BRUSHSTROKES

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BRUSHSTROKES

with brush strokes light as feathers
I want to tell you about beauty
in a newly woken sky;
In a bird feeding his young.

In a woman’s graceful stretching,
her fingertips reaching high, just because.
Of glowing heather gracing my wall;

Caught by an artist with loving heart.

About the soft morning mist on the ground,
the neighbourhood slowly waking up.
Dogs taking humans for a walk – 
or is it the other way around?

About the stillness and grandeur of trees
that grace the territory;
Teaching us not to rush,
to respect nature and all therein.

With softest colours showing us gratitude,
gratefulness to Be, alive.
To love, most important of all.

Remembering those
who seen only dark shades so far.

© miriam ivarson

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CURLING EDGE

 

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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

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Science and Space

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Science and space

Driven by passion and hunger
fuelled by mystical questions about life.
How come, who are we, why does it work?

Mysticism is simply the unasked answer within,
an age old wisdom knowing right from wrong.
Knowing what heals a wound
be it of the body or soul.

Does it not then make perfect sense
that the two work together honourably.
Listen, test, measure
Letting the answer be in tune and respect.

Our bodies, universe, are all vibrational frequencies
Fine tuned at best,
would it then follow that tuning is vital,
Creator, healer of wounds.

Used in harmony with science for the solid,
creating knowledge that can heal or harm.
There is no sound without silence
There is no science without mysticism.

C / miriam ivarson

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Invisible Grace

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INVISIBLE  GRACE

Sat in the sun this morning
among bushes, flowers and trees.
among birds, butterflies and bees
Some big, some small, all in harmony

As was I under favourite arbour
dressed in Honeysuckle and Clematis
Total stillness resided in my soul,
I felt perfect peace

Part of nature’s incredible gifts.

Sadly we humans often lose this inheritance
looking at imagined or real problems ahead,
fears that eat the soul which was born to just be

Part of the wonder of universe, of a garden, a song.

I see now that when I move, a new garden will be my goal
My first act of creation somewhere new,
make a haven for birds, flowers and trees
and for me

Somewhere were you can sit alone or with friends
thanking for the wonder that is.
And smile

As we refill ourselves with new vitality.

© miriam ivarson

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SOUL PORTRAIT

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SOUL  PORTRAIT

I pray our songlines be
those of care and love.
Showing warmth and tenderness
for all creatures along our path.

That we look intently at a tree,
all the way up to the crown .
Stand peaceful and listen to its flow
The flow from the roots, branches, 
to the utmost top.

Listen to the stream further on,
its unselfconscious purity and play
as it skips, bounds and sings;
Sunglitter in its hair.

Gently walk there, as not to hurt,
all the tender growth and life underfoot.
Dip your feet in the stream,
share its elation, feel freedom swell.

You might wonder where does this stream go
as it dances its way? I tell you, it is painting its 
Soulportrait
on its way to the river and the sea.

As can you and I as we flow,
through life’s varied events
over big boulders and smooth terrain.
Through light and dark.

May our soul portraits be filled
with wisdom and smiles.
Guiding songlines on the way to the sea.

© miriam ivarson

Seeking Yourself

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Seeking  Yourself

Hurled into the universe
helpless, small,
How do we know where to go
Is it coincidence or design?

I believe that the little spirit is drawn
to love in abundance, to care beyond call.
A seed inherent that grows, that blooms
as the helpless newborn says hello.

Yet, why did I choose an island in the North
or you a town in the South
and why these particular parents we love?

Do we have a purpose to fulfill, a gift to explore?
do you believe it is a random act.
Is the seeming randomness just fear,
fear of seeking, of fulfilling our destinies?

Like heat seeking missives we were hurled
to the parents perfect for us;
Are they kindred spirits we sought
or a cradle to further our growth?

I know this seems cruel to those who struggle,
yet history shows;
Strength and love,
Leadership and wisdom from many once deprived.

© miriam ivarson

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BELONGING

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BELONGING

Where do we belong, each and every one?
What makes our soul sing and our work dance,
what do we seek, in stillness,
alone?

So many questions and no answers,
a teacher I am not.

I love the ocean, both when it rages and smiles,
also I love the forests, meadows and rocks.
They all have their voice, clear and sincere.
As they roar and whisper their eternal truths.

Not a false note nor a lie to be heard,
no lures and baits, just joy and veracity.
The rocks join in with healing vibes.

Among these I belong, feel peace and calm,
where also birds and butterflies live.

Many cities are so beautiful, I grant you that;
In awe I visited many times.
Admired the artistry of buildings famed
of skill and design, of achievements seeming greater than man.

I love visiting these but find the noise and rush,
the tensions and fumes of the streets too much.
Although exciting pulse will attract.

All these thoughts matter, have validity,
but don’t we really belong
with those we love unconditionally
as they do us.

Know us and love us, 
Just for what we are, simply you or I.

© miriam ivarson

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DOUBTING


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DOUBTING

Are we ever good enough to create,
be it in writing or paint?
Doubts that seems like a plague
or might it just make us strive?

Strive to create our utmost, our best.

Does a seed ever doubt itself
as it falls to the ground?
Does it feel small and inferior?
I believe it just does sow.

Follow its purpose and beauty on Earth.

Yet mankind seems doomed to hesitate,
to doubt, belittle and judge;
In lieu of fulfilling gifts we have.
Even the masters suffered this scourge.

Yet their creations lifted others high
Often after they left this Earth,
still doubting themselves.
That is sad.

We might be amateurs or maybe great,
Few will know …
Until after they are dead.

I do hope we all then can smile
wherever we are
and be content with our work,
The light it could spread.

C/ miriam ivarson 

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