poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “soul”

toast & tangerine tea for three

I forgot what I was going to say
but managed to call an audible
that nobody wanted to hear

there was nobody around
so it was one of those no harm
no foul kind of moments

there used to be a time
I was surrounded by loved ones
but for some reason
I’ve managed to outlive them all

I’ve been telling myself for years
that the violence will intensify
perhaps the reason why
I find myself lost inside this shell

though the body is breaking
the mind has called upon the soul
dialoguing behind closed doors

and at the break of dawn
when I rise what could be for the last time
I inquisitively ask are we still here

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

on new year’s night

all of the commotion is over
everyone having gone their own way

it was dark & cold & windy
but then again it was winter
and there was nothing left to see

I shut the door & turn off the light
listening to the laughter
continuing to echo throughout

I sit down & concentrate
on lowering my heart rate

sometimes I wonder
where my soul ventures
when I am sound asleep
having abandoned all former lives
there is only one place left to go

december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

from this world to the next

I witnessed you entering this world
I myself on my way out the door
undone by assassinations
and conspiracy theories
stories wound tight only to
unravel like some flawed mystery

there is no relation between
you and me or your unwed mother
I just happened to be at the
right place at the right time
having recently discovered my soul
roaming from room to room

july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a window to your soul

the cold has promised to come
and all I can think of
are the windows

the second story is burning
the attic fan turning
attempting to cool
that which never will

I told everyone who would listen
I don’t belong here
not where glaciers melt
before my very eyes
not where arctic blasts
are merely sticks of dynamite

and in the meantime
all I can think of are the windows
wide open
inviting the inevitable

may two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

an invasion of sorts

freedom means nothing
unless opportunities live
outside the body

body snatchers
I have no time for
but those mind snatchers
I want to meet them
outside my moonlit window

those dreams you keep having
the ones keeping you up at night
how long do you think
they’ve been keeping you alive
and how long before
you can convince them
to take me with you

march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

The Pretender

I left all these little clues where you could
find me hiding in the strangest of places
sometimes squeaking quietly like a mouse
nibbling on a morsel of cheese
casting a tiny shadow against the white curtain
other times banging pots and pans
at the break of dawn
in an otherwise empty kitchen
while you were upstairs fast asleep
my reckless display was just part of a nightmare
you could never quite piece together

During the workday when the house was lifeless
I would rummage through your old vinyls
singing as loudly as my lungs would allow
somehow knowing nobody within in a million
miles would be able to hear me

When you finally came home I was too weary
to make an effort to be noticed
could barely stand to see you so worn out
so I would wander a few hours between the walls
pretending they were part of an intricate maze
pretending I still belonged outside of them
pretending you were not as sad as it seemed

june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

The Soul Bar

We go there after life and live it up
for as long as we can stand
on our own two feet
or get thrown out for playing
karaoke with the house band

We go there after life and swap
stories about the strange times
on the old blue jewel
when it was easier to feel
the pain of man’s music
than wake up sober
and pretend everything is just fine

We go there after life and find
new pals who nobody ever
heard of before
the kind of fellows who died
young and never got a chance
to spread their wings
until they stumbled upon this place
hidden beneath the rubble

february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

untitled 2007

how do i decide
what to believe is real?
should i follow my thoughts
or just live out my dreams?
there once was a time
i worried about my heart
but as the years pass on
i know it’s my soul
i most trust.

september two thousand seven
audio january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

heart and soul – a poem for the weary

he walks alone
because he has no place
to go
yet he knows
as long as he keeps moving
the world will never slow down

he smiles because
he was told it would keep warm his soul
and he figured
that would be a good thing
in case his heart went cold

remembering is what
he does best
not the yesterday kind of remembering
but the kind
where you go way back when
the kind
that makes you smile
and makes your heart reminisce

july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the other side

imagine marine-like monsters
inhabiting the darkest of waters
their bodies shaped simply
their fins rudimentary yet powerful
propelling themselves instantly
jetting at reckless speeds
and abruptly halting to a standstill
they are neither here nor there
and represent a constant terror
to those who slip into their world

their world is an antithesis
to the dreams we fabricate
and even in the wildest of our
fascination we realize their depths
are unreachable
their darkness too deep to see
even a flicker of light
leaving us unable to conjure hope
or understand the underworld
unless we sell our soul
and give in to the other side

april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

how to put into words

blank card unfolds
with pencil in hand
as I sit in silence
waiting for the words

instead I draw
a little lost boy
in pursuit of his soul
in the cherished woods

a network of leaves forbids
the sun from shining
upon the moss-covered floor
as the sounds of the silent march
carry on

the young man calls
into the branches
certain someone above
understands his prayer

april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sacred heart

before and after does not exist
in the archer’s constellation
where an inconsumable
star factory
produces heavenly blue skies
and fiery sunsets
where reality is forever
and an open heart
any soul pursuing
a new beginning

january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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