room by room he drifted
attending to the windows
first shutting the storm
then locking the
lower sash with the upper
he moved mechanically
like an old timepiece
powered by the sun
the swift hand moving
hesitatingly from lack of light
his thoughts fleeting
like the gray winds outside
leaning on the last window
he felt oddly safe
but desperately alone
the sound of winter
forever secured inside
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this is my poetry the way I like it
and sometimes it’s just not good
or not nearly good enough
but it’s mine and I’ll stand beside it
the good along with the bad
the funny and serious and corny
left for dead in the city
or alive out in the country
jamming to the blues or rock and roll
those poetry gods gave me the freedom
to do whatever I like
including those floating butterfly verses
only I can call my own
nobody
can make me change anything
not one letter from a lower to upper case
or vice versa
because the way I wrote it
the first time
that’s how it was meant to be
and it makes no difference whether or not
it was the way it ought to be
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I gave birth to peace and named her chance
raised her sheltered from the realities
of a desperate world
coming of age she traveled abroad
fell in love with mercenary work
promising to end man’s repeated mistakes
and reverse the cycle of madness
she circled the globe to feed the hungry
and comfort the orphaned
mending open wounds from strangers
protecting their own unresolved pasts
on rare occasions she fell to her knees
and cursed me for her failures
the pain in her prayers piercing my arm
reminding me
just how much I miss her
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
birds of all nations storm
war-torn suburbia
switchblades and derringers
concealed under wing
blanketing rooftops and lining live wires
waiting patiently for night to fall
predawn fog smothers the moon
and silences the stars
cloaking angels of mercy
and their effortless wings
zeroing in on and sweeping away
newly orphaned refugees
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the torch may fade from time to time
may flicker like a pilot’s light
disappearing over the sea
below the surface the torch
resumes its glow
likely to be found by henchmen
digging foxholes
beware the silence
they warned
lifting their torches
and charging a newfound
enemy with fiery explosions
in the aftermath smoldering fires
resurrect memories of old promises
feeding those who hunger
rebuilding what was destroyed
as new histories emerge new
generations evolve
securing the torches in submerged silos
believing that without peace
all the yesterdays of the world
added up to nothing
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sweetly your song presents
promises
and stays forever in tune
like a prayer
in my mind I hear nothing
but a repeated melody
that is never tiring and
always alive in my dreams
there is an inescapable part of
young love
never lost between inception and death
somehow living on above reality
alone thirty stories high
I endure my lowest hour
mindful all is equal between young lovers
oh cruel world
thank you for delivering unto me
your irony
for without it
I would have given up long ago
I would not give up the world
for anything except you
would not allow myself
to be alienated from your
yesterday or today
would always be near you
wherever you may be
first kiss so true
oh so vivid in our minds
first love at first sight
beauty appears out of nowhere
shuts off the lights and
turns on our lives
anywhere but here
thirty stories tall
how I’d fall off the edge
to be with you right now
originally written circa nineteen eighty-five
rewrite published on ArtiPeeps earlier this year
recital recorded october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I borrowed someone else’s thoughts
and pinned them against a blank
sheet of paper
nothing sticks quite right the first
time so I gathered them together
and sealed them in a chrysalis
where they slowly evolved into
my own creation
(I tried returning the borrowed
thoughts to their original owners
but they all refused delivery)
new words gradually emerge
out of an abbreviated hibernation
and from there I cut and copy
and delete and tweet
and paste paste paste
all the way down easy street
but of course if it was easy
everyone would be doing it
running across backyards
and open fields
swinging butterfly nets
at their ever elusive thoughts
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I pretend I don’t see you
and then look away
my eyes focused on my
forward movement
lest I slip off the shoulder
and crash into the water
pedals on concrete race
against sails on water
each attacking the wind
in our own special way
one eye in the rearview
and one at a finish line
that may
or may not be there
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I travel by foot toward the river
church bells ringing silently
deadened by the dank air
creeping down my neck
I swear I see your pretty face
among the many gathered
‘round Palace Square
faces reddened by the wind
or wrapped in woolen scarves
Just as metallic music erupts
below the darkening clouds
young souls scream to life
and storm center stage
like a swarm of angry wasps
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I blow on my hands and
stuff them inside my jacket
my feet taking me closer
to the river and back to the
University where I belong
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation
