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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

31 Dec 2015
6 Comments

inside a thriller novella


there is a certain kind of quietness
that fills an empty box
where light as we know it
is unable to penetrate

you can breathe in the cold but you
cannot see where it dissipates
and you wonder when you whisper
how far your voice will carry

dog days fade and cats run away
but inside the book they remain
as if nothing has ever changed

old mysteries become solved
inside the quietness of an otherwise
thriller novella
where old lovers and killers
are introduced as heroes
who should never be trusted



december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
17 Oct 2015
4 Comments

assorted tulips and daffodils


first freeze came overnight
like a woman’s hard slap
on an unwashed face
but when the sun came up
unopposed
I knew it was going to be
a good day

I imagined little ones running ‘round
chattering like robins competing
to be heard
gathering resiny pine cones into
yellow buckets
stored in the garage as
dead-of-winter kindling

meanwhile atop the hill
I move about on hands and knees
digging up and dividing bulbs
replanting the baby ones
giving myself plenty of reasons
to make it through
another Iowa winter


october two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
31 Aug 2015
7 Comments

already gone


wooden step stool
cloaked inside walk-in closet
readily accessible
whenever needing to
put myself up on a shelf

sometimes it’s best
to stay up there for
extended periods of time
like a bird on a wire
or an angel biding time

sometimes it’s safest
to never come down
even when reality prohibits
such ambitions from ever
finding common ground




august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
01 Aug 2015
4 Comments

Revolutionary béisbol


They put Castro on waivers and
brought up his little nephew
to replace him
but only trouble is
neither could manage
to hit their weight

Last time the southsiders came
to town they filled the seats
and then some
even the Hilton across the street
was brimming with Americans in
balconies drinking Bucaneros
and smoking Cubans

But back home things were different
for this makeshift
patched together band of brothers
and if they have visions
of putting together a postseason run
it’ll never happen without
reigniting their fan base
desperate for a full-blown
revolutionary assault
including nickel hot dogs
and peso beer nights





august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Baseball, Poetry and tagged , , ,
22 Jun 2015
8 Comments

field trip out to the country


they told us to put on our jackets
then marched us into a half-sized
blue bird bus

they didn’t tell us where
we were going and everyone sat
quietly as the driver listened
to the game on the radio

looking out the rear window
the city slowly dissolved
giving way to rows of young corn
and green soybean fields

we passed farms with barns and silos
with cows and horses and sheep
and occasionally the stench of manure
led to the holding of noses

an hour went by and we started
to whisper to one another
speculating where on earth
they could be taking us

“quiet down back there” the nurse
shouted without looking back
and everyone hushed
and rolled their eyes

this ain’t no fucking field trip I told myself

looking at all the frightened faces
I could tell they thought the same thing
disbelieving sarcastic smiles saying
holy shit we’re all going to die




june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
17 May 2015
4 Comments

Isadore


her lover took her by the hand
leading her to places
she’s never seen before
sounds from the inside inaudible
feet kicking as they scale uphill

there are higher places to climb
than here he tells her
pointing to a pale moon in the blue sky

day surrendered to the stars
her lover reminding her of that night
when nightingales sang lullabies
and wildflowers covered their eyes

there are higher places to climb
than here he tells her
embracing the beauty of their heartbeats

morning arrived and she boarded
the hot air balloon
sailed away weeping and waving
her lover cradling a silent child
promising her all the world
would one day know her name





may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


Author’s Note:
This poem loosely based on the song of the same name by Incubus
Click here for youtube video with lyrics

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
16 Mar 2015
6 Comments

chickadee sailor


little bird bides his time
inside woolen hoodie
left out on the line
for the wind to iron out
by whipping into shape

when the rains arrive
little bird holds on
swaying and cursing
like a long lost sailor
alone at sea



march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Birds, Micropoetry, Poetry and tagged , , ,
08 Feb 2015
2 Comments

the woman and the dragon

from the book of revelation

looking back I saw a woman
dressed much like mother earth
giving birth to a king in the
land of promise and humility

an enormous red dragon
possessing master intelligence
and unchallenged authority
long ago recruited an army of angelic
host to destroy the newborn

and though succeeding at having him
put to death
the child was raised on the third day and
spirited away to his heavenly kingdom

since the deception in the garden
the red dragon has successfully ruled with
fiery abandon against all inhabitants

this mother of earth fled into the desert as
commanded by her lord
hiding from the red dragon during the
time of the great war that began in heaven
a war in which the winged general michael
drove the red dragon and his rebel angels
back to earth where they remained
forever confined

privy to all things seen and unseen
the lord of lords hid his people’s church
in a special place
as well as securing the believing
remnant of israel in the desert
near the dead waters



february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
07 Feb 2015
7 Comments

obscure crimes and self-inflicted wounds


that man you once knew
full of anger and pride and misguided
intentions
he’s gone now

