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.
Writings © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto; Reflection © Michaela; All rights reserved
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 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…
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.
Credits: Writing © Justme; Image: © Catrinphoto
Credits: Prayer © Justme; Image © Marille
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
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
SILENT RIVER
By Justme
Silent river carry my dreams
For all is not, what it seems.
Kiss the morning, wrap up the night.
Clear the skies, let man take flight.
For there beyond the no humans land
Lives a thing, man finds bland.
They run and talk and know and fear.
Yet it’s now that I am here.
Kiss me then and hold me near
For death is watching, the night is near.
Don’t blow the flicker for it’s warm and mine.
See through the mask of blind mankind.
∞
Credits: Poem © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto
Just Poems 