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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

09 Sep 2017

best good time in town


jam packed humbled house
entertains the multitudes
people of all color coming and going
(as they please) commingling
like rain does with dust
stirring pots and mixing drinks
transforming the ordinary into
something never before seen

stepping outside
a jet airliner roars overhead
pointing and shouting ensues
followed by glasses rising high
singing breaking out

nobody dares to think
outside of the moment
nobody dares do anything
except be whoever they care to be
lest tomorrow comes back ‘round



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
08 Sep 2017
4 Comments

surviving the winter (in four parts)


I am hopeful you will remain
like the timeworn stone wall
blending amongst rustic
late blooming flowers
returning year after year

white shadows lean upon
weathered wooden bench
etched with lines that
crisscross and divide
crevices like rivers carving out
deep deep memories

I am hopeful you will remain
and have not taken an early leave
before the solstice

though my eyes are weary
I am unafraid to cast my
sights westward
where the two of us sit in silence
until the late february thaw



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Sep 2017
3 Comments

river landing


there was dancing down by the river
or so we thought we heard something
streaming on the radio
either that or it was a just a feeling

by the time we reached the river
disco lights and glittery balls
stretched across iridescent banks
ordinary people dancing
like radiant aliens in a trance

past the main dance floor
ushers carry flashlights of sorts
escorting the elderly and tired and mad
the displaced and the misfits
methodically boarding unchartered ferries
destinations undetermined



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, Poetry and tagged , , ,
06 Sep 2017

children playing in the park


I see her running down the same dream
dressed in white to match her riding horses
locks untamed and slightly afire
tricked into going this way (then that)
ultimately cornered by the eye of the sun

there was nothing left to be done except
bury the dream someone tried to say

that’s laughable they cried in return
for shame
for shame



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
05 Sep 2017
3 Comments

eternity’s breath


waxing gibbous on chilly night
reddish-orange and
taking center stage
her breath barely visible
to the naked eye

december sun is never overrated
though at times plays second fiddle to
low-lying celestial occurrences
you swear you should be able to touch

flashing satellites mimic wishes
made every single night
like lost thoughts in the northern sky
they fade and brighten
alternatively



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
04 Sep 2017
5 Comments

sunflowers in the backyard


master of alibis placed under house arrest
charged with aiding and
abetting petty thieves and local con artists

sheriff deputies wrap crime tape around
old oak tree and burning bushes
new jailor taking names and
removing all hummingbird feeders

there are no wolves nearby or so we’ve been told
but violinists disguised as bumblebees
tap dance atop oversized sunflowers

by the time autumn arrives everything
has pretty much been shuttered
including water and gas and electricity lines

by the time spring arrives all the local realtors
have their own story to tell



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
03 Sep 2017

walking on water


june has come and gone
but the moon is here to stay
though at times not obviously

poor june dismissed without reason
cast away into the heavens
searching for twins and crabs
on the far side of mercury
perhaps never to return

there was no fanfare
here in middle america
perennial fog hiding the moon
for years on end
frustrating a nomadic people
with nothing left to worship

meanwhile there is news
a new sea forms and foams
somewhere in middle africa
where virgin sands appear
(out of a nowhere)
a newborn sent from god
baptized into chaos



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , , | Leave a comment
02 Sep 2017
13 Comments

the day the music played


fire and rain baby
that’s where it’s at
whether it be on vinyl
or flatscreen tv

you said you were just
gonna borrow it
but years went by
and you never did give it back
no you never did
(you never did)

there are no apologies
necessary
I’ve since moved on
now that compact discs
have arrived
not to mention youtube
and itunes
partaking in yoo-hoo
or root beer

friday night it was late
and I had no place to go
except for quietly tapping my foot
fire and rain
playing in the background



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
01 Sep 2017
12 Comments

first thing in the morning


come rain or come shine
he counts the steps from bedroom
to kitchen
first peeking inside the icebox
then checking the cupboard

sometimes he’s dressed and
other times not
but usually it’s before dawn
as he meanders about
like a blindman
like a sleepwalker
like a creek lost in the woods

he has no sense of hunger
but his hearing is impeccable
and always he yearns to listen
to anything unfamiliar
but sadly settles for a cup of tea
preferably black or green or red

when the whistles blows
he knows the pain will soon subside
and from there it matters not
whether rain or sunshine arrives



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
31 Aug 2017
10 Comments

commissioned to the colorful meadow


when I reached one hundred years
there were no celebrations
for the world was at war yet again

though unable to wield bow & arrow
I could still shoot a rifle
I tried to explain to the chieftain
but he pushed me aside
and called for the next in line

three days passed
and I showed up yet again
this time with shovel in hand
explaining how a man my age
could still dig graves

he kissed me on both cheeks
first this one and then the next
followed by shouting out
my marching orders




august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry, War Poems and tagged ,
30 Aug 2017
9 Comments

rising little star


what don’t you know
you’ve already been told before
about those bits and pieces
picked up via satellite or
ground-based microwaves

oh my pretty rising star
where have you gone
even the clouds have parted
                (in hopes of)
welcoming your return

people throughout the centuries
(from this land
                and many others)
are buying one way tickets
to get a glimpse of
what they missed the first time
you sailed away





august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
29 Aug 2017
8 Comments

an existence poem


consider the rose bush

it may certainly grow wild
and flourish without human eyes
ever able to enjoy

of course it may also be tamed
tendered by clipping and
feeding and taking pictures
preparing for the cold by cutting
back in late autumn
waiting for its resurrection come spring

motion pictures move both ways
but mostly forward
and mostly quickly
until caretaker is either naturally
gone or simply taken out

suddenly the manicured rose bush
is left to fight the winter alone
while the (aforementioned) wild one
probably continues to flourish





august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
28 Aug 2017
7 Comments

bird nest


what I saw in the bird’s nest
I could not describe
but the memory of it would
remain with me all my days

there is much to learn
balancing desire and need
focusing on big picture
while paying attention
to details that matter

the inevitable doesn’t arrive
at a premium or discount
it just lingers there
like a delicate fog cowering

and so the nest lives on
(just as you do)
photographed and
painted and
talked about in other languages
described in ways that could not
possibly be you

and so you retreat
realizing there is more to learn





august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Poetry and tagged , ,
27 Aug 2017
10 Comments

postcards to mother


I told my mother I keep all my
photographs in the cloud now

I knew she didn’t quite understand
though I sensed on the other end
she was nodding

what if you want to print them
she asks me
and share them with others

well I can certainly share without
printing them I say

not with me
you certainly may not




august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
26 Aug 2017
10 Comments

promise not to die


there was scattered lightness
creeping through low lying clouds
but not a witness to testify

darkest part of morning awakens
most everybody asleep inside boxes
lost inside other lands
or sleepcrawling upside down

wake up wake up barn owl cries
mocking the mockingbird
circling rustic citadel
once holding some significance

sometimes scattered lightness
never materializes
and there is this retreatment of sorts
like closing your eyes
promising to never open them again





august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Dreams, Nature, Poetry and tagged ,
25 Aug 2017
2 Comments

fire on the mountain


boys will be strong and
when nudged in the right direction
will likely strike gold

they show up every morning
before first light
decked in cotton shirts
and denim pants
leather tool belts attached
to their slender waists
shovel and pickaxe in hand

lightning strikes mountaintops
electricity penetrating
far underground
carving out new veins
fortunes sure to be gained

there is but one entrance
but once inside
treasures are boundless
escape routes endless





august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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