LITTLE HOUSE

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LITTLE HOUSE

I dream of you, long for you
Need you;
Little house near the sea.
With passion I long to enter,
to open that door.

There might be cobwebs and spiders,
still, straight through the hall and room;
Floor to ceiling windows flood the house
with light from sun and sea.

I drop my bag, abandoned it lays,
quickly walk up to the light. My heart melts,
A smile grows and tears run.

I found you, found you
my whisper says,
we belong. I feel at peace and complete.

Having wandered long, seen much,
learnt, laughed and cried;
Now I need harmony and peace.

Dear Little House, I will make you glow
like you made me,
so out comes buckets and tools
I start working whilst singing along.

As all is finished and glows
air streams in through the door,
the door to the deck facing the sea.
Do I need to say more?

Pulling up a little table and chair
to the windows, that now
shine and gleam,
sipping coffee just brewed;
The van won’t be here in quite a while.

So, I greet my beloved sea gulls and terns.

Then to my surprise a Goldfinch lands
on the windowsill.
He is beautiful and I wish he would stay;
Although he loves bushes and trees.

Settling in this house I dreamt,
among birds and creatures of the sea,
I will not forget, my dear winged friends
in the dreamy garden where I lived.

How could I, they enriched my life.

Should you ever pass my way
please remember to come in,
there will always be a welcome for a friend.

© 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

 

SONGBIRD

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Many of us “bloggers” have talked about what prompted us 
to write a specific piece. Be it a book, a poem, an article or 
something visual that caught the eye.

I find it interesting to learn about you and how your conscious
and subconscious work together to trigger a story. There are as 
many different ways as there are writers and no work would exist
without some inspiration. This is my belief.

My  poem ‘Songbird’ below came to me in the morning two days
ago. The word SONGBIRD just came and I felt that compelling feeling
to pick up my notebook. I wrote what you see below without thinking 
or stopping – this time even without editing. 

That it was written in first person I cannot explain. The “ I “ could be a male or female.

The hidden message that seems to be there I can still only
guess at, hopefully it will come clear as it otherwise is strange.

So, this time the source of inspiration comes after the poem.

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SONGBIRD

A songbird landed on my hand
looked at me and sang,
sang from her pure heart;
With delight I watched and listened

But didn’t join in
nor give her even a crumb,

Next day she came back
pecked at my hand, then sang,
the most wondrous song

I didn’t say a word
nor give her a crumb,

I was delighted and told my friends
but what about the bird
that sang her heart out

I just didn’t think of her
Didn’t give a crumb,

One morning she sat on my hand,
she didn’t sing,
Just looked in sadness
moving her head back and forth,

Then she flew; higher and higher
I never saw her again.

Finally I understood my selfish ways
I hope she found someone who knew
how to love.

I will forever miss this soulful bird.

© miriam ivarson

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