Borrow my place

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Borrow my place

I watch them pass, children and adults
Humans of all ages, walking to school.
Skipping, hopping, running,
strolling, marching,
some slowly proceeding.

Just like the tempo of nature itself
we vary our strides, as time goes by.
Girls and boys from four to eleven;
Parents, grandparents, all ages.

All manner of mastering the hill
looking happy this sunny morn.

What delights me most are the bonds I see,
a mother and daughter giggling together,
a father running with his child on the shoulders,
a grandmother with and adoring girl by the hand.

Laughing together.
As do many children whilst skipping ahead.

That is when I feel reporters should borrow my place
by the sunny window, facing the road.
What pictures and stories on the first page,
replacing the grim and the dark.

Fill the papers with vignettes of our daily lives,
There is so much beauty in a smile,
contentment in a bakery or a store.
People sharing lives and caring for one another.

Creating, writing, painting,
planting gardens.
Making homes a place of fun,
of comfort and love.

A sanctuary
A place to just be.

© miriam ivarson

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Today I walked …

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Today I walked … 
I walked along the strand
Yes,
I walked along the Sea today,
it felt like home, I belonged.

Shingles and sand felt easy underfoot
the air a healing balm,
I felt tingling, alive and strong.

Came evening the moon cast
a street of silver on the sea,
Inviting to a dreamy walk;
Bedazzled I wanted to try.

Next morning the sun painted
an avenue of colours on the sea,
as not to be outdone;
Joyful I wanted to dance.

We love them both, the Moon and the Sun,
Moon with her mysterious faces and charms
enthralls us, draws us in.
The Sun switches on his light and heat;
Bestows life giving warmth.

Yet, without the Sea they would lose,
lose the power to provide life or to enthrall.

So I will stay by the Sea,
breathe its invigorating air;
Walk along the shores and often stop;
To admire the grandiose displays.

Feel the enigma of all three.

Hear music as the hymns from Cosmos
meets the songs from the oceans vast.

© miriam ivarson

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FORGIVE – FORGET

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FORGIVE – FORGET

Can we forgive ourselves
wrong choices and mistakes,
smile at decisions that shone?
Both part of learning and growth.

Part of the fabric of life.

Can we forgive others for pain they caused,
foul actions and words?
Not brood or let them darken our days?
Can we hurl burdens overboard.

How easy the ship would sail, unladed.

I believe we can forgive,
I wonder, what about forget?
How would it feel to toss all darkness to the winds.

Would the sun shine brighter
would we skip with joy?

Our brain holds memories,
can there still be acceptance and peace?
I believe so,
we can put the millstones down
one by one.

Don’t be slaves, carrying weights long gone;
Let them be absorbed by Cosmos so vast,
where neither time nor thought exist.

Imagine to feel free,
feel the joy of dance
see the sunset, really behold.

Forgive yourself and others
walk with knowledge and no rancour,
smile at passers by.

In sunshine or soft rain.

© miriam ivarson

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SNOW DROP

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SNOW DROP

What a joy looking through the window,
this morning was special;
Frost had given way to gentle sun.

Above all, a whole hamlet of Snowdrops sang,
I promise you, they really did.
Dressed in shining white against darker hues,
they called us to celebrate too.

To celebrate the return of life,
from hidden slumber in the ground.

I looked up at the Lilac tree above
and smiled,
It wouldn’t be outdone, their buds were swollen
also singing of spring.

Blackbirds and Robins were feeding on the lawn,
My special Robin came to the windowsill.
We twittered together of many things
and he taught me to sing.

I opened the window and fed him sunflower seeds,
He twittered happily so I think he was pleased.

Now, I am twittering to you,
glad of the lesson I learnt;
There is always beauty in each day.

I better go, my coffee is getting cold.

© miriam ivarson

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Loving heart

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Loving Heart

I talked to my heart this morning
in the quiet of the dawn;
It was restive and had lost its rhythm,
I felt it had been asked too much

carrying burdens and worries each day.

I put my hand above this faithful heart
that kept working day and night,
In spite of work, worry, sorrow and strain
at around 100,000 beats a day.

Now it was confused and had lost its way,
the rhythm was fractured and danced;
Seemingly any which way.

So I whispered, I love you dear heart,
I will help, together we will find peace again.
I asked forgiveness for thoughtlessness.

Sweetly I talked also to the brain, we agreed,
stress and hurry should be banned,
A new regime was to begin
one of trust and calm.

So with this in mind, I started with calmer steps,
lit some candles for breakfast and watched,
just observed, buds on bushes and trees;
Rain watering them all and sun soon to warm.

I wanted to restart in harmony with them;
Allowing healing powers to flow.

© miriam ivarson

G U I D E

 

Music, the language that crosses all barriers.
What would we do without it? Some have to and
I hope they will hear it deep within.

One of my passions is music and I had Utube playing
yesterday. I saw and heard a new song come up by name
of GUIDE. I listened with delight to this quite new and 
young composer and thought of how lately I have written
about guidance in different forms.

With this in mind I changed my usual post pattern and
decided to share the song with you with my words underneath. 

Gently and sweetly they fall,
each note a glittering raindrop;
with joy they lead me forward
Then with great release rise and soar.

All the time with harmonies and rhythms,
incredibly enticing and with surety;
Yes, Guide is such a perfect word
I say to myself as the end is reached.

Leaving me wanting more

© miriam ivarson

 

Blessings

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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

HOLD THE HELM

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HOLD THE HELM

Fear, pride and joy filled my being
I was only eight when my father said;
Come here and stand on this box,
I will show you how to steer 
whilst I check the machines below.

The trawler was huge, how could he trust,
a little girl standing on a box?
I trusted him, but fear was putting up a fight;
Sure I can’t do this, look at the waves,
the enormous rolling waves.

Still, I listened to his instructions, drank them in;
Repeated the beacon to hold in sight.
Excitement and joy overtook me for a while
as the boat did obey my hands on the mighty wheel;

I could hardly believe; My pride grew miles.

Suddenly the vessel was shifted by waves,
my mark disappeared to the right,
Fearful I managed to steer back on course,
took a deep sigh but tension replaced trust.

Another big wave threw me off course;
Now the marker was to the left,
desperately I steered straight again,

I am afraid we wove a wavering path.

When finally, to my relief, my father came back
I was quick to relinquish the helm.

We turned our heads and looked at the path,
the swirling trail behind.
The path I had steered the ship, with my hands.
He smiled and gave me a hug.

You tried so hard but didn’t know how to trust,
the wave would bring you straight back,
Besides, I was always there and felt every move.

Keep your eyes steady on your goal
but relax as well
don’t forget to trust yourself,

also remember, I am always there.

Should a storm blow up, sail against it,
hold firm and ride it out,
Once it is over, return to your goal;
To your beacon.

Without fear continue your path,
Feel the harmony between yourself,
the sea and the sky.

© miriam ivarson 

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Never forget Love

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Never forget Love

Watching a craftsman one day
I was taken with his calm and skill,
how every sanding, sawing and nail
just seemed to flow from his hands;

Making me wonder about intelligence.

Often those with high degrees and titles
are set above the artisans and their crafts;
Above the unity of heart and action
whilst humming a tune

or working in silence, serene.

Intelligence comes in many forms
But Love only in one,
without which, all created becomes dust;
Knowledge without real life.

Passion and harmony give life to all you do,
to the surgeon’s knife, to the baker’s hands,
To the painter’s brush, to the welder’s torch;
Never forget Love. 

Healing where intellect still debates,
Creating whilst scholars frown.

At best, live in harmony with both.

© miriam ivarson

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