Poems – Jane Tawel

Acceptance

by Jane Tawel

“Sudden rain” by Brintam is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

Acceptance

By Jane Tawel

April 13, 2023

Listening to rain, in the still dark morning.

And yesterday, a card came, not too late,

to wish me happiness, and so,

with a bit of habitual misgiving,

I accepted.

There is nothing to do

but accept.

And so, I turn to you

And say, “I accept you,

whatever parts you can give.”

I turn to myself, and say,

“I accept myself,

for what I was (I think),

for what I am (I imagine)

for what I may one day be (I hope)”.

And now I must accept,

that this is the time

and this is Time,

and this is all the time

that we can know.

No one owns Time,

not even God, Who, outside of,

beyond, incredulous at our missed-perceptions,

further out and further in of All Time,

the Yes, still offers us Eternity.

I can’t hear the rain anymore.

It must have stopped.

But I will try to remember it,

as I go about a day,

not my day,

but God’s,

not my day, but yours and theirs,

not my day, but ours, for a time,

and we are God’s too.

Just as the rain is,

this day, this hour, this time,

is just a passing gift,

a gift to me,

a gift to you, wherever, whoever you are,

a gift to help things grow.

And I, like all seeds,

planted in the Earth,

pray to open to the world.

“Create in me, O, God,

a longing to grow and open,

for just this little time.

I bless, You, for the rain.

Create in me, O, God,

acceptance.”

Teatime and Rain

“Quiet Tea Time” by Kirinohana is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

Teatime and Rain

By Jane Tawel

January 8, 2023

And friends came to tea,

something Americans don’t really do,

but which, for some reason, I love.

Just a little meal with lots of space,

space for conversation.

And one day past tea-time,

and out the windows,

I see the thirsty soil,

has sucked down all the water

from two -day old rain,

another thing not often happening,

here in the desert.

The earth has filled and emptied.

The world can still amaze.

And the birds sing and dance among the branches.

My house is full of memories –

memories of friends and rain;

and teacups filled and emptied,

waiting to be filled again.

Golden Harvest

Golden Harvest

By Jane Tawel

July 8, 2022

Golden harvest has come due.

Evening sun commands the view.

Now the red-maned goddess flies,

‘cross the deepening gloaming skies.

Earth’s horizon sings Time’s song:

“Day is short, and night is long.”

Bast, the Lion Goddess comes.

Birds are stilled and people, mum.

Oh, the glory of the Sun,

as the day has come and gone.

And before the Night entombs,

the world’s on fire with Sunset’s bloom.

Dreams On the Journey

by Jane Tawel

empty road surrounded with trees with fog — https://unsplash.com/photos/5FHv5nS7yGg

Dreams on the Journey

By Jane Tawel

July 6, 2021

Dreams often start skidding a bit,

when reality appears in the road.

And if we are carrying a load,

of a vision that won’t clear up,

smooth and pristine,

but rather gleans from us,

the weight of our meaning,

this gleaning,

is to be

and to see

what lies inert in the road –

well, that is the load we bear.

And yet, we compare

ourselves to the myth of ourselves

not sitting on shelves

but growing and changing,

ever rearranging into someone

that is the myth of our true wholeness.

So now, we can go with boldness,

into the might and right

and the true light from True Light,

ever loving and being loved.

Hither and yon,

to the hopeful beyond,

and all the parts of you and I

Become whole.

The goals of every holy scroll

keep rolling us on and on

Because that is who and what and

Why.

Our dreams become the answer

to the real Why.

And the road is never clearer

but only dearer.

And the task is never fearless,

but only nearer.

And we walk on,

dreaming despite the bumps in the road,

or the mist.

Because though we may miss the gist

We will bear witness.

And in the midst

We will resist the need to just exist.

But instead we will yearn to grow,

Becoming One with the journey’s flow.

A Prayer for Hole-ness

brown rock formation during daytime — https://unsplash.com/photos/AWoVDcSYgak

A Prayer for Hole-ness

By Jane Tawel

May 25, 2021

I often pray for whole-ness,

but just today I thought,

that I should pray for hole-ness,

to become what I ought.

Wholeness can often mean control,

but emptying should be my goal,

not only just to make me whole,

but to embrace the empty spaces,

and broken lives, and lonely faces,

of brothers, sisters, enemies–

through empathy come remedies.

For when I leave a legacy,

There won’t be much left of my soul,

Unless I leave a hole.

Listen With Your Heart — a poem

by Jane Tawel

Listen With Your Heart — a poem

By Jane Tawel

April 12, 2021

I don’t know why the birds keep singing, but they do.

When every thing is horrible. It’s true.

My mind is on the negative, transfixed.

The world is broken and our minds up-mixed.

I wake up every day and burn the wick down,

Before my feet have even touched the hard ground.

