I ENTER INTO SILENCE
GOD GRANT ME
Credits: Poemsn© justme; All rights reserved
Prayer
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Author Archives: Michaela
…and the wind still blows
Silently perfect
Credits:poems©justme; Image:©CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved
Music
“Music is the reflection of that perfect note called space. Timing is that beautiful space which just got larger. Beholder is that beautiful moment when sound, space and that which seems like timing combine to create the song of my life and yours, while we look on.”
∞
3 different ideas of perfection while we look on – so pick one and just listen ….
Audio 1: Fields of Athenry by the Irish Tenors
Audio 2: Corner by Jai Uttal and the Pagan Love Orchestra
Audio 3: Adagietto from the symphony No 5 by G Mahler
Writings: © justme Dec 01, 2011 Image: © CatrinPhoto; Beach huts in Skanör; South Sweden, Jan 2012
I teach nothing
Credits: Quote © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto
Perfect
PERFECT
By justme
For once there was a perfect time, filled with perfect, in perfect rhyme.
The laze of man, of thing and things and all the emptiness that human brings
Met with perfect, at the door, dropped it’s bag and cried no more.
Yet human man he soon forgot, built his castle, learned to rot.
Forgot that perfect, held his hand, tolled the roads, ploughed the land.
Then one day when man was old, a moment touched, a silence hold.
Of a perfect day, not noticed then, cared then less, cared not again.
Tis that call that calls him now.
Frets the beads, upon his brow.
For….
…….perfect came and perfect went
A perfect moment, no man has spent
For perfect is as perfect be, perfect touch, as perfect see.
Yes perfect called, this man missed thee
For perfect shouts, so silently.
Perfect kissed with perfect breath
Then perfect looked,
Then perfect,
left.
Credits: poem © justme; Image © CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved
In the moment
Credits: Text © justme; Image: © CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved
When winter comes…
SNOW
By justme
Winter’s masks draws with guise, as subtle beauty meeks the wise.
Slushy wet, slips mushy brown and swamps the dirty tainted ground.
Vanilla flakes drift and tease, breath of crystal yet too warm to freeze.
Patchwork place new boundary now.
Soft and lacey beanied hat pulled down.
Scarf breath wet defeats the plan.
If others still do, so will this man.
Silent snowman holds his pose.
Discarded slate makes a pointy nose
Pebbled buttons stray out of line.
A legless creature only one day his time.
A distant chimney coughs out it’s breath
As oil fired heat secures his death
Branches balance a powdery cold
From fern fresh yearling to oak tailed old.
Silence kills man’s whispering shouts
No babbling gossip, no lager louts.
Who says no man hibernates?
When winter comes, so close his gates.
Yet within a castle walls the human man they call free.
In heated cinnamon air and ginger hot tea
Is drawn to look upon an outdoor winter scene.
For although he sees cold, he also sees serene.
For in his heart he too once felt cold, melted and wet and sometimes so quickly so old.
Yet he sees now the beauty the perfection of all.
∞
Read by the author Credits: Poem © justme; Image © Catrinphoto
Death and transformation
Oh tainted thing, you were once the soft and luscious leaf of green, gorging temptress sitting high upon the pedestal of tree. You held a high and mighty place and looked out above the lowly things. Yet remember you flew and fled and lie upon the ground, the hardened ground were the least be found. No more the luscious green, your body wraps and curls as the brown and tainted thing spreads your self, you denied it’s truth. Soon the earth shall claim you.
….and as the traveller passes he looks up to the sky and to the dancing leaves upon the tree and he says to the heavens ‘teach me, tell me of the truth’ yet know not he the ground he stands on is but holy ground. The answers he searches are trembling beneath his feet…. whispering “once upon a day did I dance upon a tree, once upon a morn I watched and fed upon the sun, once upon a morn I looked out to the world and longed only to be a little bit higher, a little bit closer to the source, yet now I lay upon the earth, that which stands the tree, that which holds the water of life and because now I know must I be hid, must I be taken for fear a man shall know and rip up the tree, for it is only when a thing lays silently within the arms of the earth shall it understand, shall it see, shall it truly dance”.
Read by the author
What is death?
Credits: Writing ©justme; Image ©Catrinphoto; All rights reserved;
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