jdubqca

finding out sooner than later

sure you can start all over again
but it will have to be in a new body

which do you prefer this time
tall & dark & handsome
athletic or wirey or robust
perhaps a shy woman
putting to song the saddest
poetry ever written

sure you can start all over again
but you may not remember
the life you left behind

or perhaps you’d like to come back
with a certain kind of awareness
the god of rebirth giving you clues
of who you once were

and when you become of age
the new you suddenly
becomes obsessed
peeling back layer upon layer
like a genealogist
that proverbial onion having you
burning candles at both ends

scouring the information superhighway
soon you’ll face your next demise





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

on becoming reborn

yes it’s true I was lost
for the better part of my life
chasing the impossible
self-harming
neglecting & dismissing
deep inside the mosh pit
the dark cavern
the constant turmoil
with thousands of other
lost souls

the bell is ringing
its origin dating back
a half century
but I’m unable to locate
the source
its home
a place that once was
and ceases to be

all this time I thought I was
advancing forward
but truth be told
I’ve been regressing
in search of discovering
that who I truly am





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

a thousand dreams

it’s not the first time you’ve chased the wind
having gone from one idea to the next
but then suddenly there is none
all you can hear are sirens

eventually winds die down
giving you plenty of time to pause
letting loose over a thousand dreams
turning sirens into your mother’s screams




april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

admired by the gods I wish to be

turning nothing into something
without words or paint or music
but simply by willing it so
now that’s a feat worthy of the gods

how can I even try to do the same
in my own little space and time
redesigning recurring nightmares
or reworking age old fairy tales

this is not the first time I’ve talked
myself into believing in the past
one in which I was a lesser god
still learning how to reinvent

perhaps next time I will arise
from beneath the very earth herself
eventually abloom in full color
admired by the gods I wish to be





february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

as long as I remember

it wasn’t supposed to come to this
but here we stand at the precipice

oh how we keep saying tomorrow
is a brand new day
and now after all these years
tomorrow’s here to stay

one part of me says climb that hill
the other saying dig your way through

options are limitless
but we tend to focus on black
and white considerations
knowing full well [at this point]
there aren’t any bad decisions

and then there’s the river
flowing through it all
one day impersonating rebirth
the next day heaven on earth



february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

finding myself millions of miles away

how often I look to the stars for answers
even as a child sitting on front porch step
sadly confused what had brought me forth
here in this house of merriment and madness

passage of time often blurries the obvious
blending permanence with imperfect escapism
scrapping together true change from within
hitching magic carpet ride to nearest galaxy

temporary visitations have become the norm
familiar faces nothing but a distant memory
could it be I long to return to the womb
desperately desiring to be born again




november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

remaking herself

she so loved porcelain
telling me how she wished
she could be reborn this way

I said all I know is papier-mâché
but would do my best to
make it seem as she wished

it’s difficult to make amends
and rebuild a life that was
meant to live just once

but here I am reconstructing
making papier-mâché
out of porcelain
so that she may live again

I whisper into her inner ear
challenging her to make herself
defying those prevailing winds
attempting to tear her apart




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

waiting to be born again

she bent over and whispered into my ear
and I heard every single word she said
but I did not move and barely breathed

it was as if I was trapped in a daydream
and every single person I ever knew
walked past me as I lay dying

there was so much work left to be done
unfinished landscapes and hidden rainbows
manicures and photographs
dusty bookshelves and unlit candles

holograms and talismans dangled before me
like a mobile swaying above a bassinet
and then I realized this was not a dream
but rather I was being drawn
back inside of her

june two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved