Sun on Daffodils
Liquid gold running through my heart
Birdsong sweet outside.
FORGIVE – FORGET
Can we forgive ourselves
wrong choices and mistakes,
smile at decisions that shone?
Both part of learning and growth.
Part of the fabric of life.
Can we forgive others for pain they caused,
foul actions and words?
Not brood or let them darken our days?
Can we hurl burdens overboard.
How easy the ship would sail, unladed.
I believe we can forgive,
I wonder, what about forget?
How would it feel to toss all darkness to the winds.
Would the sun shine brighter
would we skip with joy?
Our brain holds memories,
can there still be acceptance and peace?
I believe so,
we can put the millstones down
one by one.
Don’t be slaves, carrying weights long gone;
Let them be absorbed by Cosmos so vast,
where neither time nor thought exist.
Imagine to feel free,
feel the joy of dance
see the sunset, really behold.
Forgive yourself and others
walk with knowledge and no rancour,
smile at passers by.
In sunshine or soft rain.
© miriam ivarson
I wrote the poem / lyric below a couple
of weeks ago and smiled at its seeming
childishness. Snippets of strong memories
we all have but what is this. A song? A poem?
Listening to people in America talk with such
glow about Thanksgiving and family togetherness
I revisited this poem and realised.
It is just that, praise and gratitude to a home
and people who made it so warm and safe.
So, with this I wish you across the Atlantic a
Happy Thanksgiving and all of us gratitude to
love given in any form.
WHERE IS IT NOW
I once had a dream
such a beautiful dream,
But the dream flew elsewhere;
I now wonder, where is it now,
is the ether keeping it away?
I once had a doll from Aberdeen,
I loved her so dearly
She even could say ‘mama’,
I often wonder, where is she now,
did the loft fairy take her away?
I once had Red skiing boots,
they were so very new,
Smelled sweet and shone,
I wonder, where are they now,
are they still skiing, all red?
I once had a hut high among the rocks,
we built it ourselves,
It was a most wonderful place.
I just wonder, is it still there,
home for other young to dream?
All the treasures I once had
that gave me so much joy,
they still make me warm;
I only wonder, as they live in my heart
are they happy,
Knowing they are loved?
© miriam ivarson
Solitude and Love
I know solitude, its peace and calm,
its loneliness at times;
It fills the shadows where your inner self resides
with clarity, truth and light,
I know love, its burning flames and gentle ones,
its soaring heights;
Growing in abundance and joy
in the dance of life.
Both have been sought since beginning of time,
as separate entities;
Yet, aren’t they part of the same?
Of the song of life.
So in a heart becalmed, the truth shimmers,
Let love dance free in storms and sun,
also to freely live in Solitude.
Never separate the two,
together they enrich and strengthen;
The ocean and sky live in you,
you live in them.
Free and true.
© miriam ivarson
I had this poem ready to publish on Saturday morning but suddenly
found myself in my very doubting Thomas mood.
What am I giving? A sweet story from childhood.
My spirit got low and I got a feeling of meaninglessness when I
listened and looked at events in the world.
This planet we say we love but yet destroy.
If it was lack of scientific knowledge we could be forgiven but can
complacency for the sake of earning more money be forgiven.
Consequences are known but hidden in strongholds. After all, we will
all be gone when the worst events take place. Our children, grandchildren and future generations are left to deal with the result.
Then, for some unknown reason I read a poem by “Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
‘To sin by silence, when we should protest, makes cowards out of man”
Reading up about this woman I was in tears and you can understand why
I felt doubts about what I am writing. Although I have attempted poems on this subject in e.g. “Flower to behold”, I feel we all can say it stronger and with passion. Believing so matters.
Meanwhile I will after all post my peaceful poem as we also need to know what is important in life.
I remember him clearly, my gamlefarfar
though I was only five, six and seven;
First memory to enter my conscious being
is one of happiness and warmth,
His eyes glinting like sun on sea, with mystery,
as they rested on me.
I was told he is my gamlefarfar,
that didn’t mean much to me;
It does mean he is my kin.
I know I will find him in his treasured workshop,
slowly I open the door, he waves me in;
On the workbench are placed
I know they are for me,
excited I walk forward
give a curtsy, as our eyes speak,
His with humour and love,
mine shy and happy.
He has tought me to build
out of match boxes,
furnitures for my tiny dolls;
he left out paint and glue;
Happily I set to
using fantasy and dreams
all the while feeling his warmth.
He smokes a pipe ever now and again
whilst creating woodwork so grand,
I am in awe and keep quiet
as not to disturb,
but often I catch his eyes on me, with that glint.
As his pipe burns out,
we work together
in total harmony,
I hope he also will tell me a tale.
© miriam ivarson
gamlefarfar = great grandfather
This morning, dear friends, I will post you a poem about love.
Before doing so I was going for a walk and it came to me that
Love in all its forms must be the subject most written about.
The subject causing most pain and elation.
In every art form it has been written, painted, sculpted and sang about.
Listening to songs today by the very young I was struck by how
similar the lyrics are from those so long ago.
Lyrics about break-ups – not being able to survive them. About
the shining stars in each others eyes when love rises high and
you can all help me fill in the rest.
I do therefore surmise that love is the biggest force and may we tend
it with the care and respect it deserves.
Love between humans can be,
elations and emotions run high
Tainted by ownership; you are mine.
Bonds that tie the souls down,
To me you belong.
We give our hearts in trust,
To keep in tenderness,
in infinite care;
How then to avoid the trap, you are mine?
You cannot own her, nor she you.
Only unbound can you dance together
free as the wind,
Forever wanting to live
in each other’s hearts.
A nourishing, fulfilling love.
When we meet first time, a seismic force
inexplicably draw us together;
Your eyes meet and so do your hands,
as you dance, feeling
you always belonged.
Walking along lakes, canals, in parks
Feelings of belonging just grow.
Surety, calmness; we belong
Resting in each other’s arms, listening;
realizing Mozart never did sound
powerful, ethereal like this.
Feelings of utter peace,
As if life and death are the same.
As long as we stay in each other’s hearts.
© miriam ivarson
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
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
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.
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
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.
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.