Masked Smile
Baffled I stood there,
outside the big surgery
that dispensed Vaccine to the chosen;
A smoothly running conveyor belt.
Each one stood on colourful circles
two meters apart.
One circle line running in
One running out.
Behind a desk a friendly lady sat,
she asked my name and how I was,
I realized our voices can smile too.
Whilst behind our masks we smile
Hoping our eyes will convey,
care and togetherness.
Shared fear and hope.
© miriam ivarson
Sun on Daffodils
Liquid gold running through my heart
Birdsong sweet outside.
Blessings
Woke to a soft morning, felt whole,
warm under duvet, hands hugging my shoulders,
I smiled at the sleepy hug;
Stretched, felt every limb start to sing
as I allowed time to just be – before day begun.
Opened the curtains and saw the sun
hugging my garden, the trees, the sky;
All seemed pure and renewed,
only distant rumbles from planes high above,
Bringing people here and there.
Content with my place just now
until fate decides otherwise as mystery unfolds.
Arrived from one haven and landed in another;
I realise I am blessed.
© miriam ivarson
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
DANCE
Dance as if freedom is yours, your right,
sing as if all are free, like heaven above,
smile the guileless smile of a child;
Dance to the song of life,
history will tell me I am wrong
so will the news,
that evil is inherent in man;
That my dreams are naive,
maybe so, my friends, yet
you might also find,
your beauty, your song.
Hidden under historical wrongs;
Let us choose the light
and not imitate the throng,
nor applaud just because …
Without thought, without reflection.
Believe in you, in us, in freedom
Dance in the sun with a guileless smile.
© miriam ivarson
I had this poem ready to publish on Saturday morning but suddenly
found myself in my very doubting Thomas mood.
What am I giving? A sweet story from childhood.
My spirit got low and I got a feeling of meaninglessness when I
listened and looked at events in the world.
This planet we say we love but yet destroy.
If it was lack of scientific knowledge we could be forgiven but can
complacency for the sake of earning more money be forgiven.
Consequences are known but hidden in strongholds. After all, we will
all be gone when the worst events take place. Our children, grandchildren and future generations are left to deal with the result.
Then, for some unknown reason I read a poem by “Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
‘To sin by silence, when we should protest, makes cowards out of man”
Reading up about this woman I was in tears and you can understand why
I felt doubts about what I am writing. Although I have attempted poems on this subject in e.g. “Flower to behold”, I feel we all can say it stronger and with passion. Believing so matters.
Meanwhile I will after all post my peaceful poem as we also need to know what is important in life.
THE MATCHBOXES
I remember him clearly, my gamlefarfar
though I was only five, six and seven;
First memory to enter my conscious being
is one of happiness and warmth,
His eyes glinting like sun on sea, with mystery,
as they rested on me.
I was told he is my gamlefarfar,
that didn’t mean much to me;
It does mean he is my kin.
I know I will find him in his treasured workshop,
slowly I open the door, he waves me in;
On the workbench are placed
some matchboxes,
I know they are for me,
excited I walk forward
give a curtsy, as our eyes speak,
His with humour and love,
mine shy and happy.
He has tought me to build
out of match boxes,
furnitures for my tiny dolls;
he left out paint and glue;
Happily I set to
using fantasy and dreams
all the while feeling his warmth.
He smokes a pipe ever now and again
whilst creating woodwork so grand,
I am in awe and keep quiet
as not to disturb,
but often I catch his eyes on me, with that glint.
As his pipe burns out,
we work together
in total harmony,
I hope he also will tell me a tale.
© miriam ivarson
gamlefarfar = great grandfather
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
Bringing to you the undiscovered
Photos, art, and a little bit of LIT.
as opposed to a “not thinking chitalia”
Art, health, civilizations, photography, nature, books, recipes, etc.
Taking the journey, bumps and all
Recognizing & appreciating our oneness with Nature
Never Grow Old
The World According to Siri and Selma
what you see, it's up on you!
Words are art on paper, and for me they are the seeds of my soul.
Cogito Ergo Sum
Live life, Love life
A poetry site. (If you like this post please click, "Follow," on the right menu.)
Grumpliciousness
the world turns on a word
From Where I Stand...
Photography & Philosophy
My Window 