we shall not speak of death this day

jdubqca

I awoke to a day without news
and quietly wondered if I had landed in heaven

deciding such thoughts are for birds
incapable of flight
I abandoned the notion
at the same time noticing
there were no winds
and no clouds

nor was there rain or sunshine

I was sitting at the base of a sunflower
that had grown ten stories tall
reading from scrolls that were written
before the earth became blue

there is an end to every story
someone once told me
but as for this one
it is only just beginning

may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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April 27, 2018 0

harden not your heart

jdubqca

weep not my love
for there is hope in isolation
and beauty in sorrow

though showers may fall
a window remains open
welcoming a warm breeze
clearing your uncertainty
and soothing your fears

past the horizon
and high above the clouds
your light is burning
dying to be seen

april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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April 27, 2018 1

102 Degrees F

She stands in the warmth of the sun,
hot thighs pressed together purely for the pleasure
of the feeling of skin against skin.

There is tension in humidity.

In the heightened suspension
of water particle after water particle parading
in the dampness of the wet, clinging, air.

Her skin is strangely aware of itself at times like these and
she of it and it of her, though her mind notes only the
discomfort, ignoring the rise and fall of its corporal rhythms.

There are hiccups

in the air

hardly discernible disruptions

of the slightest degree

pockets

of coolness if you will, a temperature interrupt

an honesty laid bare.

She stands in the warmth of the sun, burning
yet dripping moisture, seething with an untenable fire
of the inner kind, restless, moving and yet unmoving
finding not comfort nor expression
pain nor release.

From what?

I don’t know.

I only see her moving, see her
becoming awareness of the existence of her skin.
And her body hears hints of whispered thoughts
and is surprised
though still disbelieving of the fact of a
consciousness besides its own.
It does at least try to grasp
the concept.

Molecules begin dancing more quickly now
pregnant with the fires of intense friction
murmuring in their own muted language

the self-same language of babies, and of children
that secret language of twins and animals
defying a hasty description
or any kind of competent judgment.

They become breathtaking in a
most literal sense, stealing her concentration
yet all the while teaching
her how to breathe.

Wet and hot embrace
breathe one another in, gradually
while body and mind mix the rhythmic
memories of their comparative souls
all under the guidance of

temperature.

They have successfully grasped the first precept.

She stands in the warmth of the sun, contemplating
what she cannot figure out, hearing her name
in a thousand places, at least.
She glances up and around but by then it’s too late
with her thighs pressed together
then apart purely for the pleasure, or is it

comfort?

And in perfect time with the humid air.

April 25, 2018 0

The Difference

I bathe my face illicitly
in the heat of the rising mist
and then I begin to court disaster
when I bare my naked fist.
The people sit insipidly
rolling their eyes at the sky
pictures of aggressive indifference
these people cannot fly.

Or will not. As the case may be.

The barren land before me
accuses me in its dust.
I journey to the mountaintops
the objects of my lust.

Unrequited. Or not, as the case may be.

Where the clouds mingle with mortals
here is where I’ll reside
stepping through portals of compassion
I feel an urgent need to hide.
Breathing my madness
in the heat of the swirling mist
Courting disaster
in the face of my naked fist.

Obsession. Or compulsion . . . ?

* * * * * *

Photo of :
Eris Goddess of discord and strife. Eris is daughter of Zeus and Hera, or else, she was daughter of Nyx. She is often called sister of Ares, the Greek god of war. Eris bore a number of unpleasant children: Battles, Disputes, Famine, Fighting, Forgetfulness, Lawlessness, Lying Words, Manslaughters, Murders, Quarrels, Ruin, Sorrows and Toil. Eris is mainly a personification of strife . . .

(found on pinterest)

* * * * * * * *
And then there”s

“Chomolungma” :

The Tibetan name for Mount Everest is Chomolungma or Qomolangma, which means “Saint Mother”, and the Chinese transliteration is Zhūmùlǎngm.

Chomolungma – the Goddess of the mountain itself, the Goddess of Plenty who who dwells atop the towering peak and provides wealth and spiritual insight to those who seek Her counsel. Her name is the original name of Mt. Everest. (Tibet)

* * * * * * *
I can’t decide which fits the poem best.

April 23, 2018 1

Her Virtue Lies in One Hand . . .

Her Virtue lies in one hand, the other hold her Sin.
She smiles at the disparity and shrugs her shoulder to begin.
She breathes in life one day by day, one minute before the other
Juggling the two like so many balls
Ever mingling one with the other.
To love her life is ambiguity, always feeling the constant tug
Of one against the other, “you can’t have both” or so they say

And so she shrugs

Though she used to wonder what course to take
Which spirit to embrace, how to separate, or to choose
How to settle for just one face
To be this . . . to not be that . . . my god! Her nature was at war
And she did not understand the conflict – at first, but no more

Now she stands awed

Pepsi in one hand, V-8 in its twin, triumphant and complete
With both her Virtue and her Sin. She smiles at the disparity.

April 19, 2018 3

Depression, Anxiety and I – two poems

My Loud Whispers of Hope

Depression and anxiety are a cruel selfish pair.

Friends that can’t seem to live without each other.

A random duo ganging up on me when I least expect it.

Thwart my desire to live my life and be social.

Want me all to themselves.

Keep me home, when I should be out with the rest of the world.

Keep me home, when I should be loving the life I should be living.

Instill irrational fears in me so I will stay home and be with them.

Alone in our misery. The three of us together.

Depression, anxiety and I.

~written by Susan Walz

Depression, anxiety and I have met.

But don’t you frown and don’t you fret.

For I left them both in the dust.

Loving the single life. I will adjust.

~written by Susan Walz

Image result for anxiety and depression

Photo Credit: Deviant…

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April 18, 2018 3

If It Were So Easy

walk away they say, and I pretend
I don’t know what they mean
walk away they say, and I wonder
but will I be clean?
walk away, gently, walk away
walk away they say, repeating
themselves, and are dismayed
by my lack of attention, annoyed
in this point of contention
I know that I need to turn around
but I am moved by compulsion
one I cannot seem to name
I am moved by the habit of years
by the movement of tears, by the
trickle of fears, fickle or not
one after the other, in the night
in the day. I wake in the night, saying
“don’t touch me, don’t touch me”
I cry in the night, begging
“don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me”
dream I plunge a knife deep in
his heart, and cannot stop, and
cannot stop. I am evil in this
dream. Get some sleep they say
but I know it’s best if I don’t
just trust they say, but
I know that I won’t
walk away? I think but I
am surrounded on all sides
I have no place to hide
walk away they say, and I pretend
I don’t know what they mean.

April 17, 2018 3

artistic revolutions

jdubqca

time zones and seasonal patterns
have forced my hand to reassess my
opinion of life as we know it

images in my mind continually evolve
from tulip to azalea to lemon tree

those hummingbirds feasting on
oswego tea blossoms were once
damselflies during the dinosaur days

moon chases sun like dog after tail
eventually tiring into submission

clashes in the past reconstruct the future
stirring and remixing and reimagining
painting skies like never before seen

april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved