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About Michaela

I am a wanderer and a wonderer, like you are. I love our journey and to walk in the company of friends – to learn, experience, share, laugh, cry and above all I simply love this marvelous, magical, mysterious life. I have no plan (cannot believe I am saying this) and my only intention is to be truthful to myself and others.

Melt me, merge me…

Catrin took this picture flying across the Dolomites in September 2010. Justme wrote his poem in Ireland, July 2011. All images and poems have a story attached to them. The exciting part is the merging of two moments into one – or have they ever been apart ?

FLY BACK HOME
By Justme

Why cry for you?
When you could cry for me?
Tender tappings upon a heart
Lend no ear or care apart
From twangs of sad and pulls of cold.
Silent footsteps fulfil their goal.Lay me silent upon this hill
Let the rain of man dance and chill.
Melt me and merge me with this lady earth
Trickle me away where no man can search.Hide me neath the green costumed dress
Trample me down and with your weight do press
Let me disintegrate, let this body succumb
Then slice open the earth .
Let me fly back home.


Credits: Poem © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto. All rights reserved

Cold day

This image is a memory of the cold snap in February 2012 when the Danube froze over. For a week the temperature dropped and that created a sense of crystal clear sharpness and clarity. A moment in time, full of beauty and magic and before we even know it – it is gone forever. God is in the detail – discover it !

COLD DAY
By justme 

Face drawn to the window, were splattered frost clings for life.
Closing gaps jig-sawed across the smoothened pane.
Here the milk white snow tried to grip.
It tried in vain.
This man looks out to see a world of virgin white one day.
An albino beach rolls before me having devoured everything.
Brave enough to stay

A lot untouched, unspoilt, unmoved, as walking places succumb to the tramp of man
Humans on the merry go round.
The human trail, or is it trial? Life today does not look so grand.
Billboards fire a festive red, while avatars with perfect smile like statues stand.
Their ever open eyes watch the show in front, called daily bland.
Coal black crows sharp eyes lead them to the life giving food.
Their formal dress, no camouflage, but no need,
As the people look mostly to the ground or from a zipped up hood.

No bees buzz except human ones, no midgets itch or fright.
All talk the same, the snow, the cold, the forecast tonight.
The sun and blue sky is but a prodigal now,
although it too would be welcome home.
Snow lidded cars with opaque windows hide the drivers as the engines groan.
Bellowing smoke of quivering and shaking exhaust shoots and coughs it work to heaven,
Which is not that far away.
The clouds touch the top of buses and buildings and pylons. Dark and grey.
The rigid wires hold barb-wired icicles dangling above the unaware heads of men.
Like crumpled blank paper, stiffened and cold a once comforting blanket lays.
The few trees noticed protect their inner sanctum by sacrifice of their foliaged hem..

Practical is the percentage fashion as ladies cover their Friday hair.
No brazen colours blush, just dull will do, as long as comforts there
No bouncing children today, the piercing cold kills each living cell.
No gossip time, no time to stop,
The temperature, as the night draws,
just fell.

Yet look at this, this wonder show, forget the weather the frost or snow.
This is life in its entire drab
A million others would just love to grab.
When we have it we want it to go.
When it’s sunny, we love the snow.
Maybe the truth is we just do not know, and will never be satisfied until we have,
nowhere to go.

Poem © justme; Image & Reflection: © Michaela; All rights reserved

A tiny voice whispers…

Within the rush of life, in the corner of your mind, your eye – you sense the moon, the stars. Those mysterious flickers you ignore because your busy. Yet within the thought is your habit, all you have claimed your own, pushing you north, yet, west of you silently, quietly, unassuming, the space it calls you, through pinholes it, like a god bursting flare it pierces that part of you which you disregard, yet somewhere within that ignoring, within the hustle and bustle and knowing and growing a tiny voice whispers, ‘look at me, you who search the perfect, for I am indeed the perfect yet you will not look, you refuse to turn your eye’.

For you are blind. The blind leading the blind.

Can you see and yet be blind ?
Writings © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto; Reflection © Michaela; 
All rights reserved

The space between the words

Featured

Every musician that strives to create the perfect symphony is an apprentice to the tiny nightingale.
Every disciplined ballerina is an apprentice to the wind and to that which man calls nature, and so is every poet a student to the perfect word.
Yet everything and everyone are the followers of silence.
These words are from a place found between the words and therefore not subject to the meter or formulae of man.

They are as they are.  

Meet these words and the spaces between the words, as you would a stranger, meet them for the very first time. If they are not known to you, let them wait a while at the door of consciousness. Then welcome them in as you would a friend, invite the stranger in that you may join with them and they with you. If still you do not recognise them, send them on their way, or better still, go follow them. 

justme
March 2011

Poems to go

Featured

Poems don’t just live in the ether – they are a part of everyday life.  So take them with you, enjoy them whenever you can or wish to do so….

Encouraged by the popularity of our Just Poems’ Folding Cards, we have now created a couple of Just Poems chapbooks. They are titled   “ Essence of Light”, and ” He Prays”

Please check out the ” Chapbook” page under the “Agora” menu on the top. You’ll find instructions on how to cut and fold your chapbook.

And for those of you who wish to hold our poems in their hands, we have published a book ” TIME STANDS STILL”

Enjoy…

 

The art of living

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 silent moment

This quote is an excerpt from “The art of living”

Credits: Writings © Justme; Image: © Catrinphoto

Thy kingdom is

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

The parting

THE PARTING
By Justme 

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

The Field

THE FIELD
By Justme

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
Reminds.
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,
or needed
The symphony crescendos and continues,
unheeded.

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