Read by the author
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
Credits: Text © justme; Image: © CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved
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
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
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.
∞
Credits: Poem © Justme, Image © Catrinphoto; All rights reserved;
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
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
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