there’s something rotten
in far too many places
including right here in this house
—apples & tomatoes & eggs
going bad on the kitchen counter
nobody lives here anymore
& it’s going to be a few more days
before the neighbors start putting
two & two together
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we left nearly everything
there was no other way
to capture the flag
the only thing that seemed to matter
in the summer of sixty-nine
I remember I had
only wanted to play ball
but that was never in the cards
instead left strategizing
in someone’s low-lit basement
we could only assume
our house had been bombarded
likely laid to waste
while surviving relatives
roamed about like zombies
we had received word
of the headless horse
galloping into the orangish moon
a clear signal it was time to fly
the archers unloading their arsenal
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am restless
inside my makeshift cage
sticking my head out
between the barbed wires
maybe nicking my neck
a time or two
but always smiling
I don’t bleed like I used to
the clotting
taking its sweet-ass time
a reminder I should lighten up
on the baby aspirin
it’s hard to be seen
when there’s a sheet
hanging over my head
—no I am not a ghost
at least not that I know of
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let’s break it up boys
and so the huddle at the mound
gives way to an impending fastball
the home plate umpire calls it a strike
—he’s a regular douchebag
the stadium is jam-packed
copping a buzz on bud light & goose island
the chisox are back on top
taking on the loveable losers in comiskey
there’s a good chance of rain
but there’s nary an umbrella in sight
this place doesn’t have a retractable roof
—that’s just plain wrong
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the harbor
angels with gold-tipped wings
hang out waiting for a call
in the meantime
I work on my own little story
deciding what it means
when she sent me a photo
of chicory by the side of the road
the flowers were blue
but then again they weren’t
and for the longest time
I tried to describe
the color of her eyes
the sea was calm that day
but my heart was racing
a reminder that the ending
is always by my side
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s evening
and everything is still
as if the earth has stopped spinning
the clouds in the sky don’t move
the water falling
down the rocks
makes not a sound
or if it does
is drowned out
by noisy high flyers
some of them are drones
others real wildlife
the former surveilling and well-
equipped
with all kinds of weaponry
the latter
doing their part
by participating in the
natural selection of order
in the suburbs
ordinary people are cleaning their guns
while in the inner city
a not-so-silent war [of sorts]
rages on
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
here we go again
testing the outer limits
as if body & mind
has no bearing
on the aging process
what concoctions
can we improve upon
trading mint leaf for bat wing
rearranging words
to an oft-repeated incantation
swearing to discovering
something new
we were told not to look
into the eyes of the sun
but when your own vision fails you
that is exactly
what you should be doing
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve lost a step
but not a beat
the morning sun
reminds me so
where I’ve been
means less & less
than where I’ll be
when the new moon
rises in the east
believe you me
I believe in you
& when there’s
no more trace
it simply means
I’ve set out for sea
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
to improve upon the living world
I must first find something
meaningful to give to others
who may have nothing for themselves
to improve upon myself
I must find a way to lose myself
within this living world
transferring what little power I may possess
to those who may have none
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am like a boy
without a family
a young man
without a soul
a wanderer w/o direction
god does not talk to me
like once upon a time
when guiding me out of my shell
and into a brand new light
I was told
things would take care
of themselves
that I was simply the vehicle
to someone else’s
grander design
how I am to know
what is true & what is make-believe
how I am to know
whether or not I have reached
my final destination
I am like an army of one
advancing toward a front line
continually redrawing itself
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Cutting the whitethorn
inside a fairy fort
was much like committing suicide
and over time it became
common knowledge
much like finding a pot of gold
at the end of a rainbow
Magic of the druids
resided inside the ringforts
and anyone attempting
to penetrate the perimeter
between the morning hours
of one to five
were unlikely to leave
The Lios alive
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve made my way here
on account of my mother
a woman well aware of her family
but unwilling to look
neither forward nor past
She’s deserved much more
than what’s been handed to her
and I’m afraid I may be
her last chance to understand
what she may have missed
There is no self-loathing
as far as she is concerned
but where I come from
[based on my own experiences]
is precisely the opposite
Making my way back from a
pub on Ennis Friary
I conduct traffic near midnight
believing the Irish in me
is exactly what she had expected
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Not far from Dublin
will I always be
where the bustling streets
welcome strangers
from all walks of life
giving refuge to anyone
without a home
But for now I’ll stray
far away from the city lights
where the green hedges
grow unattended
& the wild winds beckon me
to the southern sea
softly whispering my name
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
boarded up castle windows
three stories tall
wider & taller than the original
castle windows
landing areas for black birds
ravens or grackles or cowbirds
circling the perimeter as if on patrol
playing a game without a name
occupying the ledges
for moments at a time
unable to penetrate the fortress
one alighting on a ledge
only to have another depart
sometimes two or three at a time
orbiting the castle as much as
attempting to occupy the ledge
picking a different window each time
but always coming & going
circling & swooping & climbing higher
spreading their wings like black angels
though never once not spiraling
down to the ground
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s like stepping back in time
long before plymouth rock
or the white man’s first encounter
w/native americans
this 12th century castle
was the first of its kind
modeled after nothing but an idea
what it would take to stay alive
you see back then there was
plenty of human ingenuity
artistic accomplishments
& historic achievements
of course what remained
was the insatiable desire to kill
and that spread like wildfire
by way of land & sea & sky
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the furthest thing from my mind
is falling to the ground
& now having reached
my desired elevation
nothing else seems to matter
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 