SONGBIRD

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Many of us “bloggers” have talked about what prompted us 
to write a specific piece. Be it a book, a poem, an article or 
something visual that caught the eye.

I find it interesting to learn about you and how your conscious
and subconscious work together to trigger a story. There are as 
many different ways as there are writers and no work would exist
without some inspiration. This is my belief.

My  poem ‘Songbird’ below came to me in the morning two days
ago. The word SONGBIRD just came and I felt that compelling feeling
to pick up my notebook. I wrote what you see below without thinking 
or stopping – this time even without editing. 

That it was written in first person I cannot explain. The “ I “ could be a male or female.

The hidden message that seems to be there I can still only
guess at, hopefully it will come clear as it otherwise is strange.

So, this time the source of inspiration comes after the poem.

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SONGBIRD

A songbird landed on my hand
looked at me and sang,
sang from her pure heart;
With delight I watched and listened

But didn’t join in
nor give her even a crumb,

Next day she came back
pecked at my hand, then sang,
the most wondrous song

I didn’t say a word
nor give her a crumb,

I was delighted and told my friends
but what about the bird
that sang her heart out

I just didn’t think of her
Didn’t give a crumb,

One morning she sat on my hand,
she didn’t sing,
Just looked in sadness
moving her head back and forth,

Then she flew; higher and higher
I never saw her again.

Finally I understood my selfish ways
I hope she found someone who knew
how to love.

I will forever miss this soulful bird.

© miriam ivarson

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Sorrow and Strength

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Sorrow and Strength

Grief is commensurate
to the depth and intensity
of love;
Part of your life is gone
future dreams an empty abyss.

Leaving you to face bottomless pain.

Is the deep trauma of so much love
worth the price of loss,
someone asked.
Yes. A resounding yes
rose from my cracking heart.

You will never live fully without.

In numbness, suffering, confusion
We do not yet know,
that through the pain, this purgatory;
New strength will germinate.
Will grow,

new course will unfold
new clarity of mind and soul.

Often I think of my mother,
thank her for teaching me love,
with kindness, laughter and song.

My father was my hero
until I let him be a man,
He often visits me from beyond.
I thank him for teaching me strength,

about the world we live in
about honouring each man.

My uncle who sang so serenely
of Swallows arriving in spring;
Lifting hearts to the heavens.
Like an angel he was and is.

So the unfathomable pains,
that seemed to crush the heart
Has turned to deep and rich wells,

that is with me each day.
My great love for those passed,
my grief;
Is now my smile and strength.

© miriam ivarson

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SECRETS

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I will not regale you long today as I feel the music
and hopefully the poem will speak for me.
I do so hope you will listen to the music, it has a         
tremendous start with musicians playing on a hill in a 
stunning location. 

 

SECRETS

Will we leave this planet
with secrets untold,
Nuggets of beauty and grief
stories of joy, maybe rue;
I fear this is so, do you agree?

Tears felled for a year or more,
playing favourite songs each night;
Because he or she was gone,

or listening to magnificent symphony
Beethoven’s Fifth it was,
resting in a warm and firm embrace
feeling death was same as life;

Float in the ether in peace never felt.

Dancing tango down the Kings Street
singing in unison, not to loud he said
the friendly policeman on beat.
Feeling exhilaration and life’s flow;

The secrets of darker hue,
those who left deep scars,
will they forever be hidden;
Like atomic waste secured.

Maybe they better remain untold?

© miriam ivarson

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BAREFOOT GIRL

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“You are led
through your lifetime
by the inner learning creature,
The playful spiritual being
that is your real self.”

quote from Richard Bach

With this beautiful quotation as introduction I give you a poem which has two clear              
layers. Isn’t it true that we are led through our lifetime, from the seeming safety of our home villages or environments to seek and carve out our own life and adventures. We might fail many times and and try again.  Without searching I guess we would not know our own truth.

I would love to hear your responses.

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BAREFOOT GIRL

        Barefoot girl ran free
        her feet in harmony;
        In harmony with earth,
        with reality.

        She smiled with pure joy.

        Barefoot girl grew up
        she did good.
        Went to the city, 
        studied law; 
        She became an attorney.

        she smiled with success.

