jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “rebirth”

heaven or hell on earth


below ground
coincidence can be found
bone & rock & history
loosely wrapped
inside places even your
imagination can’t fathom
unless you’re dead asleep

in the air is where it’s at
high as a kite so to speak
transported by coal-consuming
flying dragons
firing on all cylinders
taking you to places
only years ago unthinkable

if you can’t escape
the exosphere
you’ve no choice but to die
a stone cold death
or fall back to the surface
reborn to climb yet again
or dig into oblivion





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

we shall never have to die again


there we go
playing with fire again
believing that finding our way
is by way of light

every night we die a slow death
only to be reborn
morning after morning
neither learning by past mistakes
nor desirous of trying something new

instead we go back to the fire
believing we can conquer it
believing if only we can make it last
throughout the night
we shall never have to die again





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

it’s true what they say


that flash before your
very eyes
I see it happening
all the time

[I see it happening
all the time]

it’s true what they say
about the mind
a recorder of everything
playbacks & recalls
sometimes spot on
often faulty
nonetheless all of it
the truth & the way
how a simple gesture
takes you back
before the very beginning
before time itself





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

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

from the book of an arsonist


shadows in the open field
keep running toward the sun
the hair of the ghosts
blowing in the opposite direction
courtesy of westerly gusts

these hills haven’t burned
for more than four centuries
old world ideas rekindling
the adjacent forest
ancient & anxious to impress

a collision is inevitable
the outcome undeterminable
ashes redefining themselves
by way of a circular wind
the scent of the air palpable





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

the long goodbye


we are ingrained in repetition
long before we were born

before then we already knew
rivers run into the sea
& stars fall from the sky

you’ve learned by way of music
how riders of the storm
were born into this lonely house

and so you close your eyes
dancing in the center of
your own universe

one in which has no ending





march 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

the quiet one in the corner


I try to remember
the lost dreams from childhood
baseball & butterflies
how the lady in the shoe
in the kitchen
screamed at all her children
(but I was not one of them)
all of us pretending
knowing exactly
where we came from


it was the fifteenth
maybe fourteenth century
and mother was making mead
in the cellar
me as a toddler shadowing
her every move
quietly asking where on earth
I could have come from
and ever since
never asking again




may two thousand twenty-one
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

excommunicado


sometimes I’m a little late to the party
and sometimes I forget to show up at all
either way there is constant commingling
going on between this world and the next

come sunrise strangers begin to stir
chatting amongst themselves in the parlor
recounting the previous night’s events
and taking bets on my reappearance




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved

counting down the days


oh glorious night settle into darkness
and let me tell thee whom I give my life

I belong neither to sky above nor sea below
and from all accounts was burst forth from
scorpius some thirty-three light years ago

though my days on earth have been counted
on one thousand and one hands
it is a far cry to say this was ever my home
for the glory of goodness lives not here
but rather in a place and time that knows no end



november two thousand sixteen
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

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