I wonder what they’re saying
chatty birds in nearby trees
clearly heard amid the calm
before the storm
might they be saying
get underground all you fools
or better yet be prepared
to ride with the wind
may two thousand twenty-four
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all rights reserved
make-believe people ask me
what was I thinking
when everything went down
I just smile like an idiot
having never been blown away
by such a bout of reality
if I was thinking I’d probably
have done things differently
maybe pretend I was a reporter
jotting down some notes
or voice recording objectively
what it was I was witnessing
instead I found myself swirling
inside the eye of the storm
past & present souls gathering
aiding & abetting my inner strength
august two thousand twenty
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we’d become separated by no fault of our own
unable to remember if it was due to gunfire
or mother nature herself
out back the horses are long gone
having escaped before the doors swung shut
galloping faster than the wind
their hooves barely touching the ground
from what I’ve learned things may never die down
& those stars shining ever brighter
will one night once again be wished upon
all rights reserved
august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
waiting on a storm that never arrives
anticipating & wanting
a need so strong that when
nothing ever happens
the disappointment weighs heavily
when the storm collapses upon itself
the impending relief is thwarted
leaving you once again
back in the throes of misery
one of which may never go away
the morning sun is heavy
the dewpoint remarkably high
going out into the world is inadvisable
and so you sit quietly
waxing your wings like a damselfly
waiting for the next system to develop
july two thousand twenty
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all rights reserved
shots were fired overnight
like thunder and lightning
and then the rains fell
two point seven inches in all
young man staggers in
and out of shadows
low-beam street lamp
revealing bullet proof vest
sirens and flashing lights
blend in with nature
weaving through alleys
baby glocks and berettas
systematically revolving around
unrecycled neighborhoods
lights flicker off and on
frightened eyes peeking
through shadeless windows
chalk outlines on sidewalks
washed away before
cleaning crews ever arrive
july two thousand sixteen
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all rights reserved
there is a storm brewing
simmering in a big black pot
stirred by faceless warlords
pretending life
doesn’t matter much
high winds blow madness
into the next town
precisely honed strikes
wiping out historic deception
as new chief lays down
new laws
war drums beat relentlessly
inside children’s dreams
bringing showers
to the desert and
drought to the streams
turning camels into arks and
temples into zoos
from the beginning we are told
there is no time to write home
there is only more life
and more land
to claim for our own
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
visions arrive in feverish shapes
testing my sanity
in a darkness protected from a
cold november rain
flashes of restlessness appear
out of no where
reminding me of a dogged past
certain to hound me again
voiceless visitors with a certain
je ne sais quoi
talk me into believing
this night will never end
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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