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
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
The Storyteller Speaks / my thoughts
It is with joy I dedicate this post to Annika whose blog I followed from the beginning and always found to be one of entertainment and wisdom.
Be it writing about a visit to a castle, traveling to foreign land or just hiding bottles in the garden and of course, her own creative stories.
The stories Annika has posted have all been of such high quality that I am among those of you who encouraged her to do an anthology. As we all know; she did! It is out and I bought an early copy. Having read The Storyteller Speak I would like to post my review as below.
*****
Annika Perry is a natural storyteller, a wordsmith of great talent. She writes at times with the language of a poet, at other times with the sharp and daring strokes of Picasso.
Sheer light infuse her pages;
Darkness where the soul cries.
Annika’s Anthology consists of stories filled with depth and entertainment. Joy and grief. Romance and thriller. They all share a deep care and love for their characters. The pace is unhurried, yet entirely without superfluous words. You are left totally absorbed in the events and settings.
How does she do it?
All I can say is … Annika, keep on writing.
I am hungry for more.
About the Book
It only takes one event to change a life. What is that action, decision, occurrence? Whose life is affected? Changed forever?
In this eclectic mix of 21 short stories, flash fiction and poetry the pendulum swings between first love and murder, from soul-destroying grief to reconciliation. The tales veer from the sweet satisfaction of revenge to new beginnings, from heart-breaking miscarriages of justice to heart-warming Christmas misadventure.
One common thread binds them all; the belief that there is no such thing as an ordinary life; they’re all extraordinary.
Open your hearts and minds as The Storyteller Speaks.
********
You can buy the book at Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com
You can connect with Annika via:
her blog: https://annikaperry.com
her twitter: https://twitter.com/AnnikaPerry68
Annika Perry Goodreads: : : https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/55576285-annika-perry
OUR VILLAGE
Togetherness, care, listening and love are some of the major ingredients that binds a village to a homogenous place of comfort – of home.
During the time I have been part of the blogging there have been so many events, so many words and gestures that have warmed and filled me.
Voices from every corner of the world. An amazing feeling. Through words we manage to make ourselves real and as in any conversation we reveal more and more of who we really are under the layers of politesse and traditions. The being that is not just formed by other’s opinions but dare seek out their own.
I feel great gratitude to be part of this Village and may we all keep striving for continued generosity and sharing.
As I cant give you any fun little gifts I send all warm hugs and ask you to join hands for a huge ring dance.
OUR VILLAGE
You are all my friends, I thought with warmth
as I scanned each icon and face
of those who came to say hello,
maybe even stayed a while;
Shared the view from my window,
A rush of love shot through my heart,
I could hear your voices, your words
as you told of thoughts and events,
Also listened to mine;
I felt and partook in your light and dark
we also shared angst,
Questions of what life is about,
joy for all we are given.
Like a village we are,
talking in the square or coffee shop;
Sharing laughs and tears,
you matter much, each one of you,
Much more than I knew
I hope you understand.
Without knowing you helped me
through some hard times,
made my heart sing a new song;
Your kind words gave me confidence;
Confidence to sing.
© miriam ivarson
MACKEREL SKY
One morning I saw
a sky so sheer, a mackerel sky,
though its colours were
pink, pearl grey and blue;
In awe I also watched
the sun light a bush in bright red,
followed by one in gold;
Breakfast was put on hold,
it struck me that I saw love on display,
Love of life itself;
Let the dawning day be our guide
open our eyes and mind.
All this I remember
on a sad and grey day,
when the sky seemed
to have drunk,
All colour from Earth,
And lost it somewhere.
Memories of bright days
sustain my heart;
In defiance I light candles, everywhere.
I even light a Star,
It shines in my window now.
© miriam ivarson
I have had the great pleasure visiting United States a number of
times and although each journey has brought experiences of wonder and
excitement, there is one part of a journey that really gave me both
a physical and spiritual high.
Although I had spent a couple of days in Nashville and had the most
fantastic time, being so happy there that I just wanted to stay – it was Smokey Mountains that stole my heart.
I was unprepared for its beauty and grandeur and also how much of its
history I would feel and learn by watching, reading and listening.
This was for more than 1000 years the home of mainly the Native
American tribe, the Cherokees. Now it is America’s most visited
National Park and it is still free to travel in there. I was lucky as there were no crowds there during the visit. That brought home the stillness so much vividly.
This visit did naturally bring forth some poems and the one below started as a hum during the days up on these mountains. So really it could be a lyric or a poem as I was humming along whilst writing.