       Barefoot girl ran in high-heeled shoes
       she felt the glow of admiration,
       she had a Penthouse apartment.
       She had happiness,
       so she thought.

       Barefoot girl went home to say hi,
       she cried,
       Her feet no longer knew the earth.

      © miriam ivarson

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photos courtesy of Pixaby

Fountain of Youth

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Reading many wise thinkers’ thoughts about life, what 
gives lasting fulfillment and inner aliveness,  brought me to 
the question of retaining this fountain of youth. Of being 
fully alive.

To dare live here and now as Eckhardt Tolle teaches in his 
wonderful books makes us younger both physically and spiritually.
To feel each moment and not see it as a transport to the next.
By living so in our daily life, our faces relax and find the ease of
a smile. Strength to live life to the full and let our inner selves pour forth. To find clarity.

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Fountain of Youth

Does it really exist,
or is it a state of mind?
The thought came unbidden
as I walked,
along the ocean shore.

The waves from the Atlantic
relentless, forceful,
singing their eternal song;
Powerful, soporific
profound,

dynamic organ to gentle,
sweet percussions;
as my ears, my being tuned in
revealing a mighty orchestration.

Eyes filled with tears of joy
as the morning sun revealed,
nature in all its beauty,
Splendour and hues.

Feet delighted in the surf
as tides reached, caressed,
and at times unbalanced me
with their strength.

I found my smile again,
full and free
as gradually the Atlantic hymn
filled my soul, my ears,
My whole,

leaving woes and fears behind;
who earlier seemed invincible,
so strong;
Where now drowned
By unending sea.

You look so young
I heard every day;
your smile is so bright.
Could it be so simple, I thought?
Have I found along the shore,

The Fountain of Youth?

Letting frowns and worries
be erased by the ocean sound.
Bringing forth who I was,
who I am;

As I walk along
the smile fills my heart,
opens it wide.
The crashing waves are me
as are the shifting sands,
We are one and the same.

A feeling so boundless and free

© miriam ivarson

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BUBBLES RISING

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BUBBLES RISING

Laughter and stillness,
a powerful blend
creating song in harmony,

expanding our deeper Self
Pure cymbals in hallowed room.

May we guard these gifts
keep them bright and true,
Free from discord and pretense;

Laughter ascends from the soul
stillness the pure mountain pool,
Where bubbles can rise

Transparent and true.

© miriam ivarson

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DEVOTION

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DEVOTION

he said, the young man at my side
“Now I understand.”

Sitting in a mighty Cathedral for the first time,
this beautiful young man just looked;
his eyes followed the marble pillars, the ceilings;
work of incredible beauty and strength.
I kept quiet whilst he drank it in.
After a while, with unshed tears shimmering he said:
“Now I understand” 
It is Devotion “.
So simple, so big his words came.

I couldn’t believe in any religions, they all fight and kill.
Same with politics, he said. They haven’t understood us
at all.
It is Devotion, it is the best word I can think, 
said the 16 year old.

He made tears fill my eyes; I love him so.
I took his hand and and said; “ I see God in your face”
I also hear him in music you create.
We shared a moment that will forever last.

I look at your face and I see God,
also in music from the heart;
I see him in a great paintings too,
I hear God in the whispering grass.

So don’t paint God with long beard
He might be a she – or a storming cloud;
the Sun that warms and give light,
or the smiling moon keeping watch at night.

Create with passion and devotion
in shimmering marble, coloured glass;
in the music you hear in your heart;
We are all part of the Stars.

© miriam ivarson                     

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A FLOWER TO BEHOLD

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To dream the impossible dream, is that what we do? All of us who believe in  harmony among people on our Planet?
Who dream of of peace for Earth itself?

I am a dreamer and in spite of some shrugging shoulders I intend to remain so.   

I have an inkling that the majority of people share this very  dream. It might seem futile to an observer of world events but we have to look closer at all who surround us in our daily life.
At all who join together in joys and sorrows. Who give a supporting arm when needed, a caring word for a fellow being, a smile for those we meet. 

We feel the bond that links us in spite of different world opinions. We inhabit this Earth, we need each other.

There is much cruelty in our world and sickness of mind. The more I observe people around me I am however convinced that the majority believe in the good in man and dare display it in their daily life

So let us make our voices heard, express ourselves, each in their own way.
Spread sunshine and hope where we go.

