-morning

if I could escape I certainly would
exploring the night like an owl or dormouse
flying high above or crawling on all fours
secretly returning home in the nick of time

it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
the midnight hour peacefully drawing near



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a day on fictitious lake


she’s pleaded to tag along
and the boys reluctantly agreed
the five of us stuffed inside
my lime green hatchback

fictitious lake was frozen solid
a good eight plus inches thick
perfectly capable of supporting
whatever weight we might carry

checklist included four-man tent
rods and reels and ice auger
life vests and assortment of jigs
5-gallon bucket and case of beer

there must be a rainbow somewhere
she said as the boys drilled into the ice
multi-color parasol above her head
designer aviators shielding her eyes




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sitting down and taking notes on skull hill


I’m not about to stop whatever it is I’ve been doing
skating or stumbling or sleepwalking through
the course of ordinary events

history books never did get it quite right
whether written on walls
or stone slabs or paper or clouds

the best stories are told by the campfire
be they fact or fiction
held to the strictest of standards
handed down from one generation to the next

here I sit alone atop my very own calvary
looking down and shaking
loose the cobwebs
wondering how many more men must die
for the sake of a single solitary hill




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my story retold in the third person


these flashbacks
occurring with greater frequency
how young will I be
three or four hours from now
once giving in to the idea
the night is endless

I’ve come to accept
they’re no longer merely dreams
rather ageless recordings
reshuffled and replaying
a not too distant past
from a totally different perspective

at three-thirty in the morning
I’m wide awake
and quite positive
I’ve always been fast asleep



january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

so far away from the sea


zero to twenty
seemingly a lifetime
long ago microfilmed
now locked away
in a seashell vault

footprints on reflective beach
washed away ages ago
moon phase
after moon phase
erasing whatever proof
there may have been

out in the deep blue sea
young sailors
become old men in a single season
long off course
and desperately sober
stuffing farewell messages
inside empty beer bottles




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one fresh lemon and frozen peas


carrots & celery & radishes
those are the easy ones to remember

instead of making a list
I try to recall what’s in the fruit basket
lazy susan and freezer

if only I didn’t have to stop at the pharmacy
everyone hates me there
plus they have my number and long memories

I rarely go down the middle aisles
afraid I may never come out
instead stick to the edges
where I can see real people
peddling real ideas

I tell my text-by-psychiatrist
that I’m not a druggie and never was
but I do like to get high
in the strangest possible ways
and most conspicuous places

she tells me to go on but I don’t
believing she’s really not a she
but rather an under-age sex-bot created
by four freshmen software engineers
at iowa state university

I sort of come back down to earth
when the bell rings and they ask me
if I found everything all right
leaving me scratching my head
and fumbling for my car keys




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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