Insurmountable

LITTLE STONE

LITTLE STONE

I held a little granite stone
in my hand
this morning.

It spread warmth and peace
told about all it met.
Vast oceans, sands and light;
All compressed so very tight.

Matters from ground and sea
all telling us, about silence
about stillness that speaks;
About love.

The little stone spread energy
through my hand and mind.

© miriam ivarson

MISTAKES

MISTAKES

Why do we make mistakes
did the choices look right at the time,
did a voice whisper no, did we ignore?
Did something glitter that had us in awe ?

Was it easier to take a skip and a spin
than contemplate for a while.

Taking time now, sitting by a stream
under a Birch and Spruce,
I can see that mistakes can lead to wonders
to joys that shine and give blessings.

So I feel a peace descending ,
could some mistakes be the foundation
of the shine and fullness I feel now.

Maybe the weave I wove with so many colours
created a work of art, just so.

Yes, there would be so many colours
blues from the sky, ocean and lakes.
Colours from rocks, trees and fields.
Streaks of black from the night woven in.

c/ miriam ivarson

Honour your Life

Honour your Life

It is our honour in life
To live fully every minute we are given,
To share our song, our gifts;
To feel the joy and strength within.

See the beauty even when we hurt,
When fear tries to take hold.
Feel gratitude each morning,
give thanks at night.

Banish fatigue the days,
the days it threatens to make us fold;
Just rest.
Hear the birds feeding and singing.

See deeply the beauty
The strength of the trees.

Standing there Sentinels
reaching for the sky,
with strength, stillness and serenity;

Life just is, sun and storm
Always Is.

© miriam ivarson

Unravelling Emotions

Unravelling Emotions

I am in shock with all this relaxation
my friend said to me this morning;
Startled I thought, how could that be?

Could all the tight knots have unravelled too fast,
causing emotions to swing – all lose;
Even a bit giggly or softly smiling

As again she could feel, happiness and breeze.

It took a long gentle sleep filled with dreams,
Dreams of clouds forming shapes in the sky
of walks on soft sand along the sea.

No frightening numbers filled the morning today,
just joy of being, simply being alive.
To see white doves on neighbours roof
and small birds busy feeding in the garden,

On feeders my friend filled last night.

© miriam ivarson

Pinprick of Blue

Pinprick of Blue

Each morning I stand for a while in awe,
in front of the windows facing East.
I drink into my being the wonder of Sun’s rise;
Gradually the beauty colours my inner Self.

As the sun dramatically but calmly spreads its rays
filling the sky in glorious hues,
Colours that give praise
superior to the flight of words.

How lucky I am to share this rhythmic splendour
as Earth and sun dance.

I have seen it over oceans, over mountains
Over forests and fields,
over rooftops in hamlets and towns.

I still dream of seeing
the sun rise over desert dunes.

And yet, from Mars, our planet is but a pinprick,
pale blue , they say.
I would be homesick.
Simply loving Earth too much.

© miriam ivarson

TREASURES

TREASURES

You wonder what the two pieces
of driftwood
means to me.
They had casually been thrown up on the shore.

Pieces of beauty that travelled far
they have so much to tell
Of oceans, people, fear and hope.

If I were a painter with the fame of Van Gogh
I might paint it so you could see.
It is not just discarded wood.

They were polished by life
Roughened by salt and sand

Battered whilst still in human domain.

I shall sand them, gently polish
with natural oil.
Then make an honoured corner with
Driftwood and shells.

© miriam ivarson

photos by miriam ivarson

FOOTSTEPS

FOOTSTEPS

I close my eyes and see the ocean,
It lifts my spirit high;
Faithful and true, ever strong
it moves and stills, storms and comforts
.

The ocean was there when Earth began
and never let her down.
Its rhythm and song was Always.

A lullaby and a symphony in one.

As I drift inland, forests appear
Trees of all kind, being their faithful selves.
Raising branches and leaves
to the life giving rain and sun.

Ocean and forest, life affirming forces.
Will mankind ever understand,
the strength and love needed
to give like them.

To create life here that is harmonious
A life that gives in joy, that does not destroy.
A life that wants harmony for all,

A life that leaves creative foot steps,
Footsteps that softly raise minds high.

© miriam ivarson

photos by miriam ivarson

Enslaved

100_1136

Enslaved

The word makes me shudder and yet,
have I not been there myself? I wonder,
as I witness the seemingly subtle bonds,
that weaves a web for many of us;

Silken maybe, tighter as time goes.

Disguised under umbrella of love and fun
the bonds keep weaving with beautiful words,
with tempting events, tantalizing baits.

I wake up ever now and again and muse,
what happened to my dreams and plans.
All that meant life to me?
How easily did I abandon my gifts.

I should fly for while, to find me.
To recall and feel who I really am?
Find my dreams, my enthusiasm.
Set myself and my dreams free.

Find those who dance together
Yet leave space for all to grow,

In respect and love for each other’s Identity.

© miriam ivarson

100_1145

Full circle of life

moon-2762111_1920

Full circle of life

Moon beams on her silver hair
brought an unearthly shine,
I stared at her soft chignon;
Felt love, and longing to have the same.

I was young, my hair touched by the sun
I didn’t realise that was exquisite too.
My longing was for Grandma’s moon beams
as I basked in her twinkling smile.

We sat on the balcony overlooking the sea,
with cake, coffee and milk for me,
watching the magic sea
where the moon lit a white, silver street;

White like my Grandma’s hair, Both shimmering.

She listened with love and interest
to my worries and joys, about friends,
about what all meant.

She told me stories from a life well lived
about her Ivar, the love of her life.
So many fun anecdotes and tears in her eyes.

We went to stand in front of his big portrait
He was like no other man, she said.

Wonder if the day will come,
when my sun-kissed hair gets eclipsed
by the moon beams of silvery white.

© miriam ivarson