SECRETS

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I will not regale you long today as I feel the music
and hopefully the poem will speak for me.
I do so hope you will listen to the music, it has a         
tremendous start with musicians playing on a hill in a 
stunning location. 

 

SECRETS

Will we leave this planet
with secrets untold,
Nuggets of beauty and grief
stories of joy, maybe rue;
I fear this is so, do you agree?

Tears felled for a year or more,
playing favourite songs each night;
Because he or she was gone,

or listening to magnificent symphony
Beethoven’s Fifth it was,
resting in a warm and firm embrace
feeling death was same as life;

Float in the ether in peace never felt.

Dancing tango down the Kings Street
singing in unison, not to loud he said
the friendly policeman on beat.
Feeling exhilaration and life’s flow;

The secrets of darker hue,
those who left deep scars,
will they forever be hidden;
Like atomic waste secured.

Maybe they better remain untold?

© miriam ivarson

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BAREFOOT GIRL

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“You are led
through your lifetime
by the inner learning creature,
The playful spiritual being
that is your real self.”

quote from Richard Bach

With this beautiful quotation as introduction I give you a poem which has two clear              
layers. Isn’t it true that we are led through our lifetime, from the seeming safety of our home villages or environments to seek and carve out our own life and adventures. We might fail many times and and try again.  Without searching I guess we would not know our own truth.

I would love to hear your responses.

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BAREFOOT GIRL

        Barefoot girl ran free
        her feet in harmony;
        In harmony with earth,
        with reality.

        She smiled with pure joy.

        Barefoot girl grew up
        she did good.
        Went to the city, 
        studied law; 
        She became an attorney.

        she smiled with success.

       Barefoot girl ran in high-heeled shoes
       she felt the glow of admiration,
       she had a Penthouse apartment.
       She had happiness,
       so she thought.

       Barefoot girl went home to say hi,
       she cried,
       Her feet no longer knew the earth.

      © miriam ivarson

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photos courtesy of Pixaby

CHURCH BELLS CALLING

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We are approaching the end of this year and readying ourselves to greet 2018, perhaps wondering about the joys and trials it might bring.

One sound that always plays a big role on New Year’s Eve is the Church bells. The idea of sharing my thoughts came whilst listening to the local Church atop the hill ring out every Thursday evening. Spreading quieting sounds mixed with gladness.

Every week the bellringers practice diligently. I always feel a certain awe and peace as the bells ring out across the villages and hamlets. A stillness falls among all the busyness. I hope many of you have the pleasure of hearing the same wherever you live.

Back to New Year bell ringing. I was going to send you a poem read each year in all cities and villages in Sweden. The squares are packed with people whilst at midnight the poem “Nyårsklockan” is read. I had until today thought this was a Swedish poem but looking for a suitable video I found that it is originally written by Lord Tennyson. 

A Swedish poet translated the poem and a few years after Tennyson’s death it became the big Swedish tradition. So the countries share the love for one great poem.

Hence you will understand that I am giving you this beautiful poem by Tennyson and make no attempt to write one myself. 

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Ring out, wild bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
   The flying cloud, the frosty light:
   The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
   The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
   For those that here we see no more;
   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
   And ancient forms of party strife;
   Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
   The faithless coldness of the times;
   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
   The civic slander and the spite;
   Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
   Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
   Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809 – 1892
The poem was first published 1850.

 

The Storyteller Speaks / my thoughts

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.

COVER

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

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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.

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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

JUST RESTING…

To all friends out there I want to say; in a few months you will find that my poem comes true. At least part of it, the second part might remain a mystery. I would then ask: ‘Isn’t life itself a wonderful mystery revealing itself as we walk along.’

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Just resting

Now the leaves are gone
the structure of the trees revealed;
strong, complex, intricate statues,
Some with delicate lace crowns.
Others with powerful arms,

all reaching for the sky.

Humbling me, who thought all was dying,
when really they are – just resting,
preparing for new life.
Standing in grace, strength and beauty.
waiting for birds and buds.

I’ve met people like that,
Old people with strong souls,
rich lives led in love,
In awareness;

Eyes shining bright.
Smiles full of mystery,
abundance of wisdom gained.
They see you, see into your soul,
their words of truth sink in,

balm on troubled heart.

May we cherish this era of trees
Of women and men,
see the beauty of their calm
with stillness and grace;

Secret smiles filled
with humour and mystique.

© miriam ivarson

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UPON A MOUNTAIN

In honour of Native Americans

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. 
 

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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.

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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

FOR HAPPINESS

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For Happiness                        

Little things will suffice,
sun shining on the sea,
Night sky lit by moon and stars;
smile from beloved,
touch by caring hand.

Sharing of home-made cake,
music and dreams.
Baby’s first cry;
more precious than gold.
Soaring joy.

Young man creating, a headboard
from thick pallet wood,
sanded, glowing it stands;
showing love
For his bride and home.

Can we ever in words 
describe,
The sheerness, the depth;
of spheres’ song.

Deep happiness is such,
It soars and dips
whispers and shouts,

Morning mist across the fields,
Lit by rising sun.

© miriam ivarson

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DREAM OF LOVE

Smokey mountain view

The other morning I read the quote below by Khalil Gibran.

“ For thoughts is a bird of space,
that in cage of words may indeed unfold its wings
but cannot fly.”

This brought me up abruptly, I had dreamt that my words might    
help someone fly. Just as I know how often I read and feel my
spirit lighten and with a deep breath – fly. Above daily worries or
concerns.

So I debated gently with Khalil Gibran and put forth that whilst 
reading the words became thoughts again and could fly.

Well, the verdict is out but I do so hope I am right. You who take 
time to read this today are invited to be the judges.

Meanwhile I give you a little poem below.

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DREAM OF LOVE

With beautiful words you drew me in,
my heart thawed, buds opened,
to promises of rain drops, gentle and kind;
Of love and shelter from storms,

Wows to always be there, to love.
Light candles in the dark of the night,
sing lullabies;
Hold me when fears shook
petals that now dared bloom.

Alluring they are, these dreams;
Do they stand the test of time?
Beautiful words in the wind;
no foundation was built.

I now know, I would rather hold a hand
as I climb a stile,
a hand warm and firm,
a smile as we follow the path,

through woodlands, past lakes,
stopping in awe of hills afar.
So, don’t promise me the moon and the stars,
Just let me rest in your heart;

with your hand firmly holding mine,
your eyes and smile be the stars.

© miriam ivarson

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Immeasurable Word

 

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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