hurtling through space indefinitely
it was only a matter of time
before wormwood
reached the outer edges
exploding into a colorfully
destructive rainshower
up above trumpets sounded
and incense burned
angels huddled together
compacting balls of fire
and hurling them onto earth
though many on the surface
perished from such punishment
it was wormwood
that single-handedly wiped out
a third of all living things
both on land
and on sea
and below the sea
and though dust consumed
a third of the sun’s light
supersonic blasts
broke through the haze
telegraphing without question
the worst was yet to come
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I don’t remember autumn being this wet
she said
I blinked my eyes and looked outside
thinking to myself what an
absurd thing to say
it’s not that wet I said it’s just an illusion
it’s wet enough they canceled tonight’s
baseball game she said
real men play in the rain I said
you’re an idiot she said and walked away
I raised my glass and made a silent toast
to rid the world of absurdity
and rainy october nights
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation
the world paused in shock and awe
before assessing the worldwide
infrastructural and
virtual damages from the initial
mind-blowing strikes
communication channels changed
word of mouth traveled at slower speeds
while new intermediaries
were reintroduced into the mad scene
one hundred forty-four thousand in total
the twelve tribes reconvened
ventured out twelve thousand strong each
sent to evangelize the
four corners of the world
using every language in every nation
while the living continued making reparations
the millions of non-believers
(those who had turned into believers but did
not survive the rapture)
stood before the throne
dressed in white and waving palms branches
worshipping and singing praises
ever thankful never to hunger or thirst again
back on earth millions upon millions
were welcomed into the fold
their totals exceeding the sum of
all previous human history
hopeful but uncertain and
unknowing the middle ground
would completely disappear
ushering in the next era
the most perilous times ever
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
by john of patmos from the book of revelation
visions of judgments enter my waking
dreams as seven cryptic messages
appear before my eyes
one by one they reveal abstract images
representing future events
first seal reveals an imposter
unjustly crowned
his hand sweeping change upon the land
his false hopes hidden behind a
white horse winning hearts and minds via
strategically placed holograms
second and third seals let loose
the red horse
aka the war-horse turning
farmlands into graveyards and
nations into ashes
at his heels
lo the black horse
perpetrating wickedness upon the poor
fourth seal unleashes escalating death
paraded methodically by the pale horse
wielding hammer and sickle and
raping the land
systematically burying
one-quarter of every living thing
entering the point of no return
the fifth seal tallies the
price paid by murderous men
killing blindly at any cost
their victims transformed into martyrs
and worshipped by the chosen
few who are reeling and
determined to regroup
bewildered and lamenting
all dressed in white robes
by the time the sixth seal breaks opens
the entire earth shakes
and once dormant volcanos
blacken the sun and redden the moon
and all the leaders of the world
and all the wealthy
and all the faithless
and all those with any means necessary
fearfully evacuate themselves into
deep underground sanctuaries
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they say there is no setting
or rising of the sun
they say it is always there
and it’s just your imagination
that sometimes it is not
with that in mind I stood at the
doorstep and handed a child
paper and markers and
asked her to interpret the
world as she knew it
from inside her mind she drew
countless circles orbiting
infinite stars
and every now and then
she placed a new moon
where you’d least expect it
I wondered how many of her
suns supported life as we know it
and as I was about to ask her
she told me she needed
more space and time
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we didn’t sign up for this
but there we were
pistols raised above our heads
faces covered with red
paisley bandanas
ending fairy tale lives
and abetting a revolution
handed down for centuries
everyone knew the wild west
would eventually cycle back
to the eastern front
where women lay low and
protect and feed their children
until old enough
to perpetuate the suffering
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation Alone on this prisoner island the Aegean Sea surrounds me Pen in hand I sketch images I could not have fathomed without divine intervention delivering unto this world a final gospel not even the Authorities can contain Back in the day we walked as brothers from sea to mountain countryside to village to city healing the sick and raising the dead like nobody had ever seen But now all has changed and I am not worthy to look Him in the eye and I find myself falling to my knees beginning to absorb everything He has in store Once settling down I come to terms with my mission: sending the seven congregations a three-part transcript describing His time on earth what has transpired since and how His triumphant return will supersede the Age of the Church
august two thousand fourteen copyright j matthew waters all rights reserved
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