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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “Poetry”

truth or dare


nobody knew there would
be a test today
not even the teacher

a bomb threat forced them
to vacate the premises
and they set off on foot
to the amphitheater
on the west side of the
tree-lined river

it was there they exposed
their souls
one by one for some
others two by two
and even three by three
queried intensely
of life & death
in the end left to choose
either truth or dare

creativity had no limits
in what became
a sacred undertaking
where birds of different colors
sought the safety of the trees
experiencing the discomfort
of the tragedy
and the relief of the comedy
of the spoken word
filling the open air





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

If you could only see me


When I found myself in the U.S., and the war was at full swing in Bosnia,
I read for survival – it was a means of thought resuscitation.

— Aleksandar Hemon


A road less traveled
a place outside of the self
if only you could see me there
maybe you’d begin
to understand what it means
to be suspended in time

Not far you should find Lazarus
astir on the peninsula
fishing no doubt
waiting on the next wave

It’s nothing but a distraction
as are all the ghosts of the past
my own image
becoming ashen

Somehow you find me
and pull
me
back
in
back onto the shoulder
of a road
less traveled





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

released on my own recognizance


in real time
I recovered from what once
ailed me
paroled with written conditions
I was forced to sign

and off I went on my own
unconcerned about the brace
on my ankle
or the chip embedded
inside my shoulder

as the weather changed
the signals went haywire
and I found myself freer than I’d ever been
leading me to believe
how my newly found
lightning rod imagination
would forever set me free





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wake up call


I wear an alarm clock
on my wrist

it tells me many things
such as where I’ve been
when I’m wide awake
or where I’m going
when fast asleep

it speaks to me in foreign sounds
a kind of language
I’ve come to understand over time
as if sequestered
inside a white room without
an escape route

I’ve nothing else to do
but to breathe & learn

sometimes the sound is muffled
by way of a pillow
and I become
the loneliest man in the world
until I toss & turn & awaken
all on my own





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Winnie the Pooh


I was pretending
to live in the hundred acre wood
where I met many a friend
from my childhood

it was sunny and it was nice
even in the middle of winter
and not one of us complained
except for you know who

there were oh so many stories
to tell and retell
and pots & pots of honey

we shared everything
photographs & memories
new ideas & fantasies
an occasional deep seated fear

the best part though
had something to do
with these neverendings
where the stories go on
and on and on
just like the stalk
we never stop climbing





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

supersonic evolution


when you tear
at the flesh
do both ears ring
in a canine kind of
frequency

after the feast
your heart rate slows
breathing shallowly
giving way to other senses

this earth talks
probably way too much
probably because
so few listen

the river did not always
meet the road
—natural bridges
evolving over time





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

class struggle


of course it doesn’t exist
inside poetry
everything is equal
inside these lines
good & evil
incapable of relating
to abundance or poverty
though a consistent manipulation
resides in the background
attempting to par the course
while inside rhymes
look over your shoulder
always dying to dream





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reverse psychosis


they took me from the workplace
with complete brutality
my body slowly deteriorating
from the inside out
my mind awash in alcohol

my comfort zone disappeared
and I was left with nothing but
unanswered questions
reeling from a sickness
that struck without warning

I was told never to worry
that a new reality would unfold
how I would fall fast asleep
for nearly a lifetime
only to awaken as a god





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on the poet’s deathbed


I’ve been recycling old words
into new poems
but nobody’s paying attention
instead saying mean things
about illogical intentions
questioning exactly where
they may be coming from

they all get filed away
unceremoniously —until a man
with a truck backs up
replaces the filled to gills bin
with an empty one
nobody ever questioning
how many good ones got away





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Crossing the Atlantic in 1789


The trade winds
brought you here
once upon a time
snatched you from
the comfort that
was your home
sent you sailing
across the Atlantic
landing near
the Carolina coast
hand-delivered
in rural Georgia
where you were
freed from your
original sin





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bridgeout road


taking the road less traveled
now that’s an ambition
that never gets old
whether concrete or asphalt
gravel or dirt
it makes no difference
the scenery affected by the
latest weather report
a consistent manipulation of sorts
the century-old bridge at the very end
blown to pieces [time & again]
by the mind’s eye





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

solar-powered


the lost drone         resurfaces
after three days without          the sun

commandeers itself
back          amongst the clouds

as if a ghost

back home          the remotes
share     no     purpose

the eyes have no vision

incapable
        of regaining control
                the drone lives on

as long as there is     the sun





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

forever your song


when I think of poetry
I think of song
the early morning bird
making sure
I think of you

curtains drawn
the interval begins
we awaken
and we start again

the end game
can never be known
but what happens
in the meantime
is forever yours





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lone wolf


it was a day to be creative
in a regimental kind of way
voluntary confinement
practicing silence in the mirror
solidarity to the self

it’s a craft needing feeding
desirous without comprehending
setting out for the night
following the scent of the wind
and a filtering moonlight





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

purple petunias


it starts with planting
flowers in the dark
where there is no sunrise
or sunset
—the grand scheme
of things hidden
behind the scenes

rapid eye movement
paints all kinds of pictures
imagining opening
the curtain for all to see
all sorts of colors
splashed upon the fabric

the green of grass
the blue of sky
the yellow sun

new realities are made
in such ways
when eyes are shut
sleepwalking
through the garden
trowel in hand





december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

born again


delighted by the findings
I begin to believe my decline
may soon be slowed
or absolutely reversed

how can this be
[I rhetorically ask]
is it not true there is no undoing
the advancement of the
universe itself

is there no unwinding
forward progression
once the wheels
are put into motion

how can it be
I can crawl back inside
that in which I first arrived





november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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