jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “rain”

caught inside the crossfire


stars rise and airplanes crash
it’s simply a matter of fact

some are easily seen
while others fly under the radar
undetectable by programmable spotlights
trained to find the impossible

from way up high everything looks fine
like peaches & cream accentuated
with dark chocolate
& sweet kisses

it’s hard to spot blemishes & skirmishes
from a million miles away
fires burning down cities
look like street lamps lighting up rain-soaked streets

alleys & avenues are drenched with fire
local aircraft either hovering or grounded
the stars of the sky eerily absent
unable to be wished upon




may two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

three more days


it’s friday
and the sun is in hiding
a fugitive
an accessory to the crime
once the great life source
now on the run

it’s anybody’s guess
how long
the rains will last
it’s been three days
since the cleansing began
hope begins to rise




march two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

forty days and nights


it’s been raining off and on
and all I can do is dream about
early morning sunrises
and red red roses

in the basement sump pump
hums along tirelessly with
frequent irregularity
[or shall I say
infrequent regularity]

it matters not as long as the rain
water is recycled
back into the street
as long as dreams of early
morning sunrises
and red red roses
remain well within reach




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

staying grounded


how dark it quickly becomes
while inside random lights appear
revealing the corner of your smile
sparking further conversations

off in the distance
thunder slowly rolls forward
majestically introducing itself
and its lowdown entourage

there must be love in the air
or so you say to yourself
winds approaching out of nowhere
from the south and west
and all points in between
twisting and turning and
shouting for all the world to hear

oh how I desire to witness
rains falling for the last time
but I’m far too busy reversing course
repairing damages previous
storms left behind




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

quietly falling back to earth


an inch of rain fell overnight
though I had no idea


it was as if I had been kept
inside some secret hiding place
isolated from the reality
that is the outside world

sometimes I want to be included
to be ‘in the know’ as they say
capable of explaining how my breath
is visible on cool autumn mornings

oftentimes I find myself drifting
studying beautiful minds with fingertips
delicate as porcelain and
ever-changing like rolling hills

though the rain did not awaken me
I was suddenly released from
this secret hiding place
unbound and once again aware




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the day the music played


fire and rain baby
that’s where it’s at
whether it be on vinyl
or flatscreen tv

you said you were just
gonna borrow it
but years went by
and you never did give it back
no you never did
(you never did)

there are no apologies
necessary
I’ve since moved on
now that compact discs
have arrived
not to mention youtube
and itunes
partaking in yoo-hoo
or root beer

friday night it was late
and I had no place to go
except for quietly tapping my foot
fire and rain
playing in the background



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the rain falls perfectly in late november


the rain falls perfectly in late november
neither hard nor soft
simply there and bringing awareness
to practically everything
many questioning their lives behind
closed doors and shuttered windows
on the laziest of sunday afternoons

the rain falls perfectly in late november
either reminding you of a
specific place in time you
wished remained suspended
or making you forget altogether
recent distractions repeatedly tugging
at the fabric slowly covering your eyes



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

under the sun


and when it rains we pray for brighter thoughts
and think of things that bind us to the earth
reminding us how we were born
from out of the darkness
like a flower or the butterfly

and when it rains we have time to contemplate
how the sun never hides
but rather is separated from us
from things out of our control
and it is then we learn to read each other’s minds
like the worker bee does her queen

and when the rain has passed our way
we shift our thoughts to wonderment and joy
like children skipping across wet grass
slipping and sliding and laughing under the sun



may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

it rarely rains at the coliseum


it was getaway day at the coliseum
and dogs and soda and suds were
all half-price

there were lots of suits commingled
among many of the more casually enthusiastic fans
and even the public address announcer wondered
if any of the banks were open for business

some early inning runs quickly increased
concession sales

late comers rushed to the beer tent
before finding their seats

the rookie southpaw had a no-hitter
going into the fifth
and the place was all abuzz
like it hadn’t been in years

the afternoon matinée couldn’t have been
more perfect
until the roar of the crowd
called forth the god of rain delays
who just wouldn’t go away

and gradually (but with a fight)
the stadium lost all its life
as if nothing had ever happened



may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

good riddance to october rain


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

Watching a Petal


With exact timing the rain-soaked branchlet
released water-droplets; while below
a soft, geranium petal strained to reach
the four o’clock sun, its efforts deterred
by a consistent explosion of sorts.


originally penned circa nineteen ninety-two
audio recorded june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

blue river


I wandered down to the river
where the rolling rock
segues into a row of willows
settled inside the shadows
and wished my blues away

dark clouds gathered ‘round
blanketing the sunshine
casting sheets of rain upon the river
purposefully rhythmical
yet without any reason

eyes surrendering to gravity
I spread my body across the ground
like an angel with torn wings
dreaming within the willows
in every single color except blue


april two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

cry for the badman


the bad man could care less
about fingers pointed
in his general direction
could care less
when blamed for the sun
not shining
or the dark clouds
not forming
when all anyone really wanted
was a little rain falling down


february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

outside my window


peering out my window
clouds gather around
and darken
a once promising
bright day

blackbirds circle above
slowly descending
and squawking
instinctively finding
shelter

thunder murmurs and moans
and i close my eyes
suppressing
a distant memory
knocking

once the showers arrive
i gaze past the pane
your image
refreshing like the rain
falling



december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

weather woman


i’m in love with the weather woman
but i’m afraid to let her know

i love how she tells me
when my sun will shine

and when the rain
will soak my thoughts
with impossible dreams

and when the wind
will blow my blues away

i’m in love with the weather woman
but i’m afraid if she knew
she would concoct a storm
and send me tumbling away
like some insignificant snowflake



december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

without a wish


the river ran dry
the year of the drought
collapsing the water table
atop its own legs

the wishing well closed
from lack of moisture
turning back all the day dreamers
hoping for change



september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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