poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “supernatural”

supernatural conventions

death hangs in the balance
like a bat hanging upside down
is it an animal or a human
in disguise

breaking natural laws
in supernatural conventions
undetectable to the human
but not the bat

awakening by signals
inherited from the sun
guided by a waning moon
long forgotten

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

shadows like black masses

canopy of trees protective yet penetrable
all night rains enriching the underworld

three or four children noisily passed by
and I turned from one side to the other
as they placed stone markers near my feet

I heard one say this place should be
buried in snow
which of course made me laugh
(if only that were possible)

they continued to arrange the markers
until they were satisfied with the pattern

little did they know that their ritual
awakened an age-old spirit
and as I rose from the earth into the misty air
all they could do was run and scream

january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

where the trees had fallen

taking trails less traveled
led me to where the
trees had fallen
where horses long ago
abandoned the woods

falling to my knees I
listened ‘neath the silence
felt inner earth’s heartbeat
inside my very bones
faintly alive and hurting

lost generations remain
charred in this place
recycled into ghostly ashes
reshaped into
ever-changing apparitions

silence ensued and robbed
me of all my thoughts
leading me to believe
the only way out was
through my imagination

october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

genome projects

this old blue jewel continuously
reinvents herself
through orderly chaos
using beautifully destructive forces
to tear herself down and rise again
in unimaginable creativity

she is her own god forever conjoined
with the serene sky
the strands of creation
emitting sparks from her fingertips
fashioning transcendental elements
into a supernatural world

june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my shaman

my shaman is a musician
sitting in grandma’s rocking chair
her nylon-stringed classical guitar
strapped across his shoulder

months go by without knowing
his arrivals or departures
i imagine he’s playing her music
to a sold-out crowd in need

the mosh pit implosion gives rise
to a new kind of attention
where misunderstood children
believe in second chances

though my shaman has no wings
his imperfect compositions
sail beyond the faintest star
giving light where there is none

august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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