Poetry

Earth Is Crying

/ delphini510 / 43 Comments

oro-valley-2650167__340

Earth Is Crying

The Earth is shaking itself,
with storms and quakes
showing its anger and unease,

As dictates and hate
fly between East and West,
murmurs heard from the rest.

Threats of annihilation,
anger that contorts;
ready to slaughter us all,

To satisfy Ego’s tremendous growth.

Do they care in their Citadels?
do they hear?
the screams from dying and dispossessed.

They talk about “Us”,
pretty words, I grant;
How can they sleep at night
with so many lies?

Do they cry or laugh
or feel fear too?

From my peaceful garden I cry,
for the chaos and waste;
the suffering,

How come anger and hate lead,
Why not love?

© miriam ivarson

earth-2765479__340

Eternal Flow

/ delphini510 / 43 Comments

100_1874

Eternal Flow

Like a mountain stream leaps and bounds
growing as it merrily skips,
picking up stones and twigs;
Emerging as a lively course;

Carving its way through rock and moraine
through farmland , past towns;
In time as a mighty river emerges,
for fish and man to enjoy,

Ending in quiet surrender to the Sea
so unfathomable and infinite.

So it is with a newborn child,
helpless but filled with life,
laugher and tears win our hearts;
Tender care guides the growth,

To skip away with friends
each day a lively dance;
picking up knowledge and tools;
understanding creativity.

Maturing in power and strength,
yet falling, stumbling and race,
whilst finding inner stability;
Purpose and wisdom to live.

With time reaching 
the mightiest Sea of all.

© miriam ivarson

beach-1867285__340

 

Who Are We

/ delphini510 / 25 Comments

100_1288

Gales, hurricanes storms are passing through our lands as Autumn vigorously – too vigorously at times – shakes all in its way.

Cleansing the trees from dead wood, sadly also the live. Picking up a car here and there and depositing them almost playfully upside down. Picking up Oaks, Poplars and Ashes; casually throwing them around. At times on our abodes. 

The sea in its frightening wild dance is doing the same, cleansing itself from debris as it dances with the Wind. Its power is stunning and in awe we stare, silenced. 

One picture from the news stay in my mind. Miami skyline against a huge ominous black cloud. The mighty buildings, the frontage of the city, looking so small and helpless under the ferocity of this force; hunkering down it seems.

So many of us feel fear and helplessness at this awesome display of nature’s strength. How small we can seem in spite of all that has been achieved. 

I wrote a poem a while ago, comparing nature’s way with ours. We are “Oh so clever”, but need to find harmony with our planet. This jewel in the universe.

Anthill

Who are we

The ant busily follows the track along
Building its stack high as a hill,
with dedication, purpose and innate skill.
The bird builds whilst singing his song
picking mosses, twigs, building soft and strong.
Butterfly shimmering, hovering quite still
listening to flowers by the rill.
All at peace with where they belong.

Man sets forth with bluster and brain
to conquer and build with might,
not knowing they cause pain.
Ignoring creatures and nature’s plight.
instead, work in harmony, unchained
Sail with the wind, create with delight.

© miriam ivarson

SONY DSC

Angels on my Path

/ delphini510 / 58 Comments

IMG_1233

During five weeks this summer I have had the blessing of a glorious summer break in Sweden. Staying at my Oasis in the forest and on the island of my birth. 

The beautiful nature surrounding me as well as  friends and family have all made each day magic. In the two previous posts I have given you little tasters.

Physically and mentally it has been a healing and enriching time.

Even a potentially dangerous tumble down a steep staircase became a blessing in disguise as I met more angels on the path. Both doctor and nurse gave me hugs filled with care and empathy. 

Apart from listening to the trees, grasses, blooms and rocks whispering their secrets I also met angles. Angels in the shape of people; they made my heart sing.

The strength of us all when we open the sluices to our heart is what will make this shimmering planet whole.

Let the drums from many high places roll. The strength we all possess when we open the flow of love and care is a force greater than shout.

Below is a poem I wrote a while ago when another event really opened my eyes.

DSC00630

ANGELS

I met an Angel
didn’t know at first;
It had no wings as pictures showed,
Just looked like you and me.

I was in distress and there It was
Only eyes and words set It apart,
She looked calmly into my heart,
The voice was kind and sang of love.

Suddenly stormy waves stilled
My eyes and heart filled with peace,
The boat was on right keel again
On a stormy sea, now becalmed.

How many Angels don’t we meet
In shops, streets, in a Cafe,
You wouldn’t notice at first.
Their eyes are warm and look deep,
you will know you are cared for,                      
You are known.

