TREASURES

TREASURES

You wonder what the two pieces
of driftwood
means to me.
They had casually been thrown up on the shore.

Pieces of beauty that travelled far
they have so much to tell
Of oceans, people, fear and hope.

If I were a painter with the fame of Van Gogh
I might paint it so you could see.
It is not just discarded wood.

They were polished by life
Roughened by salt and sand

Battered whilst still in human domain.

I shall sand them, gently polish
with natural oil.
Then make an honoured corner with
Driftwood and shells.

© miriam ivarson

photos by miriam ivarson

WHY

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WHY

Why cries my inner self,
Why
so much cruelty and hate.
We were given a paradise,
Now look, look what man has done.

Grief and confusion fill my heart
as I see the world with so much
anger, hate and greed.

Many centuries man have been killing each other
In the name of God, Allah and Greed.
War and murder in the most horrendous ways;
Enslavement created profits

How could morals and goodness be so suppressed.

Don’t get me wrong, there is much goodness as well,
Ripples turning to rivers.
Love being the currency and care for all.

In all this rebirth of Earth and its children
there are already countries that count
their Gross profit in happiness,
Happiness of people in the land.

© miriam ivarson

Hi to Fears

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Hi to Fear

Fear is dark, fear diminishes
Our minds and souls entrapped.
Caught in the net of imagined disaster
We become disabled and stunned.

A confinement we don’t desire.

Say hi to your fears, acknowledge them,
Don’t let them kill who you are.
A child of universe, a star, creativity.
You are that and more.

Let us ask, what do we plant and create
on this Earth of blessings and strife?
May it be beauty, wisdom, love.

Let us make the gift of life count
not drown in non living – alive.

© miriam ivarson

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Walking in the Wood

 

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Walking in the Wood

Walking in the wood this morning
as the sun painted the sky,
I looked, listened to
Life being reborn.

Buds were bursting and clapping hands,
little timpani filling the air.
The reeds around the pond would not be outdone,

they rustled delighted
Brushes on drums.

Birds, I love them, took centre stage
with a full choir singing praise;
to life, to heavens, to all.

Sheer joy.

I saw ants building nests,
very busy they were.
Even wasps droned drunkenly around
finding a flower or two.

I sat down on a stone and dare swear,
the air did also sing
as it gently nourished my skin.

© miriam ivarson

 

 

The Contemplative

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The Contemplative

In the whisper you find yourself
The contemplative being within,
seemingly fragile, needing peace;
Always striving for space.

In a world where storms roar,
created by nature and mankind
We need to find a temple of calm
where clamour can’t rule.

With no haste, the room is there
bide your time within.
Rising with the morning rays,
The Contemplative smiles.

It was always there, the space,
Let the wonder of light and colour
be the decoration of your special room.

It is within you and me,
within all who want to see,
Access the depth of ourselves
Of nature and life in all form.

© miriam ivarson


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GIFTS YOU CAN’T WRAP

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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.

©miriam ivarson

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MUSIC IN ALL

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MUSIC IN ALL

It is here again, live music pours forth
so shimmering and bright,
Making the air and us quiver
as each note streams and sings;

Creating a whole.

With strength and passion it enchants
my heart swells with joy.
Where and how did his music grow so,
reach heights, trying to express;

Feelings, events, beauty, sorrow and joy
won’t be contained, need to be told.
I can feel him ask the piano for more,
asking each string to give its all.

Give from strong emotions
carried within his young and strong heart.

He teaches me importance of striving our most
To express our heartaches, our love and joy.
To express life itself
knowing it can never be contained,

no more than the music of rain
falling on a lake or on leaves of a tree,
The symphony of storm on the sea
or the quiet sounds of your heart and breath.

Music surrounds us, heals us
At times wakes numbed minds

©miriam ivarson

 

INTROSPECTION

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Introspection

As I sit here this morning
my bedroom flooded with Star light,
Yes, the glorious sun,
It silences many of my reflections.

Like, what does my soul look like and where
does it live?
Why does my heart quiver so often
seeing remarkable beauty or dark?

Yet, as I sit here in the golden light
I do no longer feel the need to know.
It is enough, more than enough
To just be.

To touch, see, feel with loving
the miracles surrounding me.

Suddenly I see, my soul is me,
the rest is chemistry, physics, biology
and marvellous they are;

As they let my soul traverse
The wonder of Earth and Stars.

© miriam ivarson

Light through Prisms

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LIGHT THROUGH PRISMS

Knowledge is great, we hunger to learn,
yet science cannot alone explain
the wonder we feel at nature’s play;

The beauty of light broken through prisms.

The light through fine raindrops high above
creating a rainbow at which we swoon and dream,
to which even songs are composed.
To the multitude of colours within,

Through bubbles, angles and light.

The glassblower’s art, so fascinating,
almost mystic as we watch.
I love observing, almost tear eyed;
Always walk out with one piece in my hand.

I have seen this wonder in snow crystals too
and yes, in a drinking glass.
In reverence we watch these bubbles in the sky,
in a studio, in a droplet on a grass;

Don’t let us forget bubbles of light 
rising from our hearts.

© miriam ivarson

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