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;

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 rose

 

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

The night

ONCE UPON A DISTANT SHARPENED NIGHT
By Justme 

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;

Perfect place

PERFECT PLACE

July sunshine drips the fields
Unseen kindness smooths the drying grass
Swiftly the rivers spill and rush and yields
Tiny midgets flick and dart and dash
My minds eye beholds a hallowed land
Every movement thunders and grips unplanned.Judge not this moment by warming splashing sunlight
Use not the eyes of this human blinded man
Sing not my song of other men’s great insight
Touch the scene with thine own, inner silent hand

Perfect place that creates this wondered view
Ever ready to unfold and pull thy subtle strings
Reach my heart and pull me closer, nearer to you
For my mind has busied with many useless things
End this silly human sleepy dream
Carry me and lay me in the centre of this holy scene.
That I might live.

© cmc@justpoems.org; All rights reserved