exquisite

CURLING EDGE

/ delphini510 / 26 Comments

 

IMG_0372

CURLING EDGE

It is dying now, we might think
watching a leaf with a big brown speckle
and curling edges;
Suddenly though, it plays with sun rays,
and shines in gold and green

The brown fleck looks like a decoration.

Watching this Rose bush I also see
new leaves and late roses opening up.
Showing that new and old
in autumn, live together in beauty and harmony.

A Wren landing on a twig
adds to the great blessing this morning.

So it is that my first lesson of the day
also becomes my blessing,
Autumn is here with its shifting hues,
Cooler but certain of its purpose and rhythm.

C / miriam ivarson

IMG_0373

MEADOW GIRL

/ delphini510 / 51 Comments

IMG_1742

MEADOW  GIRL

Your eyes shine bright like rays of morning sun,
your smile sweet as soft rain on summer grass.
How I dream to behold you each day;
Maybe taste those lips with time.

I saw you again this morning in the meadow field,
arms stretched, greeting the sun;
Maybe I could write her a verse, I thought
Although I am no Shakespeare, Donne or Keats.

So I walked down the bluff, to the sea
picked seashells and stones in many colours,
they were exquisite and shone in the light;
I placed them all in a big leaf.

With courage I walked to the Meadow girl and said;
My name is John, would you please accept this gift,
so simple, only pebbles and shells.
They each shine like you.

Thank you John, said the meadow girl,
Would you please sit for a while.

© miriam ivarson

sea-shells-1465154__340

DRIFTWOOD

/ delphini510 / 57 Comments

nature-1367682__340 driftwood

DRIFTWOOD

washed up on the shore,
so exquisite, so polished;
Feels like silk in my hands,

For days, weeks or longer
it has travelled,
across oceans and seas,

hammered against rocks
varnished by sand.

Reminding me of many unfortunates,
living in the shady side of our cities,
by gleaming edifices of beauty and wealth;

Driftwood of humanity.

Playthings to those who exploit,
sleeping in doorways, under bridges,
washed up from an ocean of society;
There was no space for them within,

they see the sun, feel the rain,
but can they feel joy?
when their mattress is concrete?

meanwhile we sleep in soft beds
pampered and fed.

How my heart bleeds
wishing to rescue, to help;
Praying those with knowledge will,
as I give my support,

yet the sorrow and helplessness is there.
Around the corner glittering skyscrapers stand
holding wealth beyond sense.

Still, I pick driftwood by the shore,
feeling it’s journey in my hands;
Journey across oceans free,

Washed by the sea
Kissed by the sun.

© miriam ivarson

beach-1903282__340