HERE AND BEYOND

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HERE  AND  BEYOND

There is something beyond the mountains
Beyond the sun, beyond the stars,
beyond my burning, longing heart;

A yearning for Cosmos to fill the soul
with its song so pure and serene.

Sounds from oceans, lakes and forests
fill us with joy and peace,
how can there be more beyond?
I just know there is.

Looking at the complexity, the beauty of a rose
residing on the table as I write,
Does it also long for more or does it know;
The wonder of the Whole.

May I never be blind to the universe
held in a flower, a tree 
nor to the glory of a human heart.

I feel the greatness of the Whole 
is beyond the understanding of our minds.
Still, it is there, giving its gifts each day.

© miriam ivarson

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TEMPEST

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TEMPEST

Wild and relentless the storm roared,
its might irresistible;
Fearsome force
snapping and erasing so much in its way.

Trees that looked so mighty yesterday
are now mere cricket bats and sticks,
as the winds, play and snap and throw them
Here and there.

The taller the trees, the easier they fall
and yet they looked so gigantic the day before,
when I walked and looked in awe.
Short trees and bushes fare well,

as they spin and bend with the wind.

Poor Daffodils didn’t stand a chance,
Their long slender stems easily snapped.

Garden furniture on the deck were but toys,
easily re-arranged. They slid,
they spun and were placed
Here and there.

Tempest was playing garden design.

As to the fences, the Storm didn’t much care,
gaps appeared easily, at random it seemed,
creating new views and a haven for dogs.
who before only had one garden but now were free.

Me? I had plans for today. Makes me laugh,
how little we know about our days.
As we write our lists, our ambitious agendas.

This is how come I trouble you this morning,
having thrown my list to the wind.

© miriam ivarson

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BREATHING

 

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Mr Owl above, wisely tells me that we teach best what we need to learn.
An old adage I tell him but admit I don’t always listen. Hmm …

The first and most spontaneous gift at birth is the breath.
Yet, we often manage to mess even this up. Makes me both laugh and cry,
are we both too clever and too ignorant?

Either way, this little poem presented itself and perhaps I am not the only one
to recognise this phenomenon of breathing.

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BREATHING

to the rhythm of the waves,
To the sounds of strong winds
through the forests and glades;
The sighing of reeds by the lake.

Letting breath flow deeply and easily
in harmony with them,
Replenishing body and mind.

Our lives begin on Earth with the first breath,
it ends with the last;
Thus follows that we should nourish and fill
this precious vessel, this gift,

With oxygen freely supplied from each tree,
from all living nature.

So walk straight, fill the lungs
make every cell sing,
with the fervour of a little bird;

At night let easy cadency sustain.

Our heartbeats will slow, to the pulse
of a two stroke diesel;
As it propels the skiff at sea.

All it takes is to be,
in tune with the Whole.

c/ miriam ivarson

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Dignity in Storm

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Dignity in Storm

The Poplar, so statuesque 
reaching for the sky,
in its richness and elegance;
Fearlessly risking a great fall.

The spruce, so mighty,
more yielding in its strength;
Dancing its wild dance, 
in rhythm with the wind.

Beautiful are the Birches
gracefully bending down,
Letting storm and gusts pass;
With ease rising up again.

Sacred are they all
in their acceptance and grace;
I see them as part of us
and we of them.

Opening our minds and hearts
we give the trees;
Recognition of their own selves,
their sacredness and dignity.

As they give the same to us.

© miriam ivarson

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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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