BUBBLES RISING

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BUBBLES RISING

Laughter and stillness,
a powerful blend
creating song in harmony,

expanding our deeper Self
Pure cymbals in hallowed room.

May we guard these gifts
keep them bright and true,
Free from discord and pretense;

Laughter ascends from the soul
stillness the pure mountain pool,
Where bubbles can rise

Transparent and true.

© miriam ivarson

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DEVOTION

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DEVOTION

he said, the young man at my side
“Now I understand.”

Sitting in a mighty Cathedral for the first time,
this beautiful young man just looked;
his eyes followed the marble pillars, the ceilings;
work of incredible beauty and strength.
I kept quiet whilst he drank it in.
After a while, with unshed tears shimmering he said:
“Now I understand” 
It is Devotion “.
So simple, so big his words came.

I couldn’t believe in any religions, they all fight and kill.
Same with politics, he said. They haven’t understood us
at all.
It is Devotion, it is the best word I can think, 
said the 16 year old.

He made tears fill my eyes; I love him so.
I took his hand and and said; “ I see God in your face”
I also hear him in music you create.
We shared a moment that will forever last.

I look at your face and I see God,
also in music from the heart;
I see him in a great paintings too,
I hear God in the whispering grass.

So don’t paint God with long beard
He might be a she – or a storming cloud;
the Sun that warms and give light,
or the smiling moon keeping watch at night.

Create with passion and devotion
in shimmering marble, coloured glass;
in the music you hear in your heart;
We are all part of the Stars.

© miriam ivarson                     

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A FLOWER TO BEHOLD

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To dream the impossible dream, is that what we do? All of us who believe in  harmony among people on our Planet?
Who dream of of peace for Earth itself?

I am a dreamer and in spite of some shrugging shoulders I intend to remain so.   

I have an inkling that the majority of people share this very  dream. It might seem futile to an observer of world events but we have to look closer at all who surround us in our daily life.
At all who join together in joys and sorrows. Who give a supporting arm when needed, a caring word for a fellow being, a smile for those we meet. 

We feel the bond that links us in spite of different world opinions. We inhabit this Earth, we need each other.

There is much cruelty in our world and sickness of mind. The more I observe people around me I am however convinced that the majority believe in the good in man and dare display it in their daily life

So let us make our voices heard, express ourselves, each in their own way.
Spread sunshine and hope where we go.

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A FLOWER TO BEHOLD                               

May all the world’s leaders
around the table,
Be given a flower to behold.
To study in silence, fifteen minutes or more,
its delicacy, serenity and peace;

Quieting anger and unrest.

Don’t let ego, hunger for power and greed,
stand in the way of creating a world,
Fit for all.
Listen to people of the world,
open your hearts, your souls;

Can you hear their hunger and dreams,
Hunger for beauty, peace, meaning and truth.

Allow us all to shine like the flowers,
in tune with creation;
End the wars, killings, cruelty.
Free every child, woman and man.

Embrace humility, quietness, love
so you can hear, can understand;
Abnormality of wars,
don’t trample on life
don’t crush it to death.

The alternative is grim;
Obliteration of this Earth,
Death to a wondrous gift.
To dust you will turn us all.

An appalling and shameful deed

© 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.

 

OUR VILLAGE

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OUR VILLAGE

Togetherness, care, listening and love are some of the major ingredients that binds a village to a homogenous place of comfort – of home.

During the time I have been part of the blogging there have been so many events, so many words and gestures that have warmed and filled me.

Voices from every corner of the world. An amazing feeling. Through words we manage to make ourselves real and as in any conversation we reveal more and more of who we really are under the layers of politesse and traditions. The being that is not just formed by other’s opinions but dare seek out their own. 

I feel great gratitude to be part of this Village and may we all keep striving for continued generosity and sharing.

As I cant give you any fun little gifts I send all warm hugs and ask you to join hands for a huge ring dance.

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OUR VILLAGE

You are all my friends, I thought with warmth
as I scanned each icon and face
of those who came to say hello,
maybe even stayed a while;

Shared the view from my window,

A rush of love shot through my heart,
I could hear your voices, your words
as you told of thoughts and events,
Also listened to mine;

I felt and partook in your light and dark
we also shared angst,
Questions of what life is about,
joy for all we are given.

Like a village we are,
talking in the square or coffee shop;
Sharing laughs and tears,
you matter much, each one of you,

Much more than I knew
I hope you understand.

Without knowing you helped me
through some hard times,
made my heart sing a new song;
Your kind words gave me confidence;

Confidence to sing.

© miriam ivarson

JUST RESTING…

To all friends out there I want to say; in a few months you will find that my poem comes true. At least part of it, the second part might remain a mystery. I would then ask: ‘Isn’t life itself a wonderful mystery revealing itself as we walk along.’

