Leviathan
Once we put snow tires
on the old beat-up Cadillac
she suddenly turned into a Leviathan
tearing through the elevated city
january two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
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poetry by j matthew waters
Archive for the tag “winter”
after the sunroom went dark
first we moved the comfy chair
and matching ottoman
from the upstairs master bedroom
to the basement man cave
the wooden floor lamp went next
along with any memory
of a summer that wasn’t ever
supposed to end
november two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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January fog
It’s sixty-thirty
and the deer sauntering down the street
have gotten the dogs agitated
so much so that their anxiety
& their owners’ displeasure
can be heard from the outside
It is winter still
and the night is calm
the air thick from the rising temperatures
giving both the deer & the dogs
the confidence they need
to do as they please
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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the winter hold
days before the blizzard arrived
I noticed a small family of crows
visiting the neighborhood
leaving me pondering what on earth
they were doing here
having strayed from the larger gathering
that couldn’t have been that far away
—or perhaps they were scouts
in search of a protective copse
capable of holding hundreds
or up to one thousand of their kind
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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lost inside a sunday
so the furnace runs all day long
oh my it must be winter again
earlier I found a gummy in a tupperware
pill box right there on the top shelf
of the refrigerator —and so I popped it
into my mouth unsure what it was
or how it had gotten there
the house is empty like an abandoned
bird’s nest —that is except for Walter & me
at one point I had forgotten he’d been out
so gave him some treats two hours later
after letting him back in to a chorus of boos
upstairs three of the four bedrooms
are stone cold —I lock myself inside
one of them for a couple of hours
just to teach myself a lesson
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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a cryptic celebration
on winter break
abominable snowmen
(dressed as warlocks)
come down from the mountains
and participate
in the annual festivities
at this time of year
they’re feared not by the locals
especially the children
who marvel at their wizardry
—one by one pleading
to be next
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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Imprisoned
Feet of snow grows colder by the day
Rays of the sun reflecting brightly but
Powerless — like a King
Locked inside the winter palace
Impenetrable until the February thaw
Summer drought spoiled the harvest
A taste of regret left on the tongue
The King calling upon his God
To protect and provide
—What fortunes await come Spring
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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well below the surface
they started stocking the fishery
with rainbow trout a couple of years ago
in the dead of winter the surface is rock solid
inviting ice skaters & parasailers
and of course ice fishermen & women
all of the fish below the ice in near freezing waters
are native except for the rainbow trout
I suppose they survive by not getting caught
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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coming into focus
there is some life left
in the frozen woods
I found it by accident
no doubt beneath
where owls once ruled
in their wise-old ways
along the way I spotted
the dying & the dead
collected them in my
photographic memory
like non-fungible tokens
one click at a time
I was told I don’t
belong here anymore
that it wasn’t my time
the wind & ice crystals
encouraging me to go back
before it was too late
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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emergency run
it’s christmastime & we’ve no tequila in the cupboard
this pointed out to me by someone who doesn’t live here
how can we play stop lights without tequila
what could possibly take its place
—red —yellow —green
the travelers & gatherers & unannounced guests
have since moved on their merry way
now that the blizzard has passed
what shall keep us warm tonight without the power
without the fire
or the stories or the liquor
what could possibly make us survive another night
I’ve always wanted snowskies & snowshoes
just in case we need to make an emergency run
helping others along the way
stranded & without a prayer to make it to safety
that is
until I arrive like a miracle out of the ice
like a saint bernard with a backpack full of spirits
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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winter wormhole
my game was good enough
to keep out of the marsh
giving myself [at least] a chance
to shine on a steely day
I ventured into the forest
[perhaps for the last time]
knowing full well
some singletrack trails
have no end
voices along the way
whisper & shout [on occasion]
interested in body language
and how it might translate
once leaving itself
november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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whether natural or man-made
streams are dying up
the rivers receding
winter is coming
should we be worried
missiles are sailing
nukes are on the move
sitting outside
the danger zone
should we be worried
tent cities crop up
accommodating despair
the world revolving
as people flee
what they thought
was their home
destinations unknown
should we be worried
birds and butterflies
migrating southward
before the winter kill
struggling against
prevailing winds
whether natural
or man-made
[should we be worried]
october two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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in the dead of winter
I’m on the fence again
like a crow at the county’s edge
contemplating his next move
winter lasts forever here
sunlight bouncing off the white carpet
and back into space
I’m not much for small talk
and the pace can’t get much slower
thoughts frozen in time
inside beside the burning fire
a notebook & sharpened pencils
whispering my name
january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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bracing for the winter
how do I fit in
in the grand scheme of things
is there truly a place to mark my spot
or am I dreaming still
there’s work yet to be done
the voice inside me tells me
(on occasion)
do I listen or do I not
how I’m always outside the box
looking for something else
I should go to vermont
or any other place on the planet
but I am stuck here
planning on replanting seeds
gathered centuries ago
handed down to me
today
october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
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special delivery
unused wishes
and patches of blue
peek through wintry skies
floor lamp on low dim
exposing raindrops
suspended on frozen glass
solitary thoughts
packed heavily like snow
grow weary day by day
cursive writing
beautiful postcard scene
airmail stamp and brevity
february two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
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it filters through
some birds are back but the temps
are well below zero
either they never got the memo
or they’ve come back early
for some unknown reason
I slowed down for a murder of crows
while taking the long way home
a hundred or so
cleaning up a spill of sorts near
the corn sweetener plant
once in my rearview
anxiously getting back at it
shifting gears past the hill
the music meets the sun
and the speeding locomotive
sounding off along the river
eagles circling high above
sparrows racing in my peripheral
nearly anything with wings
busily chasing dreams
february two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
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