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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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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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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ETHEREAL SEA

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ETHEREAL SEA

So many faces you have!
How I love everyone,
Did you bid the sun and clouds
     to be just so today?

To show your ethereal, inner Self,
whilst the sky took advantage,
used the mirror you bestowed;
Like Narcissus admiring what it saw,

Your face on a stormy day;
fearsome, mighty drama on display,
No theatre could this attain,

The sky follows suit
clouds so magnificent, in dark hues,
At times the sun glints through

to remind who is the Star
of this eternal Show.

@ miriam ivarson

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CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

 

      CHANCE ENCOUNTERS                                          

      I met a gracious lady, she smiled,
      light lit her eyes;
      I dropped a curtsy to the wise woman
      showing my respect.
      Do we honour those wiser than us, often enough;

     The Lady spoke to me, we shared,
     experiences of life.
     of joys, pains and love.
     Her road was gilded but her heart had bled,
     my mother would love her, that is enough said.

     We walked among  roses, talked about heroes,
     of our children, with humour and delight, 
     about countries and people.
     About the sky, the oceans and nature’s force.

     We found unity.

     I walked up a mountain in a far away land,
     met a Shepherd resting with his flock.
     You have come, he said, seeking long
     please sit down, share my fare.

     Quietly I did as the old man said.

     We talked softly about life,
     its passions and grieves, it’s beauty and joy.
     What can you hear, the old man asked
     I was quiet for a while, then said;

     The mountain stream, the wind through the grass.

     The old man smiled and his eyes shone bright.
     You have come a long way, he said
     but you found the core of peace.

     Do never forget the mountain stream, the wind
     Let stillness and wonder live in your soul.

     © miriam ivarson

The creek (crick) outside our balcony

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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CHURCH BELLS CALLING

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We are approaching the end of this year and readying ourselves to greet 2018, perhaps wondering about the joys and trials it might bring.

One sound that always plays a big role on New Year’s Eve is the Church bells. The idea of sharing my thoughts came whilst listening to the local Church atop the hill ring out every Thursday evening. Spreading quieting sounds mixed with gladness.

Every week the bellringers practice diligently. I always feel a certain awe and peace as the bells ring out across the villages and hamlets. A stillness falls among all the busyness. I hope many of you have the pleasure of hearing the same wherever you live.

Back to New Year bell ringing. I was going to send you a poem read each year in all cities and villages in Sweden. The squares are packed with people whilst at midnight the poem “Nyårsklockan” is read. I had until today thought this was a Swedish poem but looking for a suitable video I found that it is originally written by Lord Tennyson. 

A Swedish poet translated the poem and a few years after Tennyson’s death it became the big Swedish tradition. So the countries share the love for one great poem.

Hence you will understand that I am giving you this beautiful poem by Tennyson and make no attempt to write one myself. 

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Ring out, wild bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
   The flying cloud, the frosty light:
   The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
   The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
   For those that here we see no more;
   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
   And ancient forms of party strife;
   Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
   The faithless coldness of the times;
   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
   The civic slander and the spite;
   Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
   Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
   Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809 – 1892
The poem was first published 1850.

 

MACKEREL SKY

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MACKEREL SKY

One morning I saw
a sky so sheer, a mackerel sky,
though its colours were
pink, pearl grey and blue;

In awe I also watched
the sun light a bush in bright red,
followed by one in gold;
Breakfast was put on hold,

it struck me that I saw love on display,
Love of life itself;
Let the dawning day be our guide
open our eyes and mind.

All this I remember 
on a sad and grey day,
when the sky seemed
to have drunk,
All colour from Earth,

And lost it somewhere.

Memories of bright days
sustain my heart;
In defiance I light candles, everywhere.
I even light a Star,

It shines in my window now.

© miriam ivarson

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