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Credit: poem @ justme, Image: © Catrinphoto; All rights reserved
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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
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;
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 rose
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
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
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