Glowing from within
Rose’s ethereal beauty
Light in the darkness
c/ miriam
CURLING EDGE
CURLING EDGE
It is dying now, we might think
watching a leaf with a big brown speckle
and curling edges;
Suddenly though, it plays with sun rays,
and shines in gold and green
The brown fleck looks like a decoration.
Watching this Rose bush I also see
new leaves and late roses opening up.
Showing that new and old
in autumn, live together in beauty and harmony.
A Wren landing on a twig
adds to the great blessing this morning.
So it is that my first lesson of the day
also becomes my blessing,
Autumn is here with its shifting hues,
Cooler but certain of its purpose and rhythm.
C / miriam ivarson
Dancing the Waves
Dancing the Waves
With love and delight she moves,
skimming and dancing across the sea
Her skirts made from froth and wakes,
swinging and dipping,
Like a ball gown in a wild dance.
A wonder so to dance on a sunny day
or under a full, silvery moon,
Partner the skiff, by the tiller,
sensitive to every move.
Feeling her rush towards the horizon,
at times lifting her prow high to the sky,
As if wanting to join the birds.
Whilst sailing, dipping and soaring with ease
free from any ties.
Making us humans seem lumbered,
laden with weights
Both physical and of mind,
Yet our spirits can be free as the skiff
Can soar as the birds
Don’t let us forget as we use this wonder,
the wonder that is our lives.
Let the eyes shine clear cyan, blue or brown
sparkling bright of life loved and lived.
c/ miriam ivarson
WE ARE MORE
WE ARE MORE
I talked to the Grasshopper this morning,
asked him why do you walk and not hop?
I have been watching quite bewildered.
Grasshoppers always hop.
The Grasshopper simply said;
I learnt to walk.
It was fun and I could look around.
How fixated had I been, putting him in a box.
The “hopping box””.
Now, this made me ponder,
why and how often do we do this?
Limit others and ourselves.
With labels and categories
each fitting an appropriate box.
Like the wise Grasshopper we should know
we contain many shades and hues,
many skills and dreams.
Why deny all these for one comfortable tag?
Why not dare dream, paint, write
stay in professions we love
Yet, not let the title be you
We are all so much more.
© miriam ivarson
To Love Now
To Love Now
Not the memories past
nor the dreams of future;
Love this moment, feel and see,
banish the cataloguing brain
At least for a while.
How can we take for granted
to see the birds flitting and feed,
Singing and playing in the trees.
Or see the wonder and immensity of the sky
the grand Cupola of Cosmos above,
Just now the heavenly scents from flowers
drift through the door. Should I not just Be?
Of course I should
and say thanks for the gifts and their multitude.
I wonder if I can bring this peace through the day,
pack it firmly in a corner of my heart.
I will tell you if it worked.
Or whether packing boxes won out.
Love the Now is not a new theory,
it is the only way to live, to feel joy.
Maybe we can convince our brains
Could they possibly live in harmony?
© miriam ivarson
To a Waif
To a Waif
Come to me, my waif, my angel,
Let me wipe those tears
Let me soothe your fears.
be your harbour whilst you heal.
Tell your story if you wish,
I am there, I will hold
whilst stormy tales are told.
Until your cracking heart is cleansed.
Then rock you gently
as healing tears fall.
Like a willow in golden light
You will again dance free,
lift head and arms to the sky.
Free again. Unchained.
I pray you will trust anew,
dare reach out a hand
and I pray it will be mine.
c/ miriam ivarson
Science and Space
Science and space
Driven by passion and hunger
fuelled by mystical questions about life.
How come, who are we, why does it work?
Mysticism is simply the unasked answer within,
an age old wisdom knowing right from wrong.
Knowing what heals a wound
be it of the body or soul.
Does it not then make perfect sense
that the two work together honourably.
Listen, test, measure
Letting the answer be in tune and respect.
Our bodies, universe, are all vibrational frequencies
Fine tuned at best,
would it then follow that tuning is vital,
Creator, healer of wounds.
Used in harmony with science for the solid,
creating knowledge that can heal or harm.
There is no sound without silence
There is no science without mysticism.
C / miriam ivarson
STANDING TALL
Enticingly among rocks
Purple flower glows with joy and life
Viewing sky and sea.
So achingly blue and vast.
c/ miriam ivarson
Invisible Grace
INVISIBLE GRACE
Sat in the sun this morning
among bushes, flowers and trees.
among birds, butterflies and bees
Some big, some small, all in harmony
As was I under favourite arbour
dressed in Honeysuckle and Clematis
Total stillness resided in my soul,
I felt perfect peace
Part of nature’s incredible gifts.
Sadly we humans often lose this inheritance
looking at imagined or real problems ahead,
fears that eat the soul which was born to just be
Part of the wonder of universe, of a garden, a song.
I see now that when I move, a new garden will be my goal
My first act of creation somewhere new,
make a haven for birds, flowers and trees
and for me
Somewhere were you can sit alone or with friends
thanking for the wonder that is.
And smile
As we refill ourselves with new vitality.
© miriam ivarson
Fear FEAR Fear
Fear Fear Fear
Suddenly the dark balloon bursts,
with force scattering to the ground
ashes and fragments in multitude,
insignificant now, once content is revealed;
Total silence descends, stillness arrives.
Yet I am bewildered by this drama.
Silence, total silence descends,
Lucidity in quietness, like a flower, grows.
Whilst the wind blows ashes and fragments away.
The sky is so very blue, painfully so,
I couldn’t see that before.
What happened
what was actually in the this fearsome balloon?
It blocked out all light.
Behind the ‘zeppelin’, so filled with fear and doubt
an exciting new adventure was waiting;
Was calling my name.
Whilst frightened I hid below,
unable to accept what it held.
Now I can see the blue sky again, feel the sun
whilst walking, at times run,
Towards the adventure ahead.
Let my bare feet touch the ground
hair blowing free in the wind,
Skin kissed by the sun and breeze.
© miriam ivarson
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