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Just resting

Now the leaves are gone
the structure of the trees revealed;
strong, complex, intricate statues,
Some with delicate lace crowns.
Others with powerful arms,

all reaching for the sky.

Humbling me, who thought all was dying,
when really they are – just resting,
preparing for new life.
Standing in grace, strength and beauty.
waiting for birds and buds.

I’ve met people like that,
Old people with strong souls,
rich lives led in love,
In awareness;

Eyes shining bright.
Smiles full of mystery,
abundance of wisdom gained.
They see you, see into your soul,
their words of truth sink in,

balm on troubled heart.

May we cherish this era of trees
Of women and men,
see the beauty of their calm
with stillness and grace;

Secret smiles filled
with humour and mystique.

© miriam ivarson

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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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UPON A MOUNTAIN

In honour of Native Americans

I have had the great pleasure visiting United States a number of
times and although each journey has brought experiences of wonder and
excitement, there is one part of a journey that really gave me both
a physical and spiritual high.

Although I had spent a couple of days in Nashville and had the most 
fantastic time, being so happy there that I just wanted to stay – it was Smokey Mountains that stole my heart. 

I was unprepared for its beauty and grandeur and also how much of its
history I would feel and learn by watching, reading and listening.

This was for more than 1000 years the home of mainly the Native 
American tribe, the Cherokees. Now it is America’s most visited 
National Park and it is still free to travel in there. I was lucky as there were no crowds there during the visit. That brought home the stillness so much vividly. 
 

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This visit did naturally bring forth some poems and the one below started as a hum during the days up on these mountains. So really it could be a lyric or a poem as I was humming along whilst writing.
This was a first anything like it happened to me.

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Upon a Mountain

As I stood upon a mountain high
with a feeling I never known before,
Elation, awe and wonder filled my soul
as tears spilled from brim-filled heart.

Before me lay deep valleys, lofty mountains soared,
a chain of beauty and grandeur quietening mind.
Trying to comprehend that of this I was a part,
Felt so small and yet I flew;

Knowing a love pure and true.

On the bluff stood the most lonely Pine
or so I thought,
but it was strong and filled with joy
As each day life filled every atom and cell,

knowing itself in calmness and bliss
belonging to these mountains where it grew,
Loving them unquestioningly, unreserved.

Quietly I sat down by the Pine
leaning gently against its old trunk,
drinking in the beauty of majestic strength,
Until total love filled my every pore;

Feeling this was more than I could ask
or seldom known before.

© miriam ivarson

DREAM OF LOVE

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The other morning I read the quote below by Khalil Gibran.

“ For thoughts is a bird of space,
that in cage of words may indeed unfold its wings
but cannot fly.”

This brought me up abruptly, I had dreamt that my words might    
help someone fly. Just as I know how often I read and feel my
spirit lighten and with a deep breath – fly. Above daily worries or
concerns.

So I debated gently with Khalil Gibran and put forth that whilst 
reading the words became thoughts again and could fly.

Well, the verdict is out but I do so hope I am right. You who take 
time to read this today are invited to be the judges.

Meanwhile I give you a little poem below.

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DREAM OF LOVE

With beautiful words you drew me in,
my heart thawed, buds opened,
to promises of rain drops, gentle and kind;
Of love and shelter from storms,

Wows to always be there, to love.
Light candles in the dark of the night,
sing lullabies;
Hold me when fears shook
petals that now dared bloom.

Alluring they are, these dreams;
Do they stand the test of time?
Beautiful words in the wind;
no foundation was built.

I now know, I would rather hold a hand
as I climb a stile,
a hand warm and firm,
a smile as we follow the path,

through woodlands, past lakes,
stopping in awe of hills afar.
So, don’t promise me the moon and the stars,
Just let me rest in your heart;

with your hand firmly holding mine,
your eyes and smile be the stars.

© miriam ivarson

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Immeasurable Word

 

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Immeasurable Word

Freedom
Simple and pure
as a child’s first smile;
Often harnessed, tied, used
by man,
in pursuit of power and gain.

Dictats, dogmas, rules,
must be obeyed, followed,
Roles played.
Crushing the spirit, the mind,
creating slaves.

Writers, poets, artists protest,
try to make sense;
At times succeed
At times condemned,

Their voices are heard
Thoughts are stirred.

Burden of Freedom
this beautiful song,
puzzled me as young.
Burden?  Freedom?
The combination seemed wrong.

Freedom from chains
of fear accepted too long,
habitual, noticed no more;
only a yearning for something lost.

It takes courage to go
to break out,
So much easier to stay;
With the tribe,

then to be judged,
Ousted from the club.

We have obligations to fulfill
but don’t forget,
duty to ourselves
our own destiny,

So open that door,
you can reach.
Walk out unchained,
Free
perhaps condemned;

Your spirit will fly,

into the blinding light;
Follow your dreams, 
with peace and joy,
At times pain.

Courage is at the core.

© miriam ivarson