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
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
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
TIME…
So linear and confined
I am told,
and it does seem true;
Yet I think of all the skips,
all the turns,
the flowing river makes
as it twists and bends,
from its origin as a newborn brook;
down mountains
through valleys
weaving its way,
until finally it merges
with the mighty river below
strong in its purposeful flow;
Letting us be streams within
meandering as we go.
We calculate our progress
in years and days,
following the calender prescribed;
Not the rhythm of the moon or sun,
Some panic, they fear the big 0,s.
I say, it is just another day and night,
if you wish, tell your friends
you took another stream,
so they have to wait with the balloons
another year or so;
Whilst we twist and turn, leap and sing
before joining ocean so vast and deep,
becoming part of the whole.
© miriam ivarson
photos by Miriam Ivarson
Deny the Heart
Friendship, love, care
are they but one?
Philia, Agape, Eros
blending to a singular Self,
one without the other
the circle is broken;
A sickle moon.
Love born by the spirit,
Sensuality
Kindness,
aren’t they part,
of being complete?
How can we then deny?
Close the heart in a safety box?
so as not to get hurt,
kill what we are
what we can be;
Fearing Life itself.
The little bird in your hand
rescued but stunned,
tender is our love,
as is holding a child,
so trusting and soft;
Who with a smile wins our hearts,
as a loved ones kiss on your neck
whilst you pen your lines.
© miriam ivarson
photos by miriam ivarson
Spilling Over
Spilling over, spilling over,
over arbours and fences
Over my Arched bench
Spilling over,
The sheer greens of spring,
every shade of green.
mostly so glowing,
with dark Fir a faithful backdrop,
Sunshine through million of leaves
Lighting each one all through,
I am exalted, in awe
and so blessed too;
First breakfast out this year,
on favourite bench,
around me Forget-me-Nots,
Lavender in bloom, golden bush too;
So much more but would you believe
Butterflies keep doing fly past in front of me,
Even they are in many hues.
© miriam ivarson
ETHEREAL SEA
So many faces you have!
How I love everyone,
Did you bid the sun and clouds
to be just so today?
To show your ethereal, inner Self,
whilst the sky took advantage,
used the mirror you bestowed;
Like Narcissus admiring what it saw,
Your face on a stormy day;
fearsome, mighty drama on display,
No theatre could this attain,
The sky follows suit
clouds so magnificent, in dark hues,
At times the sun glints through
to remind who is the Star
of this eternal Show.
@ miriam ivarson
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
And one photo just to make you smile and wish you a Happy Weekend.
Photos by miriam ivarson
Light through Crack
So paint the butterfly you love
You will be painting me,
I am the light in the cracks;
your awareness
Your consciousness,
the butterfly, the flower, the tree
the smile on a face.
You see them with more clarity
They fill the soul,
Don’t despair,
thinking your voice too small
without reach.
Remember the ripple effect,
on lake and sea.
This is how the message will spread;
The message of power of love,
compassion and peace.
Hate is powerful but will self destruct
It can’t create.
Rivers of anguish and blood
flow through your lands.
help where we can, remember;
Evil and hate will self destruct.
© miriam ivarson
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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