SONGBIRD

spring-3109511__340

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.

fitislaub-singer-2353361__340

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

tit-1278641__340

Sorrow and Strength

lotus-3047870__340

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

swallows-2798376__340

 

SECRETS

secret-3120483__340

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

treasure-chest-3005312_960_720