BELONGING

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BELONGING

Where do we belong, each and every one?
What makes our soul sing and our work dance,
what do we seek, in stillness,
alone?

So many questions and no answers,
a teacher I am not.

I love the ocean, both when it rages and smiles,
also I love the forests, meadows and rocks.
They all have their voice, clear and sincere.
As they roar and whisper their eternal truths.

Not a false note nor a lie to be heard,
no lures and baits, just joy and veracity.
The rocks join in with healing vibes.

Among these I belong, feel peace and calm,
where also birds and butterflies live.

Many cities are so beautiful, I grant you that;
In awe I visited many times.
Admired the artistry of buildings famed
of skill and design, of achievements seeming greater than man.

I love visiting these but find the noise and rush,
the tensions and fumes of the streets too much.
Although exciting pulse will attract.

All these thoughts matter, have validity,
but don’t we really belong
with those we love unconditionally
as they do us.

Know us and love us, 
Just for what we are, simply you or I.

© 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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Lattice work against the Sky

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Lattice work against the Sky     

Against deep blue sky,
little gold coloured leaves
hang on, shivering in the wind.
Beauty in all seasons
is the Birch.

In the morning sun 
I saw purple blue Clematis,
Turned to shining,
golden, feathery balls.
Their beauty struck my heart.

Many things turn to beauty in death,
hadn’t much noticed before.
Butterfly clams on a warm strand
in life so little, so fast,

turn to glowing butterflies
when they die.

So it is that the Birch,
from tender gold/green
Through the seasons delight.

Naked again in the autumn wind,
Reveal beauty so sheer.

Unadorned.

© miriam ivarson

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Solitude and Love

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Solitude and Love

I know solitude, its peace and calm,
its loneliness at times;
It fills the shadows where your inner self resides
with clarity, truth and light,

I know love, its burning flames and gentle ones,
its soaring heights;
Growing in abundance and joy
in the dance of life.

Both have been sought since beginning of time,
as separate entities;
Yet, aren’t they part of the same?
Of the song of life.

So in a heart becalmed, the truth shimmers,
Let love dance free in storms and sun,
also to freely live in Solitude.

Never separate the two,
together they enrich and strengthen;
The ocean and sky live in you,
you live in them.

Free and true.

© miriam ivarson

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Creativity

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Creativity

Is it only through utter, total peace
or its opposite,
sorrow and pain,
That we can experience;

The depth and crest of creation

Not to forget joy beyond words,
Stillness without bounds
where thoughts can’t reach.

Hear the whispers of leaves and grass,
just rejoice in the beauty of a butterfly,
a bird, a meadow field;
Nature seemingly holding its breath,

I want to hold you all, to share this moment,
Of otherworldly tranquility,
Help you see, it is so easy and yet so hard

To leave worries, plans and charts behind,
To taste an hour of total peace.

C/ miriam ivarson

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The Rock

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The Rock                           

I laid down on a rock,
large, smooth, pink granite,
warmed by the sun.

Timeless energies from the rock,
enveloped me;

Soothed my muscles,
received my pains.
Gave ease, relaxation and peace.
A glow spreads within, 

The birth of joy.

The sound from the sea
Joins the symphony,
waves rhythmically lapping the shore,
Singing their eternal song.

I drift into altered consciousness,
of wholeness and clarity.
A sweet voice says “are you o.k.?”
Blessings are complete.

With a smile I rise,
we continue to throw.
Pebbles that skip on the waves.

© miriam ivarson

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B o r d e r s

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Borders                                            

When does a river become a sea
the sweet water turn salty,
does it just flow and mingle?
Mingle in harmony,

How does a mountain become,
yours or mine, his or hers,
is it not always just its mighty self?
Part of the Earth, the wind, the Universe.

So tell me, how can we put borders
on mountains, in rivers and the sea,
How can we draw lines on the ocean,
on mighty mountains lay claim?

How can we, with impudence
Claim the Whole for ourselves

© miriam ivarson

Tor Heyerdahl quote

DRIFTWOOD

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DRIFTWOOD

washed up on the shore,
so exquisite, so polished;
Feels like silk in my hands,

For days, weeks or longer
it has travelled,
across oceans and seas,

hammered against rocks
varnished by sand.

Reminding me of many unfortunates,
living in the shady side of our cities,
by gleaming edifices of beauty and wealth;

Driftwood of humanity.

Playthings to those who exploit,
sleeping in doorways, under bridges,
washed up from an ocean of society;
There was no space for them within,

they see the sun, feel the rain,
but can they feel joy?
when their mattress is concrete?

meanwhile we sleep in soft beds
pampered and fed.

How my heart bleeds
wishing to rescue, to help;
Praying those with knowledge will,
as I give my support,

yet the sorrow and helplessness is there.
Around the corner glittering skyscrapers stand
holding wealth beyond sense.

Still, I pick driftwood by the shore,
feeling it’s journey in my hands;
Journey across oceans free,

Washed by the sea
Kissed by the sun.

© miriam ivarson

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Whispering Wings

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Whispering Wings

They whisper as the breeze in the cottonwood trees,
as the grass drinking morning dew,
like a butterfly languidly moving its wings;
Just being its subliminal self,

Whisperings from small branches
moving gently in soft breeze,
Like Dragonfly hovering, such beauty
are their shimmering wings.

I lie down in the meadow with deep content,
hear the morning birds join in
singing sheer songs of life and joy,
partaking with delicacy and  skill.

Whispering like the hope in our hearts,
finding the tune we recognise from afar,
Songs sung for eternities
losing each other, but now

Recognising the whisperings anew.

© miriam ivarson

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