JUST RESTING…

To all friends out there I want to say; in a few months you will find that my poem comes true. At least part of it, the second part might remain a mystery. I would then ask: ‘Isn’t life itself a wonderful mystery revealing itself as we walk along.’

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Just resting

Now the leaves are gone
the structure of the trees revealed;
strong, complex, intricate statues,
Some with delicate lace crowns.
Others with powerful arms,

all reaching for the sky.

Humbling me, who thought all was dying,
when really they are – just resting,
preparing for new life.
Standing in grace, strength and beauty.
waiting for birds and buds.

I’ve met people like that,
Old people with strong souls,
rich lives led in love,
In awareness;

Eyes shining bright.
Smiles full of mystery,
abundance of wisdom gained.
They see you, see into your soul,
their words of truth sink in,

balm on troubled heart.

May we cherish this era of trees
Of women and men,
see the beauty of their calm
with stillness and grace;

Secret smiles filled
with humour and mystique.

© miriam ivarson

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MACKEREL SKY

meditation

MACKEREL SKY

One morning I saw
a sky so sheer, a mackerel sky,
though its colours were
pink, pearl grey and blue;

In awe I also watched
the sun light a bush in bright red,
followed by one in gold;
Breakfast was put on hold,

it struck me that I saw love on display,
Love of life itself;
Let the dawning day be our guide
open our eyes and mind.

All this I remember 
on a sad and grey day,
when the sky seemed
to have drunk,
All colour from Earth,

And lost it somewhere.

Memories of bright days
sustain my heart;
In defiance I light candles, everywhere.
I even light a Star,

It shines in my window now.

© miriam ivarson

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UPON A MOUNTAIN

In honour of Native Americans

I have had the great pleasure visiting United States a number of
times and although each journey has brought experiences of wonder and
excitement, there is one part of a journey that really gave me both
a physical and spiritual high.

Although I had spent a couple of days in Nashville and had the most 
fantastic time, being so happy there that I just wanted to stay – it was Smokey Mountains that stole my heart. 

I was unprepared for its beauty and grandeur and also how much of its
history I would feel and learn by watching, reading and listening.

This was for more than 1000 years the home of mainly the Native 
American tribe, the Cherokees. Now it is America’s most visited 
National Park and it is still free to travel in there. I was lucky as there were no crowds there during the visit. That brought home the stillness so much vividly. 
 

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This visit did naturally bring forth some poems and the one below started as a hum during the days up on these mountains. So really it could be a lyric or a poem as I was humming along whilst writing.
This was a first anything like it happened to me.

lone pine

Upon a Mountain

As I stood upon a mountain high
with a feeling I never known before,
Elation, awe and wonder filled my soul
as tears spilled from brim-filled heart.

Before me lay deep valleys, lofty mountains soared,
a chain of beauty and grandeur quietening mind.
Trying to comprehend that of this I was a part,
Felt so small and yet I flew;

Knowing a love pure and true.

On the bluff stood the most lonely Pine
or so I thought,
but it was strong and filled with joy
As each day life filled every atom and cell,

knowing itself in calmness and bliss
belonging to these mountains where it grew,
Loving them unquestioningly, unreserved.

Quietly I sat down by the Pine
leaning gently against its old trunk,
drinking in the beauty of majestic strength,
Until total love filled my every pore;

Feeling this was more than I could ask
or seldom known before.

© miriam ivarson

FOR HAPPINESS

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For Happiness                        

Little things will suffice,
sun shining on the sea,
Night sky lit by moon and stars;
smile from beloved,
touch by caring hand.

Sharing of home-made cake,
music and dreams.
Baby’s first cry;
more precious than gold.
Soaring joy.

Young man creating, a headboard
from thick pallet wood,
sanded, glowing it stands;
showing love
For his bride and home.

Can we ever in words 
describe,
The sheerness, the depth;
of spheres’ song.

Deep happiness is such,
It soars and dips
whispers and shouts,

Morning mist across the fields,
Lit by rising sun.

© miriam ivarson

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DREAM OF LOVE

Smokey mountain view

The other morning I read the quote below by Khalil Gibran.

“ For thoughts is a bird of space,
that in cage of words may indeed unfold its wings
but cannot fly.”

This brought me up abruptly, I had dreamt that my words might    
help someone fly. Just as I know how often I read and feel my
spirit lighten and with a deep breath – fly. Above daily worries or
concerns.

So I debated gently with Khalil Gibran and put forth that whilst 
reading the words became thoughts again and could fly.

Well, the verdict is out but I do so hope I am right. You who take 
time to read this today are invited to be the judges.

Meanwhile I give you a little poem below.

desert: star: sky

DREAM OF LOVE

With beautiful words you drew me in,
my heart thawed, buds opened,
to promises of rain drops, gentle and kind;
Of love and shelter from storms,

Wows to always be there, to love.
Light candles in the dark of the night,
sing lullabies;
Hold me when fears shook
petals that now dared bloom.

Alluring they are, these dreams;
Do they stand the test of time?
Beautiful words in the wind;
no foundation was built.

I now know, I would rather hold a hand
as I climb a stile,
a hand warm and firm,
a smile as we follow the path,

through woodlands, past lakes,
stopping in awe of hills afar.
So, don’t promise me the moon and the stars,
Just let me rest in your heart;

with your hand firmly holding mine,
your eyes and smile be the stars.

© miriam ivarson

cliff-Stile

Immeasurable Word

 

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Immeasurable Word

Freedom
Simple and pure
as a child’s first smile;
Often harnessed, tied, used
by man,
in pursuit of power and gain.

Dictats, dogmas, rules,
must be obeyed, followed,
Roles played.
Crushing the spirit, the mind,
creating slaves.

Writers, poets, artists protest,
try to make sense;
At times succeed
At times condemned,

Their voices are heard
Thoughts are stirred.

Burden of Freedom
this beautiful song,
puzzled me as young.
Burden?  Freedom?
The combination seemed wrong.

Freedom from chains
of fear accepted too long,
habitual, noticed no more;
only a yearning for something lost.

It takes courage to go
to break out,
So much easier to stay;
With the tribe,

then to be judged,
Ousted from the club.

We have obligations to fulfill
but don’t forget,
duty to ourselves
our own destiny,

So open that door,
you can reach.
Walk out unchained,
Free
perhaps condemned;

Your spirit will fly,

into the blinding light;
Follow your dreams, 
with peace and joy,
At times pain.

Courage is at the core.

© miriam ivarson

 

SELENE LUNA THE MOON

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Greek and Roman philosophers together with tribes around the world have studied the moon and created the most amazing myths and beliefs.
Each one a beautiful saga.
Scientists through the ages have also studied and learnt much about the influence between moon and earth. 

To even touch upon these wonderful myths would be impossible in one blog – besides my knowledge is not deep enough. You will however find
a picture of a Goddess of the moon and reference to the myth that the moon is created from a part that was once torn away from Earth. By Mercury in one story – by an asteroid in another.

I do like that, quite romantic. 

One thing is certain, the moon has through the ages enchanted mankind
and has played a big part in planning daily life. How many of us can
deny feeling the awe and romantic attraction whilst watching the moon? Be it full, waning or vexing.

Even the historic event of the first man standing on the surface of the moon has not changed this mystique.

So here I give you  THE MOON.

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THE MOON                    

Full and bright,
enchanting and serene
she draws us in.
Exercising her magical allure.

Lovers watch the moon
On a starlit night,
silvery streak across the sea;
Respond to her bewitching pull,
the power drawing them close.

To forces of the moon,
The sea will rise and fall,
twice a day, well tuned.
Mystery and marvel on display.

Once torn apart from One,
Is it a longing
between Earth and Moon;
To again be whole?

Love affair of magnitude,
Magnetism sublime.

© miriam ivarson

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SYMPHONY

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What triggers your emotions so that you feel the need, the urge to create, share or write them down for yourself? To paint or sculpt? What makes any of us ache with the beauty before us or the darkness?

What makes us stop and put down in one form or other what we feel just has to be shared?

I believe it is a heart full of passion and love of life.

When I go for walks, travel, mingle with friends and family; meet new people unexpectedly, there is always some encounter that stays inside and won’t be still until I put it down on paper. 

So my dear friends, you are lucky that I keep my posts to one a week or you would be flooded with poetic impressions.

Mind you, there is always the press delete…..although I dearly hope to escape it. 

So, another such walk resulted in the poem below.

SYMPHONY

Linseed fields shimmering in blues,
next to weaving gold of wheat,
Grass and trees in deep green
Counterpoint beyond;

Like Vincent my heart misses a beat
I want to paint it all,
in thick and rich oils,

Catch the glow;

Beauty I cannot in words convey,
show you why your heart could burst;
with joy of just being alive.

Would I then like Vincent feel,
it is not good enough?
How do I tell,
Really show the wonder of life.

I comfort us both and say,
We can but try our best.

Creation can never be caught,
only sung about,
In various media and ways;

Each using the voice we got,
Creating together, a symphony.

© miriam ivarson

images

SOARINGLY

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And then you will be ready to begin
the most difficult, the most powerful, 
the most fun of all. You will be ready
to fly up and know the meaning of
kindness and love.
quote from Richard Bach’s Jonathan Seagull.

 

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SOARINGLY

Two herons fly
love and life in harmony
wisdom and purity,
Wingtip to wingtip they soar,

Perfection;

Thus to fly, what would we see below,
on our planet of beauty and wealth?
marred by rivers of sadness,
of people dispossessed, broken;

What blessing would it be,
so to float, in unity above;
unrestricted.
Above strife and savagery.

The herons glide down,
gracefully land;
among the reeds by the lake.
Fishing, resting,
Meeting their tribe.

Are they simply like us?
a different embodiment,

With advanced spirituality.

© miriam ivarson

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Note in the Bottle

letters

Four and a half months now I have had the great pleasure of reaching out to you, dreamers and writers from all continents. To feel the honour of hearing your laughter, sorrow, wisdom and just pure beauty. Thank you for making me so welcome, it means more than you know.

From start I felt uncertain and hesitant. Felt small. I soon learnt that a feeling like that is o.k. and many might have shared the same. What have I of interest to say, we ask.

I now feel the responsibility of giving something that might touch your souls and minds. One thing I promised myself was to write from the heart. The warmth and friendship I have met has buoyed me and given many smiles and tought me much. Thank You! to each and everyone.

Did you ever as young dream of sending a message in a bottle and throw into the sea? I did often and in the end sent two. I dreamt of answers from far away lands, wanted to connect. I am afraid none came and my disappointment was great. 

So, today I give you a poem that came to me when I remembered this dream and somehow via the blog I finally found these answers.

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 Note in the Bottle                                  

Is that all it is?
My scribbled attempts
to convey my thoughts.
If so, I hope the currents,
will bring it to your shores,

That you will read,
feel the bonds that tie man,
tie all living things
in a pulsating whole.
We are not alone,
only lonely at times.

Or is it just solitude?

We share same longings,
same dreams;
For vibrancy, love and truth.
Simply sit by a stream, in a glade,
Hear the fullness of nature’s sounds.

It is not the yachts,
the luxury goods;
not even champagne 
in a limousine,
That will make your soul sing.

How insignificant  we may seem,
and yet;
Without each and everyone
there wouldn’t be a Whole.

© miriam ivarson

sea : letter