there was not a chance for rain
but there he was
ambling down third avenue like clockwork
decked out in a three piece suit
and umbrella in hand
(the ladder doubling as a walking stick)
occasionally looking upward at a
limitless blue sky
nary a wisp or puff to be found
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a vampiric night
dark clouds gathering
like a flock of sheep
covering the hillside
old moon waning
in & out of the parlor
dark clouds gathering
vanquishing the light
the next card drawn
may very well favor
a long lost fortune
discovered inside
dark clouds gathering
long before the sun
the future was wide open
lightning & thunder
ushering in the power
of the tools
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was an ordinary man
but somewhere along the line
my status was elevated
w/o my knowledge
As far I’m concerned
November was a long time ago
though long before anyone
had the authority to make me a god
I thought I was stuck
in the 21st Century
but somehow all the clocks
tumbled back to zero
Upon awakening
all alone in the desert
I heard rumblings underneath
resembling war drums
like the ones that once ruled
so-called civilizations
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I smuggled some spirits
across state lines
tied down in the trunk
of my Honda Civic
Seventeen hours on the road
over a two-day stretch
one rainy & one sunny
the night itself lifeless
like the spirits
locked inside the trunk
From Roanoke to Davenport
it’s hard to say exactly
how many managed
to escape along the way
in the final analysis
the open trunk
a revelation of evaporation
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She walked into the room
a waxing gibbous
with a baby inside
shining brightly
like perpetual hope
as if to say
everyone stop & look
I’ve become the gift bearer
But that was yesterday
her brightness fading
like a silent star
settling into a routine
fit for a Queen
coming changes sublime at best
wild & random thoughts
fading yet still aglow
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve become lost again
like a little lamb
abandoned
in a nursery rhyme
left to fend for himself
far away from grassy fields
and peoples
of various dreams
It’s not the first time
and mostly likely
not the last
but now there’s
a new feeling
from understanding
I’m not learning
from prior mistakes
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
something reeks
did somebody leave something on
it could be the wind
bringing in the stench
either from the corn sweetener
or water treatment plant
people stepping out
their front doors
hands on hips
some pointing southeast
others northwest
kind of looking at one another
and shrugging their shoulders
one by one they return
back into their safe zones
mindful that funky bouquets
are usually innocuous
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s no time
to dwell on the past
oh how the future
arrives too fast
present day lives
project everyday familiarities
such as falling asleep
in your arms
come morning I awaken
to a beautiful smile
whispering above the drizzle
what shall we do today
you laugh
& softly close your eyes
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
here we are again
on an uninhabited island
as if characters
in a sociological novel
in the process of being written
you kick up your feet
and everyone else [reflexively]
does the same
on any given day there may be
three or seven or thirteen of us
sitting ‘round the table
the fluctuations a subject of
deliberation
and of course
disbelief
there are no seasons here
making it easy to keep time
due to the sun & moon & tides
only occasionally does someone know
what day it is
the last time there was a quorum
someone proposed
there must be a conduit somewhere
a wormhole if you will
which could very well explain
all the fluctuations
but not our continual presence
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you can only guess
speculate what comes next
oh yes it’s a guessing game
but there are technical & scientific
components as well
not to mention
common
sense
the past is not any indication
of what comes next
because what comes next
is hideous & beautiful
it’s the worst thing imaginable
it’s the most fantastic invention
it’s like a miracle or a gift
or the unspeakable form of death
yes it’s true the trees are burning
the cattle have no water
and on a daily basis
masses turn into ashes
turn to dust
joining the chorus of the unknown
suddenly privy
to what comes next
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so many things need fixing
the car & the dog
torn jeans & hand written letters
a few personalities housing
certain memories
—and of course always
the tip of the iceberg
I keep an olive branch in the freezer
just in case there’s a thaw
in relations
in case the enemy within
(specifically someone without)
manages to find
their way back home
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s unrealistic to think
I could be flying through space
between today & my death
yet the calls keeping coming in
fundraisers & recruiters
wanting a piece of me
like I’m a tiny part of a complex picture
dreamers connecting dots
from my body to the moon’s south pole
—eventually onto mars
I’ve since blocked such callers
stopped answering
unrecognized numbers
believing there’s nothing unadmirable
about dying right here on earth
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It seems anymore
the days are ruled by extremes
like horses bolting through
closed barn doors
finding themselves stampeding
the wrong way
Meanwhile back at the Hamburg Inn
a displaced marionette
does the dishes in the back
not benefiting much from $12 pub burgers
dreaming of gigging again
in open air arenas
Along the river
youngsters fish for money with their feet
while old-timers grow out their hair
& practice walking on water
striving to achieve ‘mystic’ status
Down at city hall
hundreds assemble peacefully
singing protest songs
& gathering stones just in case
passersby invariably crossing the street
their eyes looking the other way
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as if fighting mother nature
isn’t bad enough
we take it upon ourselves
to displace peoples
we barely know
by means of destruction
*
many months after my birth
the moon often
visited my dreams
suggesting
my true father
may well be the god of war
*
the recipe for peace
and restoration
is written on the leaves
of the eucalyptus
and the black locust
only the blind can read
*
as a child I practiced
with bow & arrow
the former becoming
an extension
of my expanding psyche
*
it’s a universal truth
the masses
do not stand a chance
against the select
yet another reason
to escape into the void
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as time passes the loss remains
though shapes & sounds continue to change
what you hear from the webspinners
is exactly what you get
not fact or fiction or partial truths
but rather an amalgamation of sorts
like a kid in a bowling alley
you really don’t know what goes on
behind the scenes
and when you start asking around
nobody else seems to know either
they say the only evidence the police found
was a skeleton key
& a letter from a former lover
saying she was happy life was boring again
now that the conspiracy has passed
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I shot the Messiah
or someone who looked like him
right there in broad daylight
outside the bath
where there were many witnesses
Word quickly spread
that I shot the Messiah
right there in broad daylight
so many of the witnesses in shock & awe
pointing their fingers at me
When I dropped the revolver
it landed in such a way
the chamber opened & bullets escaped
the witnesses mesmerized & questioning
why I shot the Messiah
The whole scene was surreal
like in a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western
the Messiah shot but not dead
the witnesses adamantly begging him
to save himself
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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