full moon with stitches
off-white and slowly revolving
like a knuckleball
in the alleyways
pick-up games start at daybreak
broomsticks and duct tape
tying run at plate
runners at every corner
bus driver pitching
final shot arcing
sailing over skyscrapers
shooting for the moon
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
off and on my heart beats
depending upon weather conditions
or latest traffic reports
whether or not your thoughts
infiltrate mine coincidentally
unannounced yet always welcome
oh how my heart beats
off and on depending upon
time of day or moon phase
sometimes reliant on outside forces
like a good night’s sleep
or promises of pharmaceuticals
despite off and on promises
made with the best of intentions
broken hearts beat willingly
always depending on the here and now
in the happily ever after
as if time was never a factor
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they’re building a rocket ship in their backyard
(or so the rumor goes)
daily deliveries arriving like clockwork
garage door opening halfway
closing before anyone can get a glimpse inside
neighborhood children make human pyramid
(just over six feet tall)
top of the stack detailing observances
those below hurriedly taking notes
runners relaying tidbits to gossip hungry parents
final countdown should be starting any day
(or week or month or year)
it’s just a matter of precision timing
between earth and moon and mojo
and that perfect mixture of propulsion elements
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
every so often they visit
bursts of faint light
appearing and diffusing in a
matter of mere minutes
figments of my imagination
flirting with my night vision
reminding me my earthly days
continue to count down
right before my very eyes
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
summer dies and autumn awakens
another beginning to the fatal end
inevitable like simple thoughts
segueing into fantastical dreams
night skies are clear and stars abound
shooting and falling abysmally
luckiest person alive looking upward
casting doubts on winning streak
open windows suddenly become shut
weakening sun filtering through
giving hope to those with tired eyes
blinking and dying to see tomorrow
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I do not miss the old days
(or the olds ways as they remain)
I simply sit and take to daydreaming
reminiscing and contemplating
those pivotal moments
(as I see them)
how they may or may not have
contributed to my curious fate
how far I’ve come in this strange
illusion known as time
but in reality how little I’ve traveled
back and forth from strange lands
both real and imaginary
sometimes the hero
other times the goat
always judged by anyone and everyone
save the almighty herself
I’m content finding new ways
in saying the same old thing
whether it be this spring or summer
or the coming autumn or winter
how I want to record them all
time and time again
be it poetry or prose
be it in writing or otherwise
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my words bleed no more
bandaged and clotted
how they stop in their tracks
my entire body trembling
for the very last time
three angels hover above me
I pretend not to see them
and though they say nothing
I easily read their thoughts
just as they easily know mine
I ask for pen and paper
but nobody hears my call
so I arise from the table
unshaken and all on my own
resurrecting words left unsaid
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the borders are porous
like interconnecting dreams
where one place leads to the next
until eventually you’re backed into a corner
expected to answer
questions from past events
you’re certain never existed
the borders are porous
and the underground tunnels are as real
as supersonic air travel
stampedes running at full speed
seemingly 185 miles per hour
(giving chase or)
being chased by every enemy
known to man
and the borders are porous
like a dam in disrepair
these small river towns
becoming inundated by innuendo
every able man and woman
found guilty by association
locked away and certain to drown
for no apparent reason
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she put a spell on me
made me change my mind in mid-thought
as if I hadn’t missed a beat
after so many years of leading a solitary life
I admitted I desired to see the world
and she agreed I should go
for there was little left for me to do here
except keeping pace and time
I wasn’t surprised she sent me packing
no questions asked
knowing full well she’d be with me
every step of the way
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
don’t make me get up I yelled at the dog
(in my sleep) but it was too late
the sun had been down for god knows how long
and though I was close to REM sleep
the almighty stench abruptly woke me up
by the time I reached the kitchen
and turned on the light
the cat was meowing like a maniac
but I wasn’t sure if he was in or out
I walked to the back door
and he leapt at me from out of nowhere
shredding the back of my tee
making me nearly piss my pants
needless to say I (figuratively) kicked him
out into the night
I returned to the kitchen to clean things up
thereafter proceeding to cut up
the watermelon sitting on the counter
along with a few lemons and a dozen
or so freshly picked strawberries
it was still saturday night and since I was
wide awake with no place to go
I poured myself a beer and
retired to the next room
began trying my hand at poetry
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I left the city for fields of goldenrod
painted by many artists over the years
fresh in my mind for reasons I cannot explain
if I had stayed I’d surely be dead by now
having fallen to the atrocious ills of society
either by murder or apparent suicide
I am far from home but closer to reality
like the shepherd is to his flock
like a mother to her newborn
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I tried to look her in the eye
but she turned away and
walked out of my life
so I sat there alone
surrounded by strangers
wondering when in the world
I’d be able confide in someone
confidence has been lacking
exuberance long exhausted
I paced the waiting room
soon found myself reading
thoughts of those around me
I sensed I had been here before
but had gotten nowhere
but this time
reading those many thoughts of
hope and resurrection
I started to convince myself
that somehow
this place must be different
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was reading short stories and listening
to soulful blues on a lazy
hazy afternoon
lost in two worlds
subconsciously conjoining them
believing (deep down inside)
my own reality never did exist
I inch toward the edge of the chair
placing book to the side
reaching for the telecaster
unplugged I experiment
with chord progressions
sort of singing beneath my breath
my own improvised dialogue
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
orchestra plays in the back of my mind
coming through not too loud
but perfectly clear
drowning out anything and everything
attempting to keep me alive
there are dozens of channels
scrambling in thin air
all of them wanting in on the action
dancing on the ledge of creation
like alternative rock & roll
others are eager to get involved
in my invitation only affairs
crawling in sprawling lines
imagining catching a glimpse of
yesterday’s american pie
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you introduce yourself as a marionette
victimized by outside forces
controlling your outwardly actions
even thoughts from within
you ask me to touch your hands and feet
as if you are jesus christ himself
back in the flesh to save
one damaged soul at a time
though there are no puncture wounds
I begin to believe in your stories
how your thoughts connect with mine
just as you say they do
dancing at midday on public stage
your strings entangle my limbs
drawing me closer into your web
until there is no space between us
deceit and lies no longer exist
you whisper into my ear
only your insanity and my reality
exposed for all to see
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s getting late and the demons
have agreed to return
after being away for so long
it’s late in the day
early evening if you may
summer season fading fast
sun falling and nearly powerless
winds picking up and slightly chilly
sending mind and body shivering
shaking yourself loose of cobwebs
you walk away from the grey
turning on lights
brewing black tea
grabbing a flannel from the closet
you can hear them in the other room
murmuring and scheming and giggling
fidgeting in their chairs
waiting for you to return
serving tray in tow
as you enter they quickly change
their demeanor
slipping into their game faces
knowing full why you called them
but excited nonetheless
to hear it in your own words
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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