CLOUDS VISITING

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CLOUDS VISITING

Today the clouds visited earth,
in sweeping and shifting gauze
they swayed teasingly back and forth;
I breathed its droplets as I walked.

Skin felt rosy and refreshed
I am not sure about the lungs,
earth was happy and renewed
Even roses came out and shone.

Sun rays gently warmed the air,
the gauze thinned here and there,
mystically revealed and hid
parts of trees, branches, gables and spires.

What a delightful morning it was,
so much intrigue this dance exposed;

Made me think of us, our lives,
often harried with worries, wanting,
seeing fears ahead that might never come;

Rarely letting each day be revealed,
each wonder and delight,
each difficulty to combat at the time.

But for now I am here,
seeing the mystic, the clarity.

© miriam ivarson

 

Conversation

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Conversation

Conversation is a flow of thoughts
of listening, truly listening,
response with the ease of ripples,
With the joy of a stream.

Let it be the smiles between you
and the tears too,
thus your hearts can meet
Sing in harmonies bright and new.

Your mind will want to play, so let it;
Care that the balls flying between
are soft and gentle.

Always mindful of listening to each word,
keep it still before the next throw.

Let there be quiet within whilst you digest,
kernels of truth and wisdom, let them sift;
Let them grow
whilst you rest in a forest glade.

There are shouts and angry speeches,
on media, podiums and private groups;
Don’t mistake this for conversation
suppression is a more apt sentiment.

So, please, join me by the clear stream
in joyful and caring commune.

© miriam ivarson

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Discourse with Friends

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Discourse with Friends

I wish I could speak with animals
in their language or mine,
What a wonder to hear each one;

What would the lion have to say
or the bird in the tree?

I might be careful speaking to Crocodile,
when he says hello I might fall in;
He might choke.

Mr and Mrs Elephant are high on my list,
so huge, yet gentle and kind. 
They could tell how to rear the young;

Also tell about their fear of homo sapiens,
especially those carrying killing machines.
Their sadness and grief at bereavements,
losses of mothers, fathers and kids.

They ask why?

To comfort myself I walk into the sea,
play with the Dolphins and listen
to the bright and happy exchange.

Their spirits are high but there is a sadness too,
do you know what happened to our food?
So much is now harming our young – and us all.

Meeting Mr and Mrs Elk in the forest glade,
they said the same as the Elephants,
also added, do you know why?
What could I say?

Mankind is yet not enlightened enough,
can’t understand;

The Sanctity of Life.

© miriam ivarson

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T I M E L E S S

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TIMELESS

are the Spheres’ whispers and music
the moon and the stars.
Among all noise and commotion,
the heavens just serenely are;

Spreading life giving light and warmth.

Timeless,
the word floated past this morn
tickled my spirit and tongue,
a delicious word
What does it mean to you or me?

I don’t doubt the timelessness
of oceans and seas,
Believe they will always hum and roar;
Their soothing, eternal and rhythmic song.

Whilst storing heat for our Earth.

The sky above, so exhilaratingly vast,
star studded at night.
I am sure it will always be
Timeless, beautiful, filled with mystery.

As to our beautiful, shimmering Earth,
how will it stand the test of time?
Our husbandry is awry and must improve
May we find harmony with the planet we love.

What about us humans, will our love, thoughts,
Creativity of all kind,
be a timeless force
forever drifting in the ether and inspire.

© miriam ivarson

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BREATHING

 

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Mr Owl above, wisely tells me that we teach best what we need to learn.
An old adage I tell him but admit I don’t always listen. Hmm …

The first and most spontaneous gift at birth is the breath.
Yet, we often manage to mess even this up. Makes me both laugh and cry,
are we both too clever and too ignorant?

Either way, this little poem presented itself and perhaps I am not the only one
to recognise this phenomenon of breathing.

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BREATHING

to the rhythm of the waves,
To the sounds of strong winds
through the forests and glades;
The sighing of reeds by the lake.

Letting breath flow deeply and easily
in harmony with them,
Replenishing body and mind.

Our lives begin on Earth with the first breath,
it ends with the last;
Thus follows that we should nourish and fill
this precious vessel, this gift,

With oxygen freely supplied from each tree,
from all living nature.

So walk straight, fill the lungs
make every cell sing,
with the fervour of a little bird;

At night let easy cadency sustain.

Our heartbeats will slow, to the pulse
of a two stroke diesel;
As it propels the skiff at sea.

All it takes is to be,
in tune with the Whole.

c/ miriam ivarson

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Harmony and Discord

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As I fold and seal the poem below
into a turquoise bottle and toss it in the sea,
in the ocean that carries our words and thoughts;
I make a wish that it will reach some of you.

Please know, I now feel there is another poem,
a poem about how nature remained,
so true to its ancient self.
All the wonders of strength were there.

The sea, the bluest sky, the shimmering rocks.

Yes, I will tell you about that – another time.

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Harmony  and  Discords

Was it so simple then
when I was a child, I ask myself;
Waking to the seagulls sounds,

as they happily greet the morning
soaring and sailing high above.
My heart feels lonely. lost,
there is so much sadness around;

Where once I felt simplicity and joy.

So many worries to attend
so much sorrow in many hearts;
I just wanted to sit by the sea
By the old cafe on the wooden pier;

Recalling the simplicity of life.

I listen to discords and angst,
my heart cries and I cannot sleep,
fearing the dark valley, these whipped up storms

Where is the harmony,
The simple belonging to life.

© miriam ivarson

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THE BEWILDERED POET

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THE BEWILDERED POET

Just sat there,
Neither happy nor sad;
No words came, all were spent.

So it seemed,

Can you listen, look,
yet not find one, a single one
lazily floating by?

Bewildered the poet sat.

She already told about the morning scent,
About whispers and hums,
about a sky, sheer blue;
In its new washed morning hue.

About troubling contrasts,
rivers of pain
as the beaten and dispossessed flowed;
In slow and defeated mass.

About the morning birds’ song,
the flower’s hue,
even Lines in the sand;
Did the words get washed away?

A tear spilled down the poet’s cheek.

c/ miriam ivarson

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PER UNIVERSUM

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Dear fellow scribblers, writers, authours and poets. Whichever title
we choose, we share the love of words and believe in their power.
We walk this beautiful Earth together – Star dusts as we are.

One, nowadays quite mundane experience we share, is the joy or stress
of economy short haul flights. I do fly many of these within Europe and especially to visit Sweden. Using the practice of non-thinking
mode helps. Just shuffle forward, stopping, shuffling…
Eventually sit down in your seat and visualize the relief of stepping off at the destination. 

It was on one of these flights that I unexpectedly experienced what 
became the poem “ Per Universum”. Such a quiet and smooth boarding.
What a blessing that flight was. 

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PER UNIVERSUM

I flow through universe,
It flows through me.
Can’t say where one starts,
Or did we always belong?

I am It and universe me.
extraordinary feeling, at 36000 feet,
safe and warm.

Three monks in row behind,
meditate.

Journey flows, in peace.
Universe is me, I am It.
Oh to keep this surety;
36000  below.

where  I meet problems, tempers,
unformed thoughts.
Yet mindful of angels on the path,

who also flow through universe,
In  tranquil unity.

They are everywhere
I see clearly;
We make up universe,
Angels with spirit
Clear and kind.

Through universe we flow
and It through us.
Ever increasing harmony.

© miriam ivarson