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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

mind games & cheap tricks


there’s always something going on
it’s what to focus on that matters

imagine missing the focus
you are like a human without a head

there’s something going on inside
your body knows all too well
—but not the brain

your brain is mostly focused
on the day to day
rarely shutting down from
survival mode
feeding on databytes
and microchips
dealing with reality

there’s always something going on
the question remains
how can you possibly discover
[what with all the lint & static]
that which truly matters





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

do you feel like I do


how do you think I feel
she replies
to my ignorance

it was a rhetorical question

I open the refrigerator
pull out a can of beer
from the top shelf

yeah I know I know

I see your daughter
has been painting elephants

yes mostly pink ones
I confirm

there’s an elephant taking a nap
in the next room


turning to the sink
she washes the sharp knife
placing it in the strainer

having walked away
unceremoniously
I make myself
a meatloaf sandwich





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a hired hand


stop looking out the window
what did you expect
it’s still february

the pizza joints were heating up
but you had better ideas

I noticed I aged another year
in about a week
there was nothing that could have
been done about it
having broken
the handheld mirror

you said you could fix me
in one hundred days

naturally I called your bluff

halfway through I was reported
to have been spotted
downtown
uptown
in the mall
at the library
skating on thin ice
reciting poetry at parlor city

all the while you kept flipping cards
a cigarette burning
in the ashtray
the seat across the table
freshly painted blue
& vacant





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

run for the hills


the perpetual valley
center cut via a thin line
barely meandering
though trickling just fine

cabins are spotted all along the way

I’ve told her it’s too late
for anyone to come back home
let alone her

speculators have become
aplenty lately
and I’m beginning to think
they’re starting to make sense

one day a long long time ago
someone had to have said
this here
this here is the final frontier

little did that someone know





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

building a world by memory


I have crossed the threshold
of the shadow
no longer afraid
of being alone
a stranger is my own house
waking me
by way of a touch
every morning at three fifteen

the walls & ceiling are dark
as I lay there
blinking my eyes quickly
my once uninterrupted dream
continuing in various shades
of black & white
until finally dissolving
by way of a volitional light

outside of the dream
all doors & windows are locked
from the inside
I wander from room to room
occasionally settling
at the bay window facing south
watching the river running
faster than usual





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

resting at home


it’s become difficult to concentrate
on one thing at a time
the multitasking multiverse
inflicting its influence
over unsuspecting minds

what you’re doing here I have no idea
it seems I can’t recall your name
but if you give me a hint or two
maybe I’ll shout it out
before you leave

they say I’ve been stuck inside
these four walls
for years on end
but all I can remember
is dirty rain falling
outside these dirty windows
an unexpected light
occasionally producing
a dingy looking rainbow





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

like an angel child


the poem will write itself
there is no need to worry
you just have to free the mind
from whatever heaviness
falsely resides inside

a simple flashing light
whether external or otherwise
can change the future
an apple of unusual delight
wobbling atop a table

if you find yourself
sailing in the multiverse
like some sort of angel child
be sure to rack up the points
on the nebula galilee





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

february eleven



they’re talking on the streets
how it’s much safer than
metropolitan america
oh how I laugh
not interested in going back
my passport surrendered
so many years ago

—I’ve since developed
a new language
dutifully translating
unknown poetry





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

play dinosaur


a child is unwrapping
her birthday gift
in the center
of a makeshift stadium
the audience of strangers
in the tens of thousands
cheering her on
throwing visual objects
on the neatly cut grass
surrounding her
music blaring as shes roars
raising the stuffed T-Rex
high above her head





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reconciling improbabilities


there was an explosion
a single sonic boom
and then there was fire

a thousand years
is nothing
a thousand ten-fold
or one hundred times
a thousand times
it’s all the same

it’s impossible to go back
to the beginning
or is that a fallacy
an old wives’ tale

the elixirs & the medicine
celebrations of birth
coinciding with the bad
and the ugly
what could be much worse

the iterations
propelled by the sun
capable of producing
improbable uncertainties

like in the case of jacob’s dream
a ladder lowering itself
—the heavens high above





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking the habit


you can only go so far
singing the same song
comparing
the goose with the gander
with too much regularity
beating down the same path
praising mediocrity
—but as for the newness
of tomorrow
it is rarely considered
like a stepchild believing
every moment in time
resides in and of itself





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

no time for grieving


my mother called today
and I answered with
a brave voice

she prefaced her intention
with a word of caution
and I assured her
now was as good a time
as any

in the end
it was a nonevent
[seriously mother I can
buy my own drugs]
and by the time
we had mutually hung up on
one another
I assumed my father
was still alive



february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

adjusting to weather conditions


in between phases
I’m in a funk
like a derelict balloon
with no place to go

I’ve been collecting string
and shredding
old tees into strips
tying them together
as if commanded by an ego
greater than mine

4:20 in the morning
seems to be daybreak anymore
though I’m fully aware
it changes more or less
every 24 hours

there are raw eggs
in a red bowl
next to a notebook & pencil
on the counter
—center cut bacon
chilling in the crisper

as the pig squawks
and the chickens sweat
I begin channeling today’s
getaway
[on the notebook]
a black on white conveyance
counting on the wind





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

near death experiences


there I was again
writing it all down from
start to finish
the translation always failing me

and so I take out the jumpers
from the trunk of the honda
telling everyone around me
to clear

why do I find myself
translating the past
into a present tense kind of story
freezing me in time
maybe ten or twelve
or fifteen years ago

what would I say
and why would I say it
I don’t know
I just don’t know

fast forward and here I am
again
medicating in my own weird way
treating whatever it is
that ails me

I’m not a hypochondriac
I say
just an aspiring one
maybe we can try to hook up again
[so that you can show your cards]
maybe sometime later next week





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

chasing down a dream


there is a disconnect
between sublime living
and the reality of the day
so much so
even the planes
and helicopters overhead
produce background music

execution style killings
by thugs & gangs
are just as commonplace
as walks in the park
mother & daughter & child
enjoying the sunshine
unsuspectedly

in the marketplace
a man sells as is avocados
turning pennies into dollars
cross-training his
only surviving child
working & maintaining
chasing down their dream





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the worlds that we live [in]


now that we are nearing the end
can we say it could be another way


at what moment can you point to
saying right there
that specific place in time
progressing toward the committed path
only to back off
at the eleventh hour

country boy in the big city
big city girl lost in green acres
hopping from one continent to the next
eyes set on orbiting like a satellite

there’s no debate
it’s all left to conjecture
but it’s the world we live in
and the worlds
that we don’t





february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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