I mean not to brag
but I’ve buried my past
like seeds of destruction
ashes gathered & scattered
over time germinating
mere inches below the surface
a little girl in the garden
[creating new worlds]
pours pretend water from a red pail
& I find myself mingling
w/the roots of the perennials
mere inches below her feet
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
if I were to start from scratch
I wouldn’t even know my mother
I would be a microbe
either in someone’s gut
or on the ocean floor
a mere figment
of an imagination
I can’t begin to comprehend
if I were to be reborn
what are the chances
I’d be back in the same womb
the one that nourished me
the first & last time
before exploding into this world
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
jdubqca 