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A FLOWER TO BEHOLD                               

May all the world’s leaders
around the table,
Be given a flower to behold.
To study in silence, fifteen minutes or more,
its delicacy, serenity and peace;

Quieting anger and unrest.

Don’t let ego, hunger for power and greed,
stand in the way of creating a world,
Fit for all.
Listen to people of the world,
open your hearts, your souls;

Can you hear their hunger and dreams,
Hunger for beauty, peace, meaning and truth.

Allow us all to shine like the flowers,
in tune with creation;
End the wars, killings, cruelty.
Free every child, woman and man.

Embrace humility, quietness, love
so you can hear, can understand;
Abnormality of wars,
don’t trample on life
don’t crush it to death.

The alternative is grim;
Obliteration of this Earth,
Death to a wondrous gift.
To dust you will turn us all.

An appalling and shameful deed

© miriam ivarson

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CHURCH BELLS CALLING

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We are approaching the end of this year and readying ourselves to greet 2018, perhaps wondering about the joys and trials it might bring.

One sound that always plays a big role on New Year’s Eve is the Church bells. The idea of sharing my thoughts came whilst listening to the local Church atop the hill ring out every Thursday evening. Spreading quieting sounds mixed with gladness.

Every week the bellringers practice diligently. I always feel a certain awe and peace as the bells ring out across the villages and hamlets. A stillness falls among all the busyness. I hope many of you have the pleasure of hearing the same wherever you live.

Back to New Year bell ringing. I was going to send you a poem read each year in all cities and villages in Sweden. The squares are packed with people whilst at midnight the poem “Nyårsklockan” is read. I had until today thought this was a Swedish poem but looking for a suitable video I found that it is originally written by Lord Tennyson. 

A Swedish poet translated the poem and a few years after Tennyson’s death it became the big Swedish tradition. So the countries share the love for one great poem.

Hence you will understand that I am giving you this beautiful poem by Tennyson and make no attempt to write one myself. 

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Ring out, wild bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
   The flying cloud, the frosty light:
   The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
   The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
   For those that here we see no more;
   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
   And ancient forms of party strife;
   Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
   The faithless coldness of the times;
   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
   The civic slander and the spite;
   Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
   Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
   Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809 – 1892
The poem was first published 1850.

 

The Storyteller Speaks / my thoughts

The Storyteller Speaks / my thoughts

It is with joy I dedicate this post to Annika whose blog I followed from the beginning and always found to be one of entertainment and wisdom. 

Be it writing about a visit to a castle, traveling to foreign land or just hiding bottles in the garden and of course, her own creative stories.

The stories Annika has posted have all been of such high quality that I am among those of you who encouraged her to do an anthology. As we all know; she did!  It is out and I bought an early copy. Having read The Storyteller Speak I would like to post my review as below. 

*****

Annika Perry is a natural storyteller, a wordsmith of great talent. She writes at times with the language of a poet, at other times with the sharp and daring strokes of Picasso. 

Sheer light infuse her pages;
Darkness where the soul cries.

Annika’s Anthology consists of stories filled with depth and entertainment. Joy and grief. Romance and thriller. They all share a deep care and love for their characters. The pace is unhurried, yet entirely without superfluous words. You are left totally absorbed in the events and settings.

How does she do it?
All I can say is … Annika, keep on writing.
I am hungry for more.

COVER

About the Book 

It only takes one event to change a life. What is that action, decision, occurrence? Whose life is affected? Changed forever? 

In this eclectic mix of 21 short stories, flash fiction and poetry the pendulum swings between first love and murder, from soul-destroying grief to reconciliation. The tales veer from the sweet satisfaction of revenge to new beginnings, from heart-breaking miscarriages of justice to heart-warming Christmas misadventure. 

One common thread binds them all; the belief that there is no such thing as an ordinary life; they’re all extraordinary. 

Open your hearts and minds as The Storyteller Speaks.

********

You can buy the book at Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

You can connect with Annika via:
her blog: https://annikaperry.com
her twitter:  https://twitter.com/AnnikaPerry68
Annika Perry Goodreads: : : https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/55576285-annika-perry