story after story
guns & knives & ideological hatred
I try to imagine a world without it
he always said he wanted
to be a country boy
but that’s not likely
once sentenced to thirty years
we keep killing
young ones at an alarming rate
whether by war or neglect or hunger
and those pushers behind bars
easily recycle misinformation
march two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
these untold stories keep piling up
more than a few good men
wasting their lives on promises
that can’t possibly add up
big brother has never been scarier
whether on penny lane or haifa street
hey joseph
what are you doing
with that AK-47 in your hand
it’s friday night shouldn’t you be down
where the pretty ladies want
to see your smiling face
wouldn’t you rather be learning
how to make the world a brighter place
in a figurative sort of way
I once walked the streets of Athens
because I wanted to know what it was like
to walk in history’s shoes
but I’ll be damned
and dead by now
if I ever walked in yours
july two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I didn’t expect this empty space
to be this warm
the quiet space where heartbeats
keep time with thoughts
that never rhyme
I remember you telling me
to keep the door shut
but I never did figure out why
or exactly what was out there
you didn’t want to be seen
I can’t see much light
passing through your ageless eyes
once dashing but now
hopeless like a waning moon
casting half-lies
while forgetfulness lurks
truth stalks along the outer edges
promising a perfect distraction
while washing youthfulness away
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
friday night limousine riders
speeding some seventy
miles per hour
cut up lemons and dispense
margaritas without rocks
outside airport secret police
intercept intelligence and
issue search warrants
briskly escorting illicit riders
to a flight of their life
dropped behind enemy lines
grown boys sober up quickly
burning camouflaged parachutes
and skirting the edges
hoping to find their way home
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
butterflies are nothing but
welcomed distractions in a
hurry-up-world
long after the youth of careless
rebellion becomes
netted in routine
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when I was a little girl she said
I sang in the children’s choir
and everybody loved us
we smiled and tried to imagine
how nana could ever have been
a little girl singing in church
like a magician she pulled psalms
out of her throat and lifted them
high into the glorious air
angels appeared playing flutes
and trumpets and approving the
perfection that was her voice
september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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