I made sure of it

I got him drunk on his own whiskey
and drove him far out of town
kicked him out with just a knapsack
and a flashlight and a pocketful of change
told him to never dare come back

I was just glad I didn’t have
to threaten him with my pistol
and as soon as I get stitched up
and cleared to go home
I’m going to bury that damn
thing out back
for the very last time





february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
09 Jan 2015
12 Comments

still the same


I got out of the house using a bonafide
lie about meeting my buddy at the
pinball arcade
hopped on my tenspeed and
pedaled the shortest route to prospect park

lying on our backs at the top of the hill
it felt as if we were vertical
suspended if you will
the river far below our feet
the clouds above
shaped like sails and almost touchable

all afternoon we held hands and
talked about how old we felt
trapped inside young bodies
unnerved by the fact this place in time
would always be the same



january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
27 Dec 2014
9 Comments

anytime the sky is crying


I’ll be damned if I had good
reason chasing any fool thing
for a pat on the back
or some sort of medal that later
winds up in the river

I’ll be damned if I knew
what I’d do next
if I didn’t have money
to pay the rent

At least I got enough scratch
to frequent the Irish district
twice or thrice a week
swapping sailor stories
with make-believe monsters
who never remember your name

Chasing any fool thing at least
gives a man a little hope
like a little piece of sunshine
stuffed inside his pocket
never understanding its power
until it’s almost too late



december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , ,
12 Dec 2014
2 Comments

Show and Tell in America


I didn’t expect anyone to believe me
so I kept lying about how many
men I had killed in the desert

My hands were as steady as my
steely eyes as I pretended
to be discharging my sidearm at some
goon I called Grover

When the bullets ran out I hunched
down and quickly reloaded

I could tell some of the kids
were disinterested but most
were raising their hands enthusiastically
pelting me with naive questions
as I was hauled away like some
common criminal void of any rights





december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
08 Dec 2014

when too many are thrown on the street


and the police have sanctioned bullets
and the judges have their natural-born faults
and some of the locally elected are faithful
and some of them are corrupt
and the higher up you go
from city to county
from county to state
from state to region to super region
the higher you climb the greater the ratio
between the just and unjust
between good and evil
and there’s no telling who is winning
because this kind of winning is artificial
artificial like misguided dreams
and make-believe handguns



december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, Poetry and tagged , , , , | Leave a comment
03 Dec 2014
7 Comments

voices beneath the surface


lost in north atlantic amongst winds
and clouds and the darkest of days
I steal glances from my captain’s log
find glimpses of london calling

ship hands from top to bottom believe
those quiet voices beneath the surface
got under his skin and commanded
his ship to sail in a new direction

countless weeks later we finally landed
the fullest of moons guiding us ashore
my captain safely back in london
his men starving to start a new life



december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
30 Nov 2014
4 Comments

the angel’s scroll

from the book of revelation

the sixth trumpet soundeth no more
and the clouds
enclosed within the outer dome
rolled in a deathly lull before the storm

like lightning an angel as large as
a million men
stepped through the barrier clouds
left foot landing on soil the other on sea

raising his hands up towards the darkness
the final judgments
unfolded by way of seven peals of thunder
transcribing the terror soon to take place

the lord commanded me to sit back
my pen and paper
grounded as the giant angel called forth
the presence of the seventh trumpeter

as the carnage of his enemies ensued
I was ordered
to take the scroll from the giant angel
and ingest what seemed to be a tasty treat

forced to witness warfare never before
seen on this earth
the scroll in my belly turned pungent as the
nonbelievers struggled to survive this world





november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
22 Nov 2014
8 Comments

nine of swords


she turned a card and without lifting her eyes
asked me when I had quit smoking

it was years ago I said
I remember it was on president’s day

you were wise to do so she said
otherwise you would not be here today

I nodded my head as she turned another card

was that about the same time you
gave up the church she asked
deciding to pursue salvation on your own

this time I did not say a word but simply
waited for her to turn another card
and when she did so the candle flickered
and neither of us breathed

regaining her senses she lifted her head
her eyes slowly opened
her mind asking me
why in the world I’ve been unable
to forgive myself



november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , ,

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