We as creatures of habit adopt the verse, the line and the flow of letters arranged in such a perfect form, they rhyme and stress and roll and like Grimms trail of bread they create a path or lineage far beyond the single individual crumb, to us, yet that individual drop can carry the fullness of the path held within a moment, a timeless moment, a moment when the earth stops spinning, when the universe exhales and it’s heavy shoulders drop and sigh and rest. The simple perfect moment so many times is missed, the single simple drop of food is passed and stepped and bled. Yet this silent moment lays sleeping, waiting to be found, to be noticed, to be consumed, for our fulfilment. Let not the letters about living be the opposite and therefore the death of living but understand the same to be how living is and always has been and always shall be, though there not be three but one. One simultaneous attribute which dwells not in the land of opposites but is as a photographic picture, still, steady, all embracing. The art of living is not an instruction or a path but a statement of how living is.
What does it mean to be here and now ?
Credits: Writing © Justme; Image: © Catrinphoto
This quote is an excerpt from “The art of living”
Credits: Writings © Justme; Image: © Catrinphoto
Our father, mother God
That which is everything.
Give to us this holy day, for there is no other, day.
Thy kingdom is. Thy kingdom always has been.
Thy will be done, for I do not know or understand.
I was born blind and cannot see.
Give to us our daily bread, for besides you the giver there is no other.
I know you need not forgive our shortcomings for you know not the same.
As master of all and that which makes me breathe and walk and talk, you could never lead me to temptation.
You are love and love is the natural in between.
Thank you Father.
The image shows an epitaph on the South wall of St Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna – on a sunny winter day.
Credits: Prayer © Justme; Image © Marille
Like a little boat on a vast ocean
bumping and thrashing wave upon wave knowing not where she goes.
Not able to stop, or steer or slow.
She rides the waves of life,first she ascends so high and then rockets to the hardened low.
Again and again and again , thumping, churning the dark dense cold.
She asked not for this journey.
She wished only to stay on land.
Her sons they cling to the sides looking for mother to take them home.
Fathers gone they must stay the course, of waves, of life,of death.
They must stay the course until one day the waves fall lighter and eventually sit still.
For now not even love can break the power of the waves.
For love is lost.
The light for now is gone.
The sun may shine but never will it warm.
Take my hand dear woman that I might lead you upon the shore.
For your home awaits you though your heart so forlorn.
I am the constant and the brave.
Place your head upon my chest.
Hush now woman of the universe,
dry your childrens tears
be still my child and just you rest.
Close your eyes and let us move with the waves,
surrender to the moment,the movement, this life
For you are a brave and perfect mother,lover,wife.
Can love be lost ?
Credits: Poem © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto
Swaying playing knee high grass
Ripples across an endless promenade, of green
A snaking dizzy trampled human path
Jigsaws the scene
As a lazy haze of darting midgets hug
the prickly hawthorn which flanks as a bordering snug
Dancing and miming their tig within a moving cloud of life.
Hornets hover and spit from nowhere to somewhere and back again.
Dipping elegantly, head plunged determinedly forward, a blackbirds dolphin swim
Open space is not their thing
Yet gently a butterfly tiptoes from pollen tops
With China wings and warrior coat it mocks the blackbirds flee.
Awkward bumble bees bump and buzz more crashing than landing on rainbow flower tops.
Their sorbet yellow and liquorice black seduces the alert speckled thrush
The hum and drone is of a tiny movement called energy.
The great oak, holds centre stage, its baton canopy sways and flows in a soft warm breeze
As it conducts life itself to sing and dance with perfect powerful hidden ease.
The leaves applaud in rattling unison.
Sunbeams split it’s craggy branches and spears the ground from above
Lasers of light burst climatically with electrifying lightened love.
No voice of man is heard,
The symphony crescendos and continues,
White feathered floppy clouds meander across the fading stencilled sky.
Who am I within this scene?
A tiny speck of eyes and mind,
not even seen!
I begin to sway.
Read by the author
Credits: Poem @ Justme; Image: © Catrinphoto
Silent river carry my dreams
For all is not, what it seems.
Kiss the morning, wrap up the night.
Clear the skies, let man take flight.
For there beyond the no humans land
Lives a thing, man finds bland.
They run and talk and know and fear.
Yet it’s now that I am here.
Kiss me then and hold me near
For death is watching, the night is near.
Don’t blow the flicker for it’s warm and mine.
See through the mask of blind mankind.
Who is watching the scene?
Credits: Poem © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto
ONCE UPON A DISTANT SHARPENED NIGHT
Once upon a distant sharpened night
When the air was keen and an icy breeze held no fight
A transcendent moon throbbed it’s hazy gleam
As a murmuring trickle, foretold of a gentle hidden stream.
Daisies and dandelions, colours mute, held a colder earthly hug
As a silver glittering trail followed a steady, searching slug.
A hedgehog shuffled and crept slowly and diligently along
As all around the manmade pylons sang and hummed their electric song.
Silent wings threw cloudy flightless shapes
Time stood still for mountains, trees and lakes.
The heavens lights of flashing, silent stars, did hold.
As the Gods looked upon, the greatest story,
a perfect moment, has ever told.
What is gratitude?
Credits: Poem © Justme, Image © Catrinphoto; All rights reserved;