This was a first anything like it happened to me.
Upon a Mountain
As I stood upon a mountain high
with a feeling I never known before,
Elation, awe and wonder filled my soul
as tears spilled from brim-filled heart.
Before me lay deep valleys, lofty mountains soared,
a chain of beauty and grandeur quietening mind.
Trying to comprehend that of this I was a part,
Felt so small and yet I flew;
Knowing a love pure and true.
On the bluff stood the most lonely Pine
or so I thought,
but it was strong and filled with joy
As each day life filled every atom and cell,
knowing itself in calmness and bliss
belonging to these mountains where it grew,
Loving them unquestioningly, unreserved.
Quietly I sat down by the Pine
leaning gently against its old trunk,
drinking in the beauty of majestic strength,
Until total love filled my every pore;
Feeling this was more than I could ask
or seldom known before.
© miriam ivarson
Immeasurable Word
Freedom
Simple and pure
as a child’s first smile;
Often harnessed, tied, used
by man,
in pursuit of power and gain.
Dictats, dogmas, rules,
must be obeyed, followed,
Roles played.
Crushing the spirit, the mind,
creating slaves.
Writers, poets, artists protest,
try to make sense;
At times succeed
At times condemned,
Their voices are heard
Thoughts are stirred.
Burden of Freedom
this beautiful song,
puzzled me as young.
Burden? Freedom?
The combination seemed wrong.
Freedom from chains
of fear accepted too long,
habitual, noticed no more;
only a yearning for something lost.
It takes courage to go
to break out,
So much easier to stay;
With the tribe,
then to be judged,
Ousted from the club.
We have obligations to fulfill
but don’t forget,
duty to ourselves
our own destiny,
So open that door,
you can reach.
Walk out unchained,
Free
perhaps condemned;
Your spirit will fly,
into the blinding light;
Follow your dreams,
with peace and joy,
At times pain.
Courage is at the core.
© miriam ivarson
Greek and Roman philosophers together with tribes around the world have studied the moon and created the most amazing myths and beliefs.
Each one a beautiful saga.
Scientists through the ages have also studied and learnt much about the influence between moon and earth.
To even touch upon these wonderful myths would be impossible in one blog – besides my knowledge is not deep enough. You will however find
a picture of a Goddess of the moon and reference to the myth that the moon is created from a part that was once torn away from Earth. By Mercury in one story – by an asteroid in another.
I do like that, quite romantic.
One thing is certain, the moon has through the ages enchanted mankind
and has played a big part in planning daily life. How many of us can
deny feeling the awe and romantic attraction whilst watching the moon? Be it full, waning or vexing.
Even the historic event of the first man standing on the surface of the moon has not changed this mystique.
So here I give you THE MOON.
THE MOON
Full and bright,
enchanting and serene
she draws us in.
Exercising her magical allure.
Lovers watch the moon
On a starlit night,
silvery streak across the sea;
Respond to her bewitching pull,
the power drawing them close.
To forces of the moon,
The sea will rise and fall,
twice a day, well tuned.
Mystery and marvel on display.
Once torn apart from One,
Is it a longing
between Earth and Moon;
To again be whole?
Love affair of magnitude,
Magnetism sublime.
© miriam ivarson
What triggers your emotions so that you feel the need, the urge to create, share or write them down for yourself? To paint or sculpt? What makes any of us ache with the beauty before us or the darkness?
What makes us stop and put down in one form or other what we feel just has to be shared?
I believe it is a heart full of passion and love of life.
When I go for walks, travel, mingle with friends and family; meet new people unexpectedly, there is always some encounter that stays inside and won’t be still until I put it down on paper.
So my dear friends, you are lucky that I keep my posts to one a week or you would be flooded with poetic impressions.
Mind you, there is always the press delete…..although I dearly hope to escape it.
So, another such walk resulted in the poem below.
SYMPHONY
Linseed fields shimmering in blues,
next to weaving gold of wheat,
Grass and trees in deep green
Counterpoint beyond;
Like Vincent my heart misses a beat
I want to paint it all,
in thick and rich oils,
Catch the glow;
Beauty I cannot in words convey,
show you why your heart could burst;
with joy of just being alive.
Would I then like Vincent feel,
it is not good enough?
How do I tell,
Really show the wonder of life.
I comfort us both and say,
We can but try our best.
Creation can never be caught,
only sung about,
In various media and ways;
Each using the voice we got,
Creating together, a symphony.
© miriam ivarson
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