I RAN

 

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I  RAN

Fit as an athlete of body and mind,
I ran,
faster and harder every day.
To reach and achieve, what? I ask today;

Stopping for quick breaks to see and breathe,
heather, the Sea, meadows and snow,
Only to return to the run.

It was fun at times but what about the soul,
no time for it to fully live, to sing;
No time for the body to know the breeze.

I knew but pressed the knowledge down,
Thought I had to run.
Until one day a shot hit my neck;
in and instant I crumpled to the ground.

the structure crashed down,
Now, the ambulance ran.

Against all odds I survived,
It took time, I learned new truths,
or were they the old?
finally getting space and time,

As I no longer ran.

A picnic by the shore, sensuous and slow,
I saw, really saw,
the sky, the sea and shifting sands;
The colour displays took my breath away.
Time didn’t have a meaning, just Now was life.

Walking instead of running, seeing wonder in all,
Like a newborn child,
I promised never to lose that again
even if I learnt to run.

I lost a lot that day but now wonder,
Did I not gain even more?
The time to write a poem in the morn;
Or listen to a frightened man,

To feel the blessing and joy of giving comfort,
of connecting with those needing support;
To find the positives born from pain.

© miriam ivarson

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MEADOW GIRL

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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

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Lattice work against the Sky

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Lattice work against the Sky     

Against deep blue sky,
little gold coloured leaves
hang on, shivering in the wind.
Beauty in all seasons
is the Birch.

In the morning sun 
I saw purple blue Clematis,
Turned to shining,
golden, feathery balls.
Their beauty struck my heart.

Many things turn to beauty in death,
hadn’t much noticed before.
Butterfly clams on a warm strand
in life so little, so fast,

turn to glowing butterflies
when they die.

So it is that the Birch,
from tender gold/green
Through the seasons delight.

Naked again in the autumn wind,
Reveal beauty so sheer.

Unadorned.

© miriam ivarson

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The Rock

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The Rock                           

I laid down on a rock,
large, smooth, pink granite,
warmed by the sun.

Timeless energies from the rock,
enveloped me;

Soothed my muscles,
received my pains.
Gave ease, relaxation and peace.
A glow spreads within, 

The birth of joy.

The sound from the sea
Joins the symphony,
waves rhythmically lapping the shore,
Singing their eternal song.

I drift into altered consciousness,
of wholeness and clarity.
A sweet voice says “are you o.k.?”
Blessings are complete.

With a smile I rise,
we continue to throw.
Pebbles that skip on the waves.

© miriam ivarson

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B o r d e r s

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Borders                                            

When does a river become a sea
the sweet water turn salty,
does it just flow and mingle?
Mingle in harmony,

How does a mountain become,
yours or mine, his or hers,
is it not always just its mighty self?
Part of the Earth, the wind, the Universe.

So tell me, how can we put borders
on mountains, in rivers and the sea,
How can we draw lines on the ocean,
on mighty mountains lay claim?

How can we, with impudence
Claim the Whole for ourselves

© miriam ivarson

Tor Heyerdahl quote

Whispering Wings

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Whispering Wings

They whisper as the breeze in the cottonwood trees,
as the grass drinking morning dew,
like a butterfly languidly moving its wings;
Just being its subliminal self,

Whisperings from small branches
moving gently in soft breeze,
Like Dragonfly hovering, such beauty
are their shimmering wings.

I lie down in the meadow with deep content,
hear the morning birds join in
singing sheer songs of life and joy,
partaking with delicacy and  skill.

Whispering like the hope in our hearts,
finding the tune we recognise from afar,
Songs sung for eternities
losing each other, but now

Recognising the whisperings anew.

© miriam ivarson

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T I M E …

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TIME…

So linear and confined
I am told,
and it does seem true;
Yet I think of all the skips,
all the turns,

the flowing river makes
as it twists and bends,

from its origin as a newborn brook;
down mountains
through valleys
weaving its way,

until finally it merges
with the mighty river below
strong in its purposeful flow;

Letting us be streams within
meandering as we go.

We calculate our progress 
in years and days,
following the calender prescribed;
Not the rhythm of the moon or sun,

Some panic, they fear the big 0,s.
I say, it is just another day and night,
if you wish, tell your friends
you took another stream,
so they have to wait with the balloons

another year or so;

Whilst we twist and turn, leap and sing
before joining ocean so vast and deep,
becoming part of the whole.

© miriam ivarson

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photos by Miriam Ivarson

Deny Your Heart

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Deny the Heart

Friendship, love, care
are they but one?
Philia, Agape, Eros
blending to a singular Self,

one without the other
the circle is broken;
A sickle moon.

Love born by the spirit,
Sensuality
Kindness,

aren’t they part,
of being complete?

How can we then deny?
Close the heart in a safety box?
so as not to get hurt,
kill what we are
what we can be;

Fearing Life itself.

The little bird in your hand
rescued but stunned,
tender is our love,

as is holding a child,
so trusting and soft;
Who with a smile wins our hearts,

as a loved ones kiss on your neck
whilst you pen your lines.

© miriam ivarson

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photos by miriam ivarson

Spilling Over

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Spilling Over

Spilling over, spilling over,
over arbours and fences
Over my Arched bench
Spilling over,

The sheer greens of spring,
every shade of green.
mostly so glowing,
with dark Fir a faithful backdrop,

Sunshine through million of leaves
Lighting each one all through,
I am exalted, in awe
and so blessed too;

First breakfast out this year,
on favourite bench,
around me Forget-me-Nots,
Lavender in bloom, golden bush too;

So much more but would you believe
Butterflies keep doing fly past in front of me,

Even they are in many hues.

© miriam ivarson

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CANDYFLOSS LIGHT

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Candy floss Light

The powerful display by masters
by setting sun over snow and dark wood,
In shadows, on light drenched ground
How can one wish for more;

In silent awe I sit with a friend
we whisper quietly our awe,
To talk loud seems a sacrilege,
in this Temple not built by man.

For a while the snow had taken
hues of bright white with diamonds aglow.
With light blue shades
and deeper blues, like a fathomless lake,
shadows the mighty forest threw;

As sun sets further, colours of candy floss,
soft pink coloured the snow,
Lit it as from within, such eerie light,
against black-green  forest behind;

The sun sank into the sea,
Light still glowed
As now the full moon lit the scene,
even she was pink.

@ miriam ivarson

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And one photo just to make you smile and wish you a Happy Weekend.

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Photos by miriam ivarson