poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “stars”

rising little star

what don’t you know
you’ve already been told before
about those bits and pieces
picked up via satellite or
ground-based microwaves

oh my pretty rising star
where have you gone
even the clouds have parted
                (in hopes of)
welcoming your return

people throughout the centuries
(from this land
                and many others)
are buying one way tickets
to get a glimpse of
what they missed the first time
you sailed away

august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

in search of stars and mermaids

I stepped onto a rocket ship
hoping it would take me away
from all earthly woes

a couple hundred bucks seemed
like a fair trade toward becoming
more or less ungrounded

the view from the top supersedes
all things seen and unseen
no matter how fleeting
like a beauty queen

unstrapped and plummeting
gravity fought the law and
contained me
inside an asylum disguised
as a yellow submarine
far below the oily surface

september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

waltzing in the twilight

she wished upon a star
so many years ago
sitting on the front porch step
I don’t even remember
if she knew I was there

she spotted them falling
one after the other
and was certain she caught
the first very one
and I wondered
what she had wished for

across the way
a street lamp flickered on
and I waltzed home in the twilight

may two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sacrificial is the light

out in the fields
bonfires consume the air
pushed by the wind and shoving back
sparkling like stars
and speaking in new tongues

eons away prehistoric microlife awaken
hypnotic and unknowingly
attracted to the light
traveling at the speed of a lifetime
before effortlessly giving in
with unmitigated enthusiasm

february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rich and powerless

the famous and fortunate
descendants of royalty and paupers
never worry about dying
for their light shines bright
deep inside their minds

flying past obscurity
they find themselves mainstream
craving to be recognized
like poets or painters
philosophers or prophets
musical artists luring you
closer to the stage

it matters not who they are
or why they were sent here
for sadly the multitude
gaze their eyes skyward
for entirely different reasons

december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

her world as she knew it

they say there is no setting
or rising of the sun
they say it is always there
and it’s just your imagination
that sometimes it is not

with that in mind I stood at the
doorstep and handed a child
paper and markers and
asked her to interpret the
world as she knew it

from inside her mind she drew
countless circles orbiting
infinite stars
and every now and then
she placed a new moon
where you’d least expect it

I wondered how many of her
suns supported life as we know it
and as I was about to ask her
she told me she needed
more space and time

september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

metallic storm

stars are brightest in the desert
and from there you can clearly
see the other worlds

beneath the sand the past lives on
beating shallow breathes and
awaiting the next impact

time travelers land without incident
collecting precious data
left behind by meteorites

full moon pushes old photographs
onto the new shoreline
giving rise to the possibility
that life somehow lived on

june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lonesome is the night

out of the blue melancholy
wrapped her arms around me
and held me close
whispering sad songs
and wiping away the tears
that formed from the
corners of my mind

she slowly swayed me
encouraging me to hush
painted pictures of the
moon and stars with her
deceiving voice
expressing how precious
and lonesome is the night

december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

jars of light

nobody asked me to share
my dreams with anyone
so I kept them to myself
nurtured them as best I could

in the middle of the night
silence awakened me
beckoned me to walk alone
in streets that never sleep

along the way I imagined
the sad ones called my name
reaching out like lonely stars
dying to find a home

I gathered them in jars
full of oxygen and hope
promised to return again
when eyes are laid down low

september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Nothing but a Vestigial Drawing

Thousands of miles from home, viewing gardens
I’ve been meaning to plant, I sit and sketch
with charcoal on textured paper a perfect,
utopian presence like that place in Genesis.

The hotel makes me honestly welcomed
from the “Sirs” to the stars to the telephone
in the commode. In the drawing I see myself
never leaving, ever. I am drawn to be within

The shades of grass and green, contemplating
the reasons I should ever leave the stone
and glass and fabric and hospitality
that has enveloped me in this lofty balcony.

Below the waters are warm. The bodies
are near and brown, living out temporary
yet simple days, their imperfections hidden
beneath the moonlight, their conversations distant,

Calming and inviting. It takes almost nothing
to remove myself from a world a million miles
away; takes a conscious effort to check out
and return with nothing but a vestigial drawing.

original version penned nineteen ninety-eight
rewritten and recorded july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

all along the lighthouse

adrift on a raft
with no land in sight
you lie back
and make friends
with a setting sun

lost in dreams
the bulging moon
wrecks havoc
on brainwaves

distant stars
seek rolling waves
tossing you
into a whirlpool
of endless light

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

And So the Skyclimber Climbs

The candles burned to mask the smoke
lingering in the air. He was certain
he’d been in this room before,
though it reeked of unfamiliarity.

He continued on through interconnected taverns
that wound upward toward the sky.
Each passing story flashed old photographs
into his mind, only to dissolve and then
reproject themselves as stars in the sky.

Unclear how high the stories went
on and on he scurried. Up above, he swore,
lay reality; down below was just a past
that begged a sniff of upward mobility.

originally written
march two thousand seven
rewrite and recording
december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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