evening breeze clearing the way
moonlight filtering past skeletal trees
there’s a distant voice calling my name
asking me to surrender
familiar stars appear behind clouds
down below bridges are burning
smoke rising blinding the horizon
reminding me to surrender
heartbeats like whispering winds
slowly fading and breathless
meandering thoughts refocusing
telling me to surrender
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is desperation in the wind
causing fires to spread
and lonely thoughts to cave in
good lord handing out hail marys
like there is no tomorrow
it’s 4:30 in the morning
and you tell yourself the sun
may never rise again
and somehow you forgive yourself
finally resigned to fall asleep
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
pinewood boards on front porch
need a good cleaning
not to mention a few replacement nails
your mother’s mother used to sit there
rocking on the boards
spitting on spiders and such
just like eastwood used to do
idling back and forth on restless stallion
we’re not selling this house
not anytime soon
and we’re going to fix her up
and bring her back to life
just like nineteen ninety-nine
out back there’s a fire burning
horses bolting out of the stalls
grandma shouting at the hired hands
to hurry up and shut the doors
before they try to get back in
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s springtime in this sad little
corner of the world
where lemon seeds struggle
to germinate
and once colorful tulips decide
this is not their year
it’s cold and wet outside
or so I’ve heard over the airwaves
it takes little effort not to look
outside these shaded windows
except of course when sirens scream by
followed by dogs barking
and gunshots going pop pop pop
there is no internet connection here anymore
I ripped it out of the wall weeks ago
ever since I’ve been fingerpainting by day
and rummaging through wine cellar by night
humming petty songs and determined
to finish off the cask of amontillado
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I can’t catch my breath
nor can I see
what is it you’ve done to me
I’ve not had a cigarette
in over a century
but oh my how I still crave them
I once believed you taught me
all there is to know
but you proved me wrong (again)
by setting me free
there’s nothing quite like
catching the last train out of town
waning gibbous arising
long ago you said I’m only human
but now we both know
there’s more to this story
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m no closer to being found than I was
a year or decade or lifetime ago
yet I continue to pick up words and
rearrange them in ways unimaginable
along the way I often get the shit
kicked out of me by unnamed sources
and while sometimes I pretend to like it
truth is I never do
there are these places inside your head
you often forget how to find
isolated places where stars are
bright and perfectly aligned
dying to be wished upon as they
race by in rarefied darkness
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we dance the good dance
a ballroom waltz
stepping metrically like shakespeare
or tennyson or carroll
stealing the show below the glittery
globe shining like a waning gibbous
high in the sky at five o’clock in the morning
all eyes are upon the two of us
like southern stars faint and fixated
occasionally blinking but fascinated
at whatever they may witness
though the band has long performed
its final encore
the dance continues uninterrupted
having transitioned into a resurgency of sorts
fused into a single thought
beneath this expanding artificial light
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they never played the organ this loud
on early sunday mornings
but the violins were lovely as always
and the priest and his priestess
sang mass as if was their last
this april fool’s day
the day jesus christ was reborn
there is this talk of witching hours
culminating into something destructive
but today is not the case
full moon having set hours ago
only to reappear again slightly altered
earth continuing to race through space
as if the end is nowhere near
the backroads and byways and highways
are busy with pilgrims inspired
to find resting places where peace must reign
where violence and conflict
have ceased to exist
inspired by a man born ages ago
expected to reappear as a superstar
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
thirty-one days have passed
and I’m prepared to breach the surface
having survived my stay with the living dead
who turned out to be quite charming
programmed to reach for stars
atop my toes I stretch my arms high above
palms open and eyes tightly shut
imploring the gods to answer my calls
expectations can be a bitch (I am told)
especially when living in a fantasy world
so I relax my mind and sit cross legged
repeating patience is more than virtuous
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so here we go again
casting judgment left and right
makes me wonder what they
did in the old days
before the world wasn’t quite so small
I suppose there was letter writing
love letters and
hate letters
and letters to the editor
want ads and personal ads
blind box ads
desperate pleas by the lonely
and the secretly insane
on the fourth of july
we decked out our stingrays with
reds and whites and blues
playing cards clothespinned on
bicycle wheels
charcoal snakes well lit and
crawling expandingly on cement blocks
it’s nineteen seventy something
and I’m contemplating my first shave
daydreaming about that first kiss
and wondering when oh when
next time it may take place
on television it was brilliantly violent
both abroad and at home
vietnam war and frequent assassinations
watergate and race riots
regime change and constant intolerance
fast forward to this aging poet
reminiscing and prognosticating
looking forward and back
and forward again
children self-patrolling hallways
like helmeted robots
fully armed
escorting opportunistic problem solvers
from one classroom
to the next
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
though I feel sick I am not ill
this ever changing weather
playing games with my frame of mind
keeps me tossing and turning when wide awake
making me move onward
and upward
as I delve deep into
my most precious dream state
I often wonder who’s going to protect me
from thy enemy
how many times do I have to remind myself
to step away from the window
we’ve crossed this river many times
and will cross again if we must
enjoining many hands
together stepping like a human net
resurrecting life by conquering death
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
after the invasion we stopped lighting candles
instead looked to the stars for answers
the children were best at hide-and-go seek
despite the risk of never being seen again
days of routine left us long after the last train
and now what remains is this suffocating reality
where dreams and nightmares are but one in the same
there are no more rivers to cross or towns to destroy
no more ghosts to disperse or spirits to dispel
no more lessons to be learned
no more ransoms to be paid
no more saviors to be born
no more lives to be saved
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the rain is too much
preventing the last two doves from
locating the wayward ark
turkey vultures soaring undetected
circling high above singletary shepherds
determined and confident in their ability
to overcome the landscape
and account for every single lamb
entrusted to them by the good lord
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
be not afraid of the knock on the door
it’s been in the offing ever since you were born
if you remember the crib
there is something special inside you
awareness at such an early age
is a clear sign you’ve been here before
reaching various stages in life
is sometimes easier said than done
but the underlying truth will always remain
how you’re destined to be one in the end
hell on earth is as real as heaven itself
and oftentimes you wonder
what keeps you coming back
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’ve been fooled again
or so it seems
by so-called friends coming and going
with redundant regularity
unnecessarily undermining altruistic ideas
such as a world truly free of
world war weaponry
though the artist may be crippled
she will remain relevant
pushing out new work in
unconventional ways
to imagine the mountain
outside my window
one day long ago was never there
and one day far in the future
will have simply disappeared
man-made destructive forces
once intruding upon our lives
(like those so-called friends)
will one day turn against themselves
never to exist again
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you arise out of nothing but from a dream
the kind that wakes you up
a dream that starts out
innocently enough
moves along pleasantly from one idea to the next
but then a sudden turn of events
two children
two brothers
attending a professional baseball game
given enough leash by their parents
both reaching for a foul ball
arms stretching out over the concrete wall
leading down into the concourse
the two of them catching the ball together
grasping for dear life
fans cheering them on
but they’re leaning too far
momentum preventing them from stopping
from leaning too far
leaning too far and falling
holding desperately onto the ball
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 