But little bird is on a branch a-sway,

With ne’er a worry of the coming day.

If God is in the Heavens, He’s in birds, too.

And that would mean, that God’s in me and you.

Oh, listen to what can be heard, unseen.

And lessons from the birds and creatures, glean.

There is a cosmic beauty, love, and grace,

In every feather, furry paw, and face.

We soldier on, when we should really dance.

And let the glory of the world entrance.

Today I will from mindful prison part,

And listen to the whole world, with my heart.

©Jane Tawel 2021

Life-Lines — a poem

by Jane Tawel

Life-lines — a poem

By Jane Tawel

March 19, 2021

When I was young,

my mind and heart

were intertwined

like scribbled lines.

When one is young,

separating scrambled lines

is the monumental task

of growing-up.

I failed at much of it

but some lines straightened,

into the miracle of

Due North.

The dots and dashes,

the broken, mended bits of line

Still encompass and still

compass me forth.

When I became

Two, and then more;

and “my” became “our”

heart, mind and soul;

We formed a new me.

And I took the bow of us in hand, and

formed a straight arrow;

a line, shooting, aimed,

undeviating in communion,

unswerving in love;

propelling my life.

A streak of light —

like the tail of a comet.

My love for you

became the trued lines of fortune

in the palms of my hands.

My love for you was

a life-line branching out,

like the shoots of roots

from an unbowed, unbending tree.

Like a line with no end,

I became

my love for you.

Now I grow old

and the lines of my life

form circles.

Circling, and circling, and circling;

back and around, back and around…

and sometimes I grow dizzy,

and sometimes I become whole.

The center holds

in the spiral of my life.

Sky and Earth in Rain- 4 Poems

by Jane Tawel

Sky and Earth in Rain

Four Poems

By Jane Tawel

March 13, 2021

Poem One

Sky’s brow sweats with labor;

the earth is replenished

with heaven’s pleasing perspiration.

Earth, in her turn, turns.

Round and round and round

flinging ocean, sea, and pond

back into Sky’s opened-mouth face.

Sky as Heaven, Earth as Gaia,

powerful in servitude to each other;

delighting in shared toiling.

Earth dances, opening herself up

to Sky’s rain and —

both, so in love!

Heaven and Gaia merge,

symbiotic in creation.

Poem Two

The blues of sky are borne-away

and seeming dead in grey hues,

mourning clouds as black as burial clothes,

the world looks up at the bereavement.

Only the old folks will watch the sky

and know —

Surprising endings make the best stories.

Ah, the sky’s eyes are tearing-up!

Only the parents know

the welcome oxymoron of the heavens’ happy tears.

Light, though hidden, eyes though clouded,

Love’s light, like the sun, never leaves the heart.

Rain is heavens’ tears shed in joy.

The skies know that nothing ever really dies.

The casket opens around the keening clouds.

The heavens resurrect themselves

pouring the gift of life

into earth’s open-armed delight.

Poem Three

The canopy of sky folds,

and through the gaps of cover,

all heaven breaks loose;

the earth is bathed from head to toe.

And dirty roots and filthy feet and pining pinnacles,

are washed with grace of falling rain.

Poem Four

The sky husbands the earth,

his seed pours forth,

and earth open’s up to sky’s embrace.

Love, given and received;

the over-whelming mystery of earth and sky,

true soul- mates, wed forever,

bearing all.

The earth opens to

all sky’s love -spent pourings.

And at earth’s breast

all children are fed.

New life from married bliss.

Creating – a poem

By Jane Tawel

Creating

A Poem by Jane Tawel

December 28, 2020

I love to poke the “create” button.

Such chutzpah to think I have that gift.

And while I watch the swirling rainbow,

While waiting, not with patience,

But with expectant need

I think of the Greats, and trembling yearn

To hide behind their shadows once again.

And then I dare anyway.

To take a flutter at this desk,

Is rather like a gamble,

Where I am always betting against the house.

I hope my tics and tells won’t distract

From thoughts that try to cheat me from my life.

I let the chips fall where they may —

Will it be prose or rhyme today?

And out it pours like dreideled coins,

My soul to chance this wager with my mind.

It seems a rather small thing,

This time I take to make words sway.

And though my jig is awkward,

And graceless is my tongue,

I’ve entered into meaning

In The Great Dance we all are from.

And just by trying, I Am Become.

became. become. has become.

Becoming. Will Become…?

For whether thoughts are light or dark

There are in words, that divine spark

Where our imagination lives,

And where our hearts peek out of hiding

Like sprites and fairies. Like supernatural beings.

Words, like gods once seen.

For humans leave no trace behind

‘Cept dust and shards and love.

Yet on a tattered page or flickering screen

We join our solitary syllables

into an Us