While I am here…
Help More Bees
Plant more trees
Clean the seas
.. and eradictae the dictator(s) in this the ‘free’ world. And it’s not just the bees that have yellow stripes.
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Category: Uncategorized
Dare to be a Voice is Published
On behalf of Kate, eco warrior. Spreading the word of a wonderful project. Please support it if you can.
Huzzah! Dare to be a Voice is officially published in both e-book and print versions. This would make an EXCELLENT gift for someone in your life who LOVES animals, who LOVES our planet, and who WANTS to read some fun, creative stories by talented young writers!
Here are the links:
Dare to be a Voice — Paperback
If you are interested in helping share this book to your family and friends, that would be amazing! Give me a shout below if you’d like to be a part of our street team!
DON’T FORGET! Proceeds from the sales of the book will be donated to two non-profit organizations: World Wildlife Fund and Center for Wildlife. Both organizations are committed to protecting our planet for future generations (that means OUR kids and grandkids because we are already in the throes of disaster).
This week I’m…
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Haeddre 29/7/2016
I’ve been so busy. Apologies for not visiting your great works much. I hope you don’t mind this.
i
It is fine to be in balance, to hear wistful
cries like invisible veins in the winds,
and see lucky, white strands amongst
the heather’s Scottish highlands type
of sobbing, and to listen as the wind speaks
in gusts; inhaling deeply as if sucking
up a thought before breathing it out
smoothly in a musical phrase.
ii
Our giggles are swept away instantly
as we try to stand with pale, bare,
chicken legs; goose pimples and heads
lift deliberately so that we may
be bludgeoned by the wind – our cheeks
are malleable like Playdoh as we turn
to face the brave. Lana’s spectacles
are nudged from their cosy space; nudged
all the while with nary a murmur or complaint
right up until she would trip – her straight
edged, rimmed nose would turn red
underneath freckles that are faint traces
of sunlit birds across a pale expanse
of…
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waiting for the light (Teenage Suicide)
.
waiting for the light
.
dressed in her best
better off dead outfit
she resides in the shadows
for the sun
never shines for her
even in the blackness
the unnoticed signs
were always there
until she grew weary
tired of the dark
longing for enlightenment
she sits there
quietly
patiently
waiting for the light
.
In the past year, four friends/acquaintances lost their young sons and daughters to suicide. Incidents of teenage suicide are growing at an alarming rate. Each day there are an average of 3,041 suicide attempts of teens attending the 9th through 12th grades (in the United States alone).
Could one conversation, one hug, smile, pat on the back, or question have made a difference? Can’t the ballgame wait for another time? Can’t you catch the latest epsiode of your favorite show tomorrow on Hulu?
Every message, every minute counts. The most important thing…
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Trick the Treats
It’s Halloween, and I am unashamed and this has been published… again…
enjoy!
For the Halloween Writing Event Oct 22nd – Oct 31st
Blood spilled over onto the cruel hand that had just squeezed life out of her latest victim. Such a strong little girl, she mused before laughing. The same dry cackle exuded from the ravenous bellows deep within her mottled soul. She stopped and looked around; her long nails scratched uncouthly at her long, flowing, ragged garb. What she saw was completely different. No tatters or drab, grey bloodied stain. She only saw ‘true’ beauty, which she was not. Her large feet clunked around the dusty grit as she sniffed the air before running a tawdry sleeve across her nose, blistered and generous.
“Ye gods, another day, another year. It gets monotonous,” she said sighing. “Little upstarts trying to outdo me. Will they ever learn?”
A few miles away Jane, Sarah and Sasha giggled in a…
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the death of a poet
Another amazing piece.
my words bleed no more
bandaged and clotted
how they stop in their tracks
my entire body trembling
for the very last time
three angels hover above me
I pretend not to see them
and though they say nothing
I easily read their thoughts
just as they easily know mine
I ask for pen and paper
but nobody hears my call
so I arise from the table
unshaken and all on my own
resurrecting words left unsaid
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Bleeding Selfish
Indonesian rainforests-Writingasitcomes
A rumble of silence creeps
into the veins of
tangible pain, numbing senses
temporarily
while corruption still tortures.
Our touch contaminates
until we sicken
nature’s soft noise –
drowning against
humanity’s sonorous roar –
animals need to sleep
amid our mess.
Tribes and wildlife and ecosystems need to exist –
amid our mess, not endure enforced extinction.
We have made some
of the biggest mistakes
of our existence.
But we are who we are,
and mistakes will happen
until we are no longer here…
amid our mess.
