THE PAINTBOX

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THE PAINTBOX

I opened the curtains and saw
Heaven spilling out colours,
the whole paintbox seemed to flow
Painting the sky

with abundance and delight.

Have I got enough colours in my box,
Could I also have a go?
I feel intimidated by the artwork above
Still, what fun to try.

Let the brain take a backseat, be like a child
Let heart and fun flow through the hand.
Fail, no I can’t;
Colour will be there
and who is to judge.

A flock of swifts fly bypass and say,
No failures if you follow your heart,
Follow your instinct and dreams.
Banish false pride.

© miriam ivarson

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WHERE IS IT NOW

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I wrote the poem / lyric below a couple
of weeks ago and smiled at its seeming 
childishness. Snippets of strong memories
we all have but what is this. A song? A poem?

Listening to people in America talk with such
glow about Thanksgiving and family togetherness
I revisited this poem and realised.
It is just that, praise and gratitude to a home 
and people who made it so warm and safe.

So, with this I wish you across the Atlantic a
Happy Thanksgiving and all of us gratitude to 
love given in any form.

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WHERE IS IT NOW

I once had a dream
such a beautiful dream,
But the dream flew elsewhere;

I now wonder, where is it now,
is the ether keeping it away?

I once had a doll from Aberdeen,
I loved her so dearly
She even could say ‘mama’,

I often wonder, where is she now,
did the loft fairy take her away?

I once had Red skiing boots,
they were so very new,
Smelled sweet and shone,

I wonder, where are they now,
are they still skiing, all red?

I once had a hut high among the rocks,
we built it ourselves,
It was a most wonderful place.

I just wonder, is it still there,
home for other young to dream?

All the treasures I once had
that gave me so much joy,
they still make me warm;

I only wonder, as they live in my heart
are they happy,
Knowing they are loved?

© miriam ivarson

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CANDYFLOSS LIGHT

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Candy floss Light

The powerful display by masters
by setting sun over snow and dark wood,
In shadows, on light drenched ground
How can one wish for more;

In silent awe I sit with a friend
we whisper quietly our awe,
To talk loud seems a sacrilege,
in this Temple not built by man.

For a while the snow had taken
hues of bright white with diamonds aglow.
With light blue shades
and deeper blues, like a fathomless lake,
shadows the mighty forest threw;

As sun sets further, colours of candy floss,
soft pink coloured the snow,
Lit it as from within, such eerie light,
against black-green  forest behind;

The sun sank into the sea,
Light still glowed
As now the full moon lit the scene,
even she was pink.

@ miriam ivarson

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And one photo just to make you smile and wish you a Happy Weekend.

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Photos by miriam ivarson

THE BOX

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The Box                            

He tried to put me in a box,
not a happy choice.
Put a cat in a box,
disaster will befall
So, don’t try with me.

I warn you, I will mess up
every box on that form will overflow.
When and where were I born?
Do you work or not.

I only sprained my toe.
I say with a sigh.

Wherever we go, we tick boxes,
fill in forms with narrow spaces for lives lived.
panic, the line is too short,
My life doesn’t fit at all.

I pray there will never be a form,
a form for a “home” for the old.
I couldn’t do that at all.
I rather take what I own, and flee.
To somewhere with no boxes to fill.

Where young and old live together
With honour, respect and joy.
Where we all share and help.
Live in dignity.

© miriam ivarson

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THE MATCHBOXES

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I had this poem ready to publish on Saturday morning but suddenly
found myself in my very doubting Thomas mood.
What am I giving? A sweet story from childhood.

My spirit got low and I got a feeling of meaninglessness when I 
listened and looked at events in the world.
This planet we say we love but yet destroy.

If it was lack of scientific knowledge we could be forgiven but can 
complacency for the sake of earning more money be forgiven.
Consequences are known but hidden in strongholds. After all, we will 
all be gone when the worst events take place. Our children, grandchildren and future generations are left to deal with the result.

Then, for some unknown reason I read a poem by “Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
‘To sin by silence, when we should protest, makes cowards out of man”
Reading up about this woman I was in tears and you can understand why
I felt doubts about what I am writing. Although I have attempted poems on this subject in e.g. “Flower to behold”, I feel we all can say it stronger and with passion. Believing so matters.

Meanwhile I will after all post my peaceful poem as we also need to know what is important in life. 

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THE MATCHBOXES

I remember him clearly, my gamlefarfar
though I was only five, six and seven;
First memory to enter my conscious being
is one of happiness and warmth,
His eyes glinting like sun on sea, with mystery,
as they rested on me. 

I was told he is my gamlefarfar,
that didn’t mean much to me;
It does mean he is my kin.

I know I will find him in his treasured workshop,
slowly I open the door, he waves me in;
On the workbench are placed
some matchboxes,
I know they are for me,

excited I walk forward
give a curtsy, as our eyes speak,
His with humour and love,
mine shy and happy.

He has tought me to build
out of match boxes,
furnitures for my tiny dolls;
he left out paint and glue;

Happily I set to 
using fantasy and dreams
all the while feeling his warmth.

He smokes a pipe ever now and again
whilst creating woodwork so grand,
I am in awe and keep quiet
as not to disturb,
but often I catch his eyes on me, with that glint.

As his pipe burns out,
we work together 
in total harmony,

I hope he also will tell me a tale.

© miriam ivarson

gamlefarfar = great grandfather

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ILLUSORY

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This morning, dear friends, I will post you a poem about love.
Before doing so I was going for a walk and it came to me that 
Love in all its forms must be the subject most written about.
The subject causing most pain and elation.

In every art form it has been written, painted, sculpted and sang about.
Listening to songs today by the very young I was struck by how
similar the lyrics are from those so long ago. 
Lyrics about break-ups – not being able to survive them. About 
the shining stars in each others eyes when love rises high and 
you can all help me fill in the rest. 

I do therefore surmise that love is the biggest force and may we tend
it with the care and respect it deserves.

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ILLUSORY

Love between humans can be,
elations and emotions run high
Tainted by ownership; you are mine.
Bonds that tie the souls down,
To me you belong.

We give our hearts in trust,
To keep in tenderness,
in infinite care;
How then to avoid the trap, you are mine?
You cannot own her, nor she you.

Only unbound can you dance together
free as the wind,
Forever wanting to live
in each other’s hearts. 
A nourishing, fulfilling love.

When we meet first time, a seismic force
inexplicably draw us together;
Your eyes meet and so do your hands,
as you dance, feeling
you always belonged. 

Walking along lakes, canals, in parks
Feelings of belonging just grow.
Surety, calmness; we belong
Always did.

Resting in each other’s arms, listening;
realizing Mozart never did sound
powerful, ethereal like this.
Feelings of utter peace, 
As if life and death are the same.

As long as we stay in each other’s hearts.

© miriam ivarson

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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