there is spilt milk
somewhere it shouldn’t be
eventually the cat
will lick it up
this place is such a mess
especially since
the two lovers
moved out
taking with them the
lavender divan & purple lamp
it’s sunday
and not even the birds
have checked in yet
an irish coffee in the works
(or so is the word)
daydreaming on the glider
on the back deck
waiting to be buzzed
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
monday in july
midday sun weighs on my
mundane thoughts
oscillating fan stuck on low
collar unbuttoned and stained
wandering thoughts leading me
to wonder what the night will bring
there’s whiskey in the jar
within arm’s reach
reminds me of old irish songs
and heavy metal music
taking me back to the summer
of nineteen seventy-eight
when days were so much simpler
july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the sun she is setting
radiating a cloudless sky
casting a spectrum of colors
before my tired eyes
within arms reach
a jar of whiskey speaks to me
whispering my name
like my lover used to do
the sun she has fallen
taking with her promises
of meteor showers
and brighter tomorrows
the whiskey ages
in my unstoppable dreams
slowly separating from the jar
as the night rages on
april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It was whiskey Friday
and though possessing neither
we toasted to fortune and fame
Bowie streams through building speakers
giving pause to everyone inside
taking notice of day and time
Just when you thought
forty hours was more than enough
whiskey Friday arrives unannounced
breathing new life into free-flowing ideas
young and old alike
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
whiskey god turns over the keys
at supersonic speeds
cutting to the chase and racing
through the royal countryside
he doesn’t care about the time
of day just as long as shots
ring across the center white line
like exaggerated backfire
they follow the scent all the way
along roller coaster road
like a couple of grim characters
out looking for a good time
once reaching the crossroad
whiskey god hurls the
blazing sun into the guardrail
putting an end to their perfect day
april two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I made my way to Reno by accident
with a woman much older than her age.
She said she knew a married man there
who seemed to have a ton of money.
It didn’t take long before she left me
for a drifter with some blow, so I decided
Reno was as good a spot as any
where I could work on my old acoustic.
By day I had a gig dealing twenty-one
at Fitzgeralds; earned enough in tips
to keep my lungs full of Old Golds
and my lips wet with whiskey or rye.
I kept telling myself I’m gonna make it big
in Nashville one day, but until then
I just kept singing my railroad songs
for the cockroaches in the rafters.
november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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