GIFTS YOU CAN’T WRAP
To celebrate, to love and give,
all natural impulses for those we love,
for anyone that made your heart smile
who held your hand when times were hard;
And danced with you in sun and rain.
Gifts wrapped in beautiful paper and bows
are a treasure to cherish,
The contents can make you squeal with joy
and hug the person who knew you so.
On my birthday the other day I found,
often the best gifts don’t come wrapped.
A surprise morning breakfast prepared by a friend
with all your favourite things.
Candle lit and with Buck’s Fizz as starter.
Door bell ringing, delivery of so many flowers
I got hidden behind, laughing at the beauty,
Laughing at the balloon, like a little girl.
A message to get ready for a car arriving at noon,
Bringing us all to the sea and a little town,
for awesome walk in the sun
Among barge boats, beach and birds.
I just smiled.
Oh, a lunch on the quay side was included too;
Driving home my eyes shone with tears of joy.
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
Your eyes shine bright like rays of morning sun,
your smile sweet as soft rain on summer grass.
How I dream to behold you each day;
Maybe taste those lips with time.
I saw you again this morning in the meadow field,
arms stretched, greeting the sun;
Maybe I could write her a verse, I thought
Although I am no Shakespeare, Donne or Keats.
So I walked down the bluff, to the sea
picked seashells and stones in many colours,
they were exquisite and shone in the light;
I placed them all in a big leaf.
With courage I walked to the Meadow girl and said;
My name is John, would you please accept this gift,
so simple, only pebbles and shells.
They each shine like you.
Thank you John, said the meadow girl,
Would you please sit for a while.
© miriam ivarson