I keep telling myself I’m not afraid
repeating the phrase as if it’s my mantra
each letter embossed on my skin
images of hearts etched in my mind
I tell myself I’m no longer afraid
to fall asleep in the dead of night
grateful to have found my voice
relieved knowing I finally have a song
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
listen and the words will follow
though they may not be the ones
you want to hear
if you practice patience you will
learn to rearrange them
turning lies into truths
and hatred into understanding
on the banks of fortuity
you may be able to slow things down
simply by closing your eyes
and making good use of your breath
and if you’re willing to travel
further on down the stream
letting yourself go
allowing otherworldy sounds
to become your rhythm
the gods that be may take notice
making an exception to the rule
by granting you a bird’s eye view
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they enter this world as children
of the same spirit
learning the laws of the land
and the laws of nature
exploring causality and karma
testing the limits of physicality
touching that which cannot be felt
they’ve been known to walk on water
and fly like the birds of the sky
but in reality they are simply children
born of the same spirit
free to define themselves here on earth
living to learn and learning to die
just like you and me
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
winter winds unusually warm
bringing back birds I’ve not seen
in what seems like ages
suddenly returning in waves
I’ve been flying and foraging
for nearly a fortnight now
blending in with a family of
black-capped chickadees
I almost forgot what is was like
to be amongst a family
of five or fifty or five hundred
coexisting effortlessly
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
listen to the vibrations within
a part of your living self
faintly beating since conception
growing stronger incrementally
from fetus to eventual live birth
they’ve always been there
[these beautiful vibrations]
a window to the non-physical world
constantly tapping your shoulder
revealing mysteries while you sleep
though you may suppress them
through disregard and self-destruction
they can never be destroyed
always remaining in waiting
like a dispirited guardian angel
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Or so I’ve been told there is drama
in the afterlife
but I am quick in begging to differ
having already experienced
a time or two the act of purgation
You see I’ve long since cried
my last tear
long before my last breath
experiencing or better yet
coming to terms with stepping
through to the other side
I am like a leaf discovered
by a child after a long long winter
pressed and preserved
in psalm one seventeen
soon thereafter stitched together
and placed back on the vine
I’ve missed you more
than you will ever know
but I will always remind you
[in my own little way]
that I never really did leave
I simply ridded myself of everything
that never truly belonged to me
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
bored by an ancient past
afraid of what lies ahead
I sit in front of metal easel
white canvas but a mirror
sable paint brush in hand
painting myself in and out
of an imperfect circle
how many times must I try
turning apple into orange
or barren earth into sky
I keep telling myself
a masterpiece is awaiting
one without a beginning or end
brimming with suspension
like a virtuoso escape artist
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you spend the day in suspension
hanging upside down in dark cave
high frequency white noise
keeping you breathing freely
your thoughts increasingly lucid
bandages wrap your beating heart
covering unresolved feelings
wounded by your own compassion
for someone in your distant past
when it’s time to let yourself go
breaking free from the ceiling
empathy is allowed to sink in
reconnecting with a virtual bond
able to absorb your true identity
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my worst fears
but a window to the world
exposing my hopes and dreams
as if they don’t belong to me
elbows on window sill
eyes blinking shut
palms supporting chin
mind delving deeper in thought
lonesome mockingbird
outside looking in
echoing a song I’ve yet to begin
some say I’m on my way
I say I’m already there
arms stretched out
and welcoming a light
that naturally never ends
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
In memory of Marshall T. Schick (1962-1990)
The laughter and sounds of two cycle engines
are what I remember most. Even in summer
you played with the Kawasaki, saucer and rope.
On frozen Duck Creek five bodies
would stack upon a radio flyer as your laughter
ricocheted off the elms that lined its banks.
As you shifted gears and roared, gaining speed,
your maneuvers would force bodies to peel
off the stack, until at last only one survived.
Pleasures of others gave you the most reward,
I remember. And when I learned that your tire did not
obey at three a.m., I could only think you are not alone.
december two thousand eighteen
(originally penned circa 1990)
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody talks about birds
growing older
but here we are
sitting on park benches
bread crumbs in our hands
this sitting down is for birds
I say out loud
and you naturally agree
without speaking a word
it’s a warm winter’s day
and our shadows
are barely visible on the
black asphalt
like skinny icicles hanging
ever slowly changing
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this town has no name
but somehow keeps growing
one tiny skyscraper at a time
word has it
this town is quickly resurfacing
coming back to life
after its decimation
many centuries before spaghetti westerns
people keep arriving here
in waves and droves
like magnets with no
particular place to go
kicking up dirt and looking
to settle old scores
they say a horse
can take you only so far
into the desert
but this town appears to be
disproving that notion
are the flowers truly
blossoming again
leading up to the outer edges of town
or are they simply allegorically illusory
like a mirage of tiny skyscrapers
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
years of traveling
studying centuries past
retracing pages and journals
and footnotes of verse and meter
oh how I struggled
to find a voice
refusing to borrow or steal
never would I dare
ask permission to copy
voices from legends
of those gracing our presence
through fact or fiction
before it was too late
I came to understand
how my own voice was allowed
to coexist on a higher plane
expressing our eventual defeat
with dignity and beauty
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where do you go from here
now that loved ones have moved on
their light recalibrating far from center
revolving in intellectual circles
you no longer dare dream
creativity rests in dormant state
summoned on infrequent occasions
from crevices of an aging mind
matters of the heart remain intact
driving thoughts deeply inward
brightly colored like a rainbow
free-floating and nearly touchable
piquing a past ripe with possibilities
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what remains is what remains
once the riptide disrupts the flow
winter snow dissolves into thin air
revealing what was thought to be dead
north wind arrives before the dawn
energetic and surprisingly warm
fingers and toes begin to wiggle
deep inside the belly of the creator
there is comfort in barren trees
supported by the richness of the earth
fear not the ghostly new moon rising
giving reason to breathe yet again
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
locked inside this snow white cube
I secretly dream of making
my great escape
unfreezing time by traveling
to a distant land
or leaping forward
into another dimension
I’ve been invited to do this before
but always backed down
at the final hour
afraid of heightening my
self-awareness
and finally achieving
my true potential
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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