Their love will lift
With light step we will walk,
They have shown the stars, the moon.
Music from the Spheres fill our hearts
With peace and joy we continue our day,

Having learnt it is kindness
Not wings,
Love and care that is the mark,
The Mark of an Angel on your path.

© miriam ivarson

INTENSELY ALIVE

/ delphini510 / 41 Comments

earth-405096__340 jpg

INTENSELY ALIVE

What was it like when life just began?
on this planet we love,

When all was still,
yet, so intensely alive;
working in harmony,
A stillness hard to conceive.

Birds, animals and man
together in peace;
No need for dominance or strife.

As I head for my retreat in Sweden tomorrow morning I  realise that in today’s world it is close to the Eden we often seek.

I feel blessed to have come across this hidden gem and am sure I was somehow guided. It is in an area I hadn’t thought of, a chance word in a conversation caught my attention  and all was go from then on.

To give you all a taste of a still morning at my retreat I want to share with you the poem below which I wrote whilst having breakfast under some birches, facing the morning sun.

100_1033

MORNING MUSINGS

Whisper of pages turning
by the breeze,
untouched writing pad;
Pen lying idle beside,

just being is so majestic,
No word good enough.
The morning sun 
gently warms my face.

Delicious beyond description,
Blueberries and raspberries
bursting in my mouth.
Harvested this morning 
among forest trees.

Wagtail, Fieldfare delight 
on new cut lawns,
Picking, flitting,
Drinking dew.

Organ music 
through spruce woods,
Delicate whisper
through birches;
Sun teasing between
summer clouds.

Coffee tastes good.

I lean back, stretch arms to the sky,
Palms upturned;
Saying with a smile;
Thanks.
For an another day of Life.

© miriam ivarson

Winged friends

OSCILLATING SOUNDS

/ delphini510 / 23 Comments

sound waves

Sounds; from the minute we are born they surround us. Comfort, lull and frighten. They will forever stay in our subconscious memory. Any trigger will set off reactions out of our control. Soothing, happy or frightening.

A loving voice, a comforting rhythm, hum from harmonious conversations can comfort and still a fractious spirit.

And so it is with lullabies. I remember my mother’s beautiful songs and lullabies as well as my father playing his mouth organ. As adult I would at times be blessed with them calling and play a duo over the phone. Tears would run with happiness. My poem below touches two sounds that still today work as lullabies for me. I would be delighted to hear from you about sounds that have made impact in your life.

morfar'sboat

THE COT and THE TRAIN

What possible connection do they have?
except the effect of their sounds,
their rhythmic 
soothing pulse.

Embedded deep in my soul, my brain,
more powerful than lullabies.
Eye lids gently close 
as I drift with the chants,

of water against the hull
of clunks from the rails.

Tucked in a Cot in my father’s boat,
safely riding the waves
as he steers with steady hand;
The song lulled me to sleep.

On my first train journey at 15,
excited by all that was new;
the steady, rhythmic percussion,
carried me into Morpheus arms.

Gentle but powerful songs
grow firm roots in your heart.

© miriam ivarson

006

Lit from within

/ delphini510 / 28 Comments

Walking the garden this beautiful morning I felt the urge to share with you what I saw.

DSC00818

It seemed lit from within
Lit by love
and by the sun above,
As it shared its nectar
with bees and butterfly,

DSC00821

Its brightness and fragility
shining with joy and love,
Stream of healing flow.

DSC00823

Bursting with life,
bright as the sun;
telling us to fill
our shadows with light.

100_4002

Next I chatted with Mr Blackbird,
so proudly showing off
a beak filled with worms;
Dinner for the family.

I told him he was handsome
and clever too;
He nodded his head vigorously,
losing one worm.

Please join me now for a drink,
sitting among them all,
Not even meditating;
Just breathe.

DSC00825

Hand in Hand

/ delphini510 / 10 Comments

handstwo

 

Hand in Hand

Through reading so many of your wonderful posts I have learnt
that the dream of travel and new experiences live strongly within
so many of us.
I feel comforted by this as at times I wondered if I really was a
nomad by birth. Seriously though, be it by air, by ship, by train,
the excitement is there like a fire within.

Travel experiences have changed though and today we have to exercise
a lot of meditative calm to go through our overcrowded airports.
I find them quite stressful and without going within myself in quiet
I believe the stress would be intolerable. However, the goals have so
far made up for the discomfort.

This leads to people watching which is a great source of learning and
at times entertainment. Images and conversations linger and might
later turn into writing.

The poem Hand in Hand comes from just walking the long way from the the plane to customs. A feeling that still lingers. The rest is from places I have been and that have given inspiration.

 

Hand in Hand

Come and walk at dusk
with me,
I whispered to you.
Let us watch the rising moon
stars and planets light the sky.

The day before I had seen
a couple walking, hand in hand;
Through long corridors
among crowds of an Airport,

In steady, comforting pace
They walked.

In a bubble of peace.

As you and I walk 
along the ocean shore,
Hand in hand, not saying much;
Just listening, feeling, being,
In tune with waves, heavens
With the Whole.

Humbly we accept this Gift
of plenty.
Undeserved perhaps,
Who is judge?

We turn to each other,
eyes bright,
joy bursting forth.

With light steps we return
to a drink on the porch.
Wanting to share the reverence
that fills us both.

Spreading ripples of wonder and serenity.

© miriam ivarson

in clouds

The Copper Coffee Pot

/ delphini510 / 29 Comments

I wouldn’t be surprised if you just look at the title
and think;  Coffee Pot!  What is there to say about such a
seemingly everyday object?
And I would understand you, but please stay with me a little
longer through this post.

In my About page I hint that there will be stories coming
that show vignettes of my life both in England and Sweden.

O.K. , I can hear your frustrated sigh, so why a Coffee Pot?

This Copper Coffee Pot is very old, goes back to my
Grandfather’s days. It was an important part of the men’s life
and I am now the caretaker, until such time that it passes to the
next generation. It has pride of place and I often tell the stories
that were told to me, hence giving my children a feeling of their
ancestors.

The poem below came to me as I was polishing it one day
and all was abandoned for the notepad and pen.

003

Copper Coffee Pot

An inanimate object it might seem,
Yet, is it really so?
Emotions stirred by the Pot,
The Copper Coffee Pot,
say no.

Polishing this morning,
its surface filled;
With lustre and life lived.

It had sailed the Sea, in storms,
in hurricanes,
also in still, smiling swells.
For seven men it brewed every day,
Gave warmth and cheer,
clattered its spout lid to say;
Coffee ready, take a break.

Men with strength of body and heart,
with purpose and skill;
In tune with the elements each day,
feeling the mood of the Sea.
Respecting and honouring,
Its power, its gifts.

Their work was heavy,
cold, among waves,
Full trawls spread smiles.
No-one minding the tearing of
sinews, muscles and backs.
In this age old task.

These men were my ancestors,
part of who I am, and I of them.
Their lives, their hands had touched me,
Given me strength.

The Copper Pot in my hands
A cherished and vital part
of their days.
Here they met, found warmth,
succour and laughs.

An empowering friend.

© miriam ivarson

Vinga lighthouse

All photographs © miriam ivarson

THE NARROWBOAT

/ delphini510 / 21 Comments

Scan 14

My first holiday on an English Canal walked with simple ease straight into my heart and settled in. Gliding slowly through countryside and hills in an old Narrow boat was heaven that week, it still lives vividly in my mind.

For those who don’t know, I want to give a brief outline of how this wonderful Canal system came about, its original purpose before people like myself sought them out for peace and relaxation.

Scan 20

The first Canal ( Bridgewater ) opened 1761; the golden era of the canals was 1770 – 1830. During this era most bulky transport took place on the canals, e.g. cotton, coal, steel. It was considered quick transport although even today the max speed is 4 miles per hour. Originally the boats were drawn by horses on the “Towpath” with long ropes attached to the boats.

The Canals were built by hardworking men with pickaxes and shovels. As you can imagine this was a very hard work; the photo below shows a typical scene of the time. Most workers were Irish.

3AB9741A00000578-3969174-image-m-29_1480012663180

The network was originally called Navigations and the men working and digging these ‘navigations’ got called “navvies”. These very same “navvies” were also the ones digging and building the railway system that came to mean the death of the Canals as viable transport systems. Sadly the Canal owners lowered the wages to the “navvies” as the rail system grew, thus it came about that the navvies and their families started living in rather cramped conditions on the Narrow boats as money were short.

The rescue of the Canal system came from people who saw the potential of opening them to holiday makers. Today this is a big and very popular venue for holidays. The Lancaster Canal, which I had the honour to travel, was a have a haven to me and if you still have time; please find below my my poem from this trip.

Scan 17

The Narrow Boat

Gently chugging through still water,
Pastoral countryside slips by
in green, yellow and gold,
cows, sheep and country pubs.
Magnificent mountains afar,
shimmering purple and blue.

A Heron following, so near
a beautiful winged friend,
Breathtaking as he lifts to the sky.
Powerful beauty at ease,
knowing itself.
With grace he returns.

The diesel engine’s comforting sound,
a counter point
The heart beat of the ‘Narrow boat’,
In harmony with nature’s own song.

Unveiling to me as we move on,
Clarity and light.
Chattering thoughts disperse
as onwards we both fly,

The Heron and I.

© miriam ivarson

Scan 19

All photos except “the Navigation men” by miriam ivarson.