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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

20 Dec 2017
2 Comments

to be continued


there is strength in numbers
whether advancing or
retreating in dead of night

something rushed through last night
like a freight train unannounced
leaving in its wake
an odd curiosity

to go onto the next metropolis
that is the trick
sometimes easier said than done
depending upon weather conditions
and level of determination

somehow you find yourself
smack dab in middle of caravan
cruising down interstate thirty-five
final destination to be continued





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
19 Dec 2017
5 Comments

honey hunting and trips to moon and back


they went honey hunting they did
christopher robin and pooh and piglet
and of course tigger too

they flew to the moon and back
their spacecraft refueling on the far side
rocking them back and forth in time
hurtling them toward the old blue jewel
more specifically the hundred acre wood

looking down from the heavens
you can see where they landed
a burst of light microwaving
and expanding through the trees
awakening all creatures
big and small and minuscule
awaiting for what must happen next





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , , ,
18 Dec 2017

before the invasion


there is intimacy in the air
you can feel it like an imminent
thunderstorm on a midsummer afternoon

instruments shake and shout
going off the charts (as they say)
little ones hunkered further down
seated in circle of arms interlocked
chanting brand new psalms

preparations embrace for the inevitable
battening down hatches
buttoning down last minute details
counting down time
like some spaceship launch

there is intimacy in the air
you breathe it in deeply (embracing it)
knowing full well
you may never feel again





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , | Leave a comment
17 Dec 2017
11 Comments

ask me no questions


the change in wind’s direction
clocks wound back or forth sixty minutes
exiting happy hour without a plan
the gradual tilt of the earth

there’s 85% cocoa in the fridge
beer & root beer & jerky
16 oz. plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper
help yourself ~ mi casa es su casa

two weeks ago & four blocks away
sinkhole kidnaps a family of four
never does ask for ransom
word on the street saying its
bound to happen time and again

polltakers go house to house
writing down dishonest answers
to the most innocuous questions





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
16 Dec 2017
4 Comments

earth wind and fire


men at work with picks & shovels
unseen in the cemetery
some working ditches
others tape-measuring rectangular
holes in the ground

the youngest and strongest
roll boulders from river’s bank
straight up to monks and artisans
stationed atop copperhill

chisels and files and sandpaper
further refine godly physiques
resurrecting new life from the fire
that never stops burning





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
15 Dec 2017

winter migration


it may be the same song but
absolutely not the same dance

I’m not looking to tell a story
beneath downtown streetlamp
shining brightly on a particular corner
young hopeless couple
dancing to piped-in music and
big fat snowflakes
falling down at midnight

in mid december crows
grow in numbers along the river
where homeless often roam along
natural and artificial lights

sirens often interrupt airwaves
screaming across bridges
troopers and fire trucks and ambulances
chasing down their own stories

there is a small fire down below
keeping warm the cold
occasional small talk sometimes
turning angry
questioning the powers that be





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , | Leave a comment
14 Dec 2017
2 Comments

there goes another sad song


I don’t mind the old songs
but I want something fresh
no matter what its age

I’m flipping through forty-fives
searching for diamond or two
cute couple behind me
whispering comments about
mad magazine covers

without question new beautiful
sorrowful songs reside around here
refreshing like sparkling wine
the kind that turns your thoughts
into nothingness by way of
quiet reverberations

fast forward back home
small brown paper bag sits atop
kitchen counter
community cats returning home
chatting amongst themselves
what must be inside





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Dec 2017
2 Comments

someone get me a priest


he promised me I’ll never
die and I believed him

he said the flames of a candle
flickers not from man’s breath
but by the holy spirit itself

it’s like the wind
     it comes and it goes
sometimes unnoticed
one day it’s a breeze
     next a hurricane with a
murderous eye

not even the typhoon
can extinguish the flame
he tried telling those who might listen
those who may believe
angels are at work twenty-four seven
rescuing even the most wretched





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , ,
12 Dec 2017
4 Comments

“and his hair was perfect”


there’s a werewolf
loose again in london
disguised as a dubliner
imbibing ales with
local ne’er-do-wells

strutting down abbey road
alongside chief inspector
chatting about the weather
and that bloody affair
going down last night

in big bold letters daily mail
warns of imposters
dressed quite smartly
wooing unsuspecting partners
who love to do the tango





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
11 Dec 2017
4 Comments

december eleven


bone broth & diced chicken breast
chopped carrots & celery
garlic & black pepper
(not to mention)
a pint of winter ale or two

stovetop gives way to dining room
dark with registers closed
filtered light from streetside windows
accentuating cat’s repeated calls

pots & pans & single soup bowl
washed & stacked in strainer
strings & drums streaming midair
(not to mention)
feline sated temporarily





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Animals, Poetry and tagged , ,
10 Dec 2017
2 Comments

I’ve Never Been to Spain


It was nine o’clock and I was still under wraps
dead certain I was done with society
and everything it has to offer

I turned on my iTouch and some familiar
voice started covering a 3 Dog Night
song about Oklahoma
or Arizona (what does it matter)

Regardless it somehow inspired me
to at least get up
put on some vagabond clothes
and set sail into the unknown

I was down to one tightly rolled dollar bill
heart-broken and convinced
heaven isn’t interested in any old fool
falling in and out of love





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
09 Dec 2017

paper snowballs


I’ve nothing to rip out of the roller
no paper to scrunch into a ball
and toss across the room

it’s snowing outside and paper
angels hang out on treetops
watching boys and girls throwing
snowballs at any moving target

gas fireplace glows unnoticed
its blower distributing warmth
as far as it possibly can
touching blanket
a quiet breath
late evening long exhausted

meanwhile I sit in same place
far away from the light
banging upon keyboard
desperating attempting to transmit
wondrous words into
thunderous snow clouds





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
07 Dec 2017
2 Comments

church bells will be ringing


there is no turning back
(not now)
after all has been said and done

though regret begets misery
you occasionally look behind you
knowing you can’t take anything back
your precious recollections
much different than other realities

it was a saturday and the church
bells did ring at noon
rain giving way to sunshine
enlivening stations of the cross
etched upon stained glass windows

invisible gates sway wide open
light infiltrating and reflecting
exposing twelve concrete steps
you’ve stumbled down too many times





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged ,
06 Dec 2017

the worst is over (or love me when i’m gone)


abraham chopped wood because he liked
to burn it on cold winter nights
or because god commandeth it so

in the early hours when fire in his eyes
diminished to near nothing
he’d awaken from lack of oxygen
and proceed to jump-start his day

chain of events unfolded inevitably
one altar leading to two or three
challenging false belief that sacrifice
somehow supersedes life itself





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
05 Dec 2017

beyond next prosaic hill


champagne corks will pop like wild
wild west pistols shooting for the moon
like fireworks on the fourth of july
quickly consumed by darker forces

many will die but many will take their place
and they will do it over and over again
time and time again
for the sake of exercise
repeating without comprehending

more champagne follows each advance
short celebrations followed by praise
more ale for brothers and sisters in arms
their invisible halos dying to be seen





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , | Leave a comment
04 Dec 2017

god willing there will be work


she may have been an angel
but often let the weather
affect her daily mood
unpredictably

lightning could easily set her off
or calm her nerves
depending on time of day
and task at hand

the homeless knew her best
had no idea she was not human
but loved her stories
especially how she romanticized
being born under scorpio’s sign

she’d often go missing for days
sometimes weeks
stray cats patrolling at night
commissioned as her private eyes

my work is never done here
she often complained or cajoled
depending upon who would listen





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment

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