Read by the author
Credit: poem @ justme, Image: © Catrinphoto; All rights reserved
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
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.
Credits: Poem © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto
A CHILD’S CROSS, A MOTHER’S CROSS
By Justme
Scarlet red explodes then gently trickles descending the veined banks of weary clasping hands.
Clinging to his swollen throbbing feet.
Her mother tears drip and wash but cannot clean or clear the overflowing red
as his body drains upon her hands.
Smoothing skin stems the flow, to push life backwards, gently gentle for what life is left is precious still, to her, for him, her son.
A kneeling muddy mess, clotted hair bound by sweat and blood and tears.
Built upon a memory of her boy who became a man, not yet forty years.
A single tear, drops from him, to her.
A million years of love, with the fullness of a billion stars and space and time.
A woman cries to the heavens,
Universe, replace this woman, for this child of mine!
No voice returns the call, for heaven sleeps, while rivers roar
No hand of man or earth or heaven can sooth this daggered heart
Softly, simply the breeze of life licks her hair
Gently, easy, quietly, the soul of son slips the cross.
With crisscross sandals submerged within a muddy messy place.
She closed her eyes, this woman, this mother
And then an angel,
kissed her face.
∞
Read by the author Credits: Poem © Justme; Images © Michaela (churchyard Niedersulz)
TOUCH YOUR DREAM
By justme
Close your eyes for dreams
For all is not as it seems
The imagined clock stands true
The silence roars to you.
Feel the beat of heart
before the dream will start
Touch your dreams with mine
Feel the dance of rhyme
Then slowly settle down
Let silence be your crown.
Then breathe as if your last
No more future, no more past.
Then slip your hand in mine
Our song it moves with time.
Let your dance be one of joy.
Of a lady and a boy.
Who dared to dream their dream.
To drift upon a mind less, endless stream.
Of love.
∞
Poem read by the author
IN THE LAND OF TIR NA OG
Once upon a time in the land of tir na og
Where luscious strawberries beam
and scrumptious apples grow.
Where a dizzy stream does stroll
while lazy, giddy jackdaws crow.
The sun it dripped and painted
heated heather gold.
Rising from its bed
a chorus of a million tongues
With a morning inhale and to fill their welcome lungs
An orchestra from heaven
announced another day
As the flowers exploded in unison,
their own unique bouquet.
Whistling and burrowing,
Jumping and scurrying
Washing and drying,
Singing and crying
Running and crawling,
Whispering and bawling
Ducking and hiding,
Playing and fighting
Swimming and grooming,
Growing and blooming
What an exhaustive, busy, perfect day.
How could you ever want it, any other way?
Tír na nÓg ([tʲiːɾˠ n̪ˠə ˈn̪ˠoːɡ]; Old Irish: Tír inna n-Óc “The Land of the Young”) is the most popular of the Otherworlds in Irish mythology.
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