jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “syllabic”

left behind in rearview mirror


shortness of breath
I decide to hold it
pretending to be a child
cheeks expanding and reddening
eyes bulging like goldfish
it’s all you can do not to laugh

nonetheless there is much laughter
crescendoing and sad
easier than simply crying
surrendering to the crash
like a desperate goldfish
dying to breathe



november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sisters feeding robins


oh my how robin sings his sad sad song
perched atop window sill on monastery hill
long after summer suns and autumn breezes

flocks of butterflies sailed off overnight
leaving behind memories suppressed by the sun
abducting yesterday’s rainbow colored skies

candles give light to hallways and kitchens
chaste sisters making chocolates and caramels
tidbits for thrushes certain to arise come spring





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

never letting go


I was caught crying again
perfectly sober and stunned
perhaps wounded by stray bullets
kicking up dirt all along the fault line

I swear I never met her
this young woman in my arms
unable to speak due to fright
needing more attention than I could give

peace resides not in chaos
body and mind self-protecting
inner instincts kicked into full gear
frantically searching for makeshift havens

they pried her out of my arms
transporting her to safety
red lights flashing and pulsating
screaming hysterically in desert night



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

another summer lost


open the windows and let cold air in
infiltrating your comfort zone and chilling
your most heated and desperate thoughts

I know not what raises your condition
bringing your ideas to simmering boil
followed by mind-numbing afterburn

I’ve spotted your face in the passing clouds
sliver of a silver moon peek-a-booing
songbirds praising your inner beauty

although impossible to keep you close
I’ve kept your photographs frozen in my mind
turning them into moving pictures

this cold air is bound to heat up again
meanwhile I huddle inside heavy blankets
waiting for winter solstice to show



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lord of the flowers


mighty clouds bulbous and swelling
swarming through dark starless skies
spinning tales of menace and fear
choosing who lives and who dies

little ones crisscross through cornfields
chasing monarch butterflies
free of cares above or below
on this earth or otherwise

what keeps your faith resurrecting
my dear flower of surprise
oh how you entertain greatness
amidst the deceit and lies



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

controlled burning


sunspot settles into eight o’clock
quite content hanging out there
for as long as I can recall

in the field old men split seasoned wood
boys gather and stack neatly
building towers three times their size

birds and clouds passing by routinely
aided by westerly breeze
pushing forward suspended sun

transitioning perfectly seamless
natural light surrenders
controlled flames reaching for the stars



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

stormtroopers on the run


rains followed along streams of light
attracted to the illumination of the city

raindrops splattered atop thin ice
triggering flashbacks of fluorescent flying insects

though the winds behaved peacefully
casualties kept arriving at an alarming rate

each lull brought back another storm
arriving like missionless troopers with an attitude

they said to get out while you still can
far away from places casting incandescent shadows





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

doctors without sound barriers


this place is broken
tragically in disrepair
like a neglected heart with
various hairline fractures

it’s easy to smile
if only superficially
telling yourself and others
the sickness will somehow end

local physicians
become increasingly absent
sent off on unknown spacecraft
resurrecting those dying



may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the tempest and the temptress


they torched the bridge again
in broad daylight
and everyone had a general
idea who did it
though nobody was talking

at the press conference the sheriff
flashed unfocused photos of
trolls with beards and billy goats
sporting handlebar mustaches

later in the evening
the moon appeared
like a spotlight on the city square
exposing shadows
creeping alongside buildings

pretending this can’t happen near you
you ignore all the warnings
chasing the tail of the storm
luring you back to london town



april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pacifying ancient waves


it’s getting late
midwinter
the cold more than snow
wearing on me
like the moon
weighs on the ocean

the gods tell me
life is long
but there’ll be no spring
so I accept
the premise
and shift my focus

southern sun sings
lullabies
shushing darkened clouds
transforming
extreme thoughts
into peaceful waves



january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Little Bo Peep’s Awakening


She wore a cotton dress on a warm
and sunny day
slightly off-white and sleeveless
complementing and accentuating
her light brown skin

He wore his casual Sunday best
strolling along
white button-down oxford shirt
starkly contrasting pleated charcoal slacks
creased perfectly

Sitting on park bench imagining
her breathing slows
her inner thoughts pressing on
unaware of sights and sounds passing by
before her eyes

From out of the fold he reappears
like a lost lamb
wandering most aimlessly
a blot on the vastness of her dreamscape
off-black yet bright



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

burning down the house


I saw two magpies
out in the field
the one where crickets
turn into monsters
and dream of feasting on
human history

I saw two magpies
out in the field
perched upon towers
man-made and alive
turning on the airwaves
and chatting freely

I saw two magpies
out in the field
pimped out for the show
in 3D glasses
marveling at the mirrors
reflecting the fire


july two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: