To a Waif

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To a Waif

Come to me, my waif, my angel,
Let me wipe those tears
Let me soothe your fears.
be your harbour whilst you heal.

Tell your story if you wish,
I am there, I will hold
whilst stormy tales are told.
Until your cracking heart is cleansed.

Then rock you gently
as healing tears fall.

Like a willow in golden light
You will again dance free,
lift head and arms to the sky.

Free again. Unchained.

I pray you will trust anew,
dare reach out a hand
and I pray it will be mine.

c/ miriam ivarson

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Science and Space

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Science and space

Driven by passion and hunger
fuelled by mystical questions about life.
How come, who are we, why does it work?

Mysticism is simply the unasked answer within,
an age old wisdom knowing right from wrong.
Knowing what heals a wound
be it of the body or soul.

Does it not then make perfect sense
that the two work together honourably.
Listen, test, measure
Letting the answer be in tune and respect.

Our bodies, universe, are all vibrational frequencies
Fine tuned at best,
would it then follow that tuning is vital,
Creator, healer of wounds.

Used in harmony with science for the solid,
creating knowledge that can heal or harm.
There is no sound without silence
There is no science without mysticism.

C / miriam ivarson

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Invisible Grace

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INVISIBLE  GRACE

Sat in the sun this morning
among bushes, flowers and trees.
among birds, butterflies and bees
Some big, some small, all in harmony

As was I under favourite arbour
dressed in Honeysuckle and Clematis
Total stillness resided in my soul,
I felt perfect peace

Part of nature’s incredible gifts.

Sadly we humans often lose this inheritance
looking at imagined or real problems ahead,
fears that eat the soul which was born to just be

Part of the wonder of universe, of a garden, a song.

I see now that when I move, a new garden will be my goal
My first act of creation somewhere new,
make a haven for birds, flowers and trees
and for me

Somewhere were you can sit alone or with friends
thanking for the wonder that is.
And smile

As we refill ourselves with new vitality.

© miriam ivarson

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Fear FEAR Fear

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Fear  Fear  Fear

Suddenly the dark balloon bursts, 
with force scattering to the ground
ashes and fragments in multitude,
insignificant now, once content is revealed;

Total silence descends, stillness arrives.
Yet I am bewildered by this drama.
Silence, total silence descends,
Lucidity in quietness, like a flower, grows.

Whilst the wind blows ashes and fragments away.

The sky is so very blue, painfully so,
I couldn’t see that before.
What happened
what was actually in the this fearsome balloon?

It blocked out all light.

Behind the ‘zeppelin’, so filled with fear and doubt
an exciting new adventure was waiting;
Was calling my name.
Whilst frightened I hid below,
unable to accept what it held.

Now I can see the blue sky again, feel the sun
whilst walking, at times run,
Towards the adventure ahead.

Let my bare feet touch the ground
hair blowing free in the wind,
Skin kissed by the sun and breeze.

© miriam ivarson

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SOUL PORTRAIT

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SOUL  PORTRAIT

I pray our songlines be
those of care and love.
Showing warmth and tenderness
for all creatures along our path.

That we look intently at a tree,
all the way up to the crown .
Stand peaceful and listen to its flow
The flow from the roots, branches, 
to the utmost top.

Listen to the stream further on,
its unselfconscious purity and play
as it skips, bounds and sings;
Sunglitter in its hair.

Gently walk there, as not to hurt,
all the tender growth and life underfoot.
Dip your feet in the stream,
share its elation, feel freedom swell.

You might wonder where does this stream go
as it dances its way? I tell you, it is painting its 
Soulportrait
on its way to the river and the sea.

As can you and I as we flow,
through life’s varied events
over big boulders and smooth terrain.
Through light and dark.

May our soul portraits be filled
with wisdom and smiles.
Guiding songlines on the way to the sea.

© miriam ivarson

S U C C E S S

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 SUCCESS

is not in numbers, nor applause;
Success is daring to be you,
your unique Self.

Daring to let fake facades, worries 
and dark times fly;
Sharing who you really are,
just you, not a copy or pretence.

We learn from all around us,
from nature in its pure truth
from people who are poor 
and those who are rich.

Yet I repeat, success is being true.
Not gleaming facades.
It is the radiant kernel within.

Success is to find joy in the delicacy
of a child’s smile,
in the heart-stopping  beauty of sunrise;
In a morning flower, fresh with dew.

© miriam ivarson
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Seeking Yourself

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Seeking  Yourself

Hurled into the universe
helpless, small,
How do we know where to go
Is it coincidence or design?

I believe that the little spirit is drawn
to love in abundance, to care beyond call.
A seed inherent that grows, that blooms
as the helpless newborn says hello.

Yet, why did I choose an island in the North
or you a town in the South
and why these particular parents we love?

Do we have a purpose to fulfill, a gift to explore?
do you believe it is a random act.
Is the seeming randomness just fear,
fear of seeking, of fulfilling our destinies?

Like heat seeking missives we were hurled
to the parents perfect for us;
Are they kindred spirits we sought
or a cradle to further our growth?

I know this seems cruel to those who struggle,
yet history shows;
Strength and love,
Leadership and wisdom from many once deprived.

© miriam ivarson

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Light through Prisms

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LIGHT THROUGH PRISMS

Knowledge is great, we hunger to learn,
yet science cannot alone explain
the wonder we feel at nature’s play;

The beauty of light broken through prisms.

The light through fine raindrops high above
creating a rainbow at which we swoon and dream,
to which even songs are composed.
To the multitude of colours within,

Through bubbles, angles and light.

The glassblower’s art, so fascinating,
almost mystic as we watch.
I love observing, almost tear eyed;
Always walk out with one piece in my hand.

I have seen this wonder in snow crystals too
and yes, in a drinking glass.
In reverence we watch these bubbles in the sky,
in a studio, in a droplet on a grass;

Don’t let us forget bubbles of light 
rising from our hearts.

© miriam ivarson

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