take special care
not to beat yourself up
just because of
misplaced memories
your word against the truth
may or may not exist
not in this world
or the next
subconscious realities
keep me on edge
like pressure cooker time bombs
ticking in city square
I’ve long felt most relaxed
back in the future
where love is in the air
and nights rarely end
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I got fifty bucks in my pocket
and I’m going downtown
gonna buy my girl some flowers
and maybe have a beer or two
taking city bus to city center
I keep my hands in my pockets
sitting down on three-seater bench
tapping foot in make-believe time
nobody owes me nothing
and I sure ain’t in anyone’s debt
I got fifty bucks in my pocket
sun shining brightly overhead
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I surrender to the wind
like a kite without a tether
sailing across a sea of change
I’ve been in love before
but this time it was too late
for you see I simply drifted past
the pulling of the tides
becoming closer to the moon
than anything else
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
five fifteen in the morning
I focus on my breathing
nearly twenty seconds it takes
to inhale and exhale
three times makes one minute
fifteen makes five
along the way I lose track
and for a moment
I find myself back in time
some sort of cosmic energy
hurtling me forward
then dragging me down
this path I take is legendary
at times god forsaken
other times a godsend
always beckoning me
offering abundance on one hand
and betrayal on another
before the rising sun
washes away the stars
introducing its ultraviolet rays
with creative passion
I slowly blink open my eyes
at five twenty in the morning
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how dare you forget
she reminded herself
having come to terms
with how easily
it’s become
to not remember
in the back of her mind
she knew he’d never forgot
about the why or where or when
he just needed a little push
an incidental nudge
to make him think things through
circling back to a time
when reaching a certain age
doesn’t seem
to hold as much weight
as it does today
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
the winter solstice is a week away
yet here am I
sitting in the bleachers with my mother
some forty years ago
watching my brother’s baseball game
it’s late august and it’s a night game
and he’s playing center field
chasing down any fly ball hit
anywhere near his vicinity
and I tell my mother how he
reminds me of Willie Mays
I had a little league game earlier in the day
but I’m still dressed in uniform
dirty pants and dirty face
dirty fingernails and dirty hair
before the sun goes down mosquitoes
land on my tanned and barren arms
and I pinch my skin where they are feasting
until my blood overwhelms their tiny bodies
by the time the ballpark lights take full effect
the temperature begins to dip
lower and lower
until eventually I cross my arms
slightly shivering
are you cold my mother asked me
yes I am I replied
oh my goodness she said
what will you do when winter comes
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
oh darling
did you see the rainbow in the
early morning sky
[opposite the rising sun]
I had painted it for you
with eyes closed
far beyond
the green rolling hills
after the rains
I went slip-sliding away
[down the green
rolling hills]
running and tumbling
and somersaulting
willfully into
your watercolor eyes
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
pretend I am alive and well
breathing deeply
focusing on my heart
how it beats slowly
like a little drummer boy
bringing up the rear
marching off to war
though fear abounds
peace surrounds his heart
beating steadily and true
rhythmically purposeful
settling the nerves
of all those around him
one measure at a time
no longer afraid
the war is finally over
joy and jubilation
taking over city streets
his ever beating heart
bringing new meaning
to peace on earth
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
in the morning I shall die
once again becoming
unpossessed
lost to the rays of the sun
like a white horse
unnoticed
and grazing
in an unfenced field
how many ensuing years
(or dare I say centuries)
shall come to pass
before completely understanding
why the sun herself
refuses to die
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
throwing words against wall
seeing what will stick
be it war or peace
or work or play
sun or moon or stars
some stick better than others
individuals letters
peeling off now and then
turning batch into bach
or clock into cock
crow into row
sometimes it’s fun
to toss one letter at a time
like darts in a barroom
spelling heart without an E
or soul without a U
bullseye with one I
sometimes nothing sticks
and you find yourself
back in the drawing room
making words with ink
one lonely letter at a time
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
though the sun shines bright
there is no warmth to be found
not in deed or word or thought
the air turbid and cold to the touch
like the winter warlock himself
this world is oddly familiar
resembling places I’ve imagined
or envisioned in waking dreams
like a lost forest frozen in time
silvery trees taller than skyscrapers
many times I’ve climbed to the top
meticulous like the caterpillar
alone but at peace and determined
exercising thought into action
inescapably free falling through space
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
checking and rechecking for updates
going on twenty-four hours now
can’t seem to connect to the server
so I reboot and try again
reboot and try
again
in the background
memory reminds me lab work
is scheduled at eight a.m.
fasting time is twelve hours
but pints of ale in the fridge
keep calling my name
keep calling
my name
taking a break
I check my vital signs
blood pressure check
heart rate check
body fat better recheck
pop up window says
could lose a few pounds
lose a few pounds
this dog on my lap is dying
not enough room to be updated
not enough memory
not enough sleep
rustic technology rewiring my framework
keeping me up past midnight
rebooting and tipping tall boys
rebooting and tipping
tall boys
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
friday night in east village
streetlamps aglow
passersby breathing visibly
hands either gloved
or formed as fists
stuffed inside coat pockets
meteorological winter
yet weeks away
but for tonight
is clear and present
the cloudless sky
boasting all its shiny lanterns
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
sheep at large in city center
unshorn and hungry
packing knives and forks
counting down the days
until january thaw
beat cops in woolen coats
keep them on their toes
tapping night sticks on
frozen sidewalk
nudging them along
nearby sanctuary house
opens its arms
practicing what it preaches
the good shepherd himself
promising warmer days ahead
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
I’ve been receiving these calls
from faraway places
thanking me for my stay here
and wishing me sweet success
I’d not noticed those eyes before
rising from the east
but now I fear it may be too late
experimenting with their recreation
using charcoal or oil or water
after traveling so many miles
to get one more glimpse
of a past fraught with flaws
I foolishly think how I could
make amends with one last goodbye
now that time is no longer
of the essence
I draw the blinds to a room
forever etched in my waking dreams
reminding myself how I never
truly belonged here
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
flashing back to sixty-nine
miracle mets ruining my summer
and the ensuing autumn
forever stamped as an asterisk
in my playbook
in november I received
a green single-speed schwinn
for my birthday
but was forced to postpone
its maiden voyage
until the late february thaw
it was a long and lonely winter
(that much I remember)
and I was afraid
even then
that I was going to run out of time
how little did I know
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
jdubqca 