behind the hermit’s gate
stories are being told
transcribed and archived
like nobody’s business
free passes do not exist
but those who slip inside
are put to the test
and ever seldom leave
there are grottos and graffiti
in need of attention
improved upon by signs
of the cross and hail marys
although spoken words
were outlawed long ago
they remain alive and well
buried deep underground
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
schizophrenic city streets
lined with phantom street lamps
come alive come nightfall
thanks to a populace as diverse
as any melting pot can get
shadows gradually give way
to molasses moon rising
repetitiously expanding
melding in with various moods
painting the town in technicolor
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
roadside singer
quite colorful and
resting comfortably atop
curved guard rail
counting blue cars
and red motorcycles
racing by like clockwork
ruffling feathers
and drowning out
magical sounds
inspired by god herself
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
So here I am
back in Rome again
going about doing things
as alleged Romans do
perhaps for the last time
It’s been a century or two
since I’ve been gone
but now that I’m back
I’m finding not much
has changed
Outside the city
is still the best place to be
if only a man can
break the chains of his
callous past
I must admit though
there is contentment
canvassing the busy streets
holding onto this belief
you still exist
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
piano starts to play
something free and easy
your foot begins to tap
one two three
new moon
half moon
blue moon
how you reminisce
when you hear those sounds
barely noticeable
and rising above the trees
late late at night
waking you from sleep
you make your way
from room to room
finally stepping outside
and it is there finally
you capture the light
(or is it the other way around)
and you find comfort in a song
you once knew by heart
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
so here we are again friday at five
sitting amongst the best and worst
telling new tales and rehashing tall ones
this old boy from toontown drops by
and takes off in a whirlwind
buying a round for the gang before
hailing benny the cab
you know he sure looks familiar
someone says
almost everyone else agreeing
swearing they’ve seen his mug before
either on cartoon network or silver screen
jessica the beautiful barkeep
pretends not to be listening
but perks up and smiles wryly
shaking her head when asked
if she had any idea
who that long-eared bloke might be
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
on a sunny sunday afternoon
we entertained
possibilities of what could be
sitting on metal chairs
cushions still in garage
lemon beer tasting ever so sweet
we pointed at unshakable signs
better things sure to come
there were many yesterdays
full of fear and hurt and doubt
but today is what you would call
a new world order
you see the mystery cat
has returned in all his glory
sporting a wide brimmed hat
entertaining us with a song and dance
smiling for the cameras
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
sometimes I’m a little late to the party
and sometimes I forget to show up at all
either way there is constant commingling
going on between this world and the next
come sunrise strangers begin to stir
chatting amongst themselves in the parlor
recounting the previous night’s events
and taking bets on my reappearance
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
I wanted to share the early morning moon
but she was downright dead set against it
peeking and booing behind fog-like clouds
coming and going as swiftly as my footsteps
these early morning walks remind me
of my paperboy days some forty-five years ago
days seemingly much clearer in my mind
than those last week or month or half a score
back then I had no idea of things like hibiscus tea
or heart-shaped flowers colored in pink or white
but I was certain one day I would discover
there must be more to life than elegant frivolity
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
I’ve been making a living harvesting diamonds
from faraway planets
bringing them back to earth by way of
space savvy drones
this lucrative technology I’ve curated is keeping
rocket scientists baffled
scratching their heads and ringing my phone
twenty-four seven
I’ll be damned if I’ll give them the slightest hint
of what they already know
something about the law of attraction
and how she moves me
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
I pretend it’s still April
on account of the pouring rain
tamping down my inner thoughts
thinking of huddling in the dark
when they take me down
I imagine I’ll be fighting all the way
calling on gods for yet another chance
should the world forget my name
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
I shall miss you and pray to revisit another day
These past thirty evenings have given me pause
as I come to terms with my own lunatic thoughts
constantly giving chase to fleeting ideas
circling the globe in unpredictable fashion
I’ve decided competition is less important
than respectfully counting your blessings
and if you learn to start your day in earnest
you may discover endless sunrises to worship
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
old blue jeans tired and tattered
stitched and patched and faded
fit perfectly like kindergarten friends
skipping hand in hand for miles on end
making up new words that rhyme with
biscuit and nugget and peanut and butter
she’s swinging a small bag back and forth
something for show and tells she says
refusing to let me in on her little secret
so I imagine it’s a miniature scarecrow
stitched and patched and faded
tattered like a pair of old blue jeans
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
recreating that which transpired ages ago
like piecing together an impossible puzzle
patching together squares of unrelated fabric
having no business being stitched together
there’s a timepiece strapped to my wrist
and I’ve no means of removing it
ticking like some roadside bomb
waiting for the perfect time to explode
I’ve nowhere to go except forward
strapped in boots and marching through
frozen grass icing over like a stream
old familiar territory once made of concrete
there’s a house up ahead I know it well
an old childhood friend used to live there
how many times I’ve been drawn inside
a world where I was always welcomed
it’s early but not too early
the sun arising
shining upon the front screen door
before I am able to knock
a child appears
our eyes meeting inquisitively
the child’s eyes give way to a man
about my own age
pushing open the door and telling me
he’s not been well
and that he’s been expecting me
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
how are we to reconcile recent events
unable to come to terms why we
scratch and crawl and scratch again
expecting to find something brand new
instead uncovering oft told untruths
with shovel in hand it’s easier to go deeper
much further than digging like a dog
but what can there possibly be down below
that we don’t already know
dinosaur bones or diamonds from another world
mass graves from this past century
and the one before
from every century going back until kingdom come
instead of digging we learn to drill with precision
hitting veins of fools gold or liquid gold
eventually discovering wormholes
leading to china or another world altogether
places unfamiliar in a familiar way
leaving us wondering why on earth
we ever felt threatened in the first place
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
weep not my love
for there is hope in isolation
and beauty in sorrow
though showers may fall
a window remains open
welcoming a warm breeze
clearing your uncertainty
and soothing your fears
past the horizon
and high above the clouds
your light is burning
dying to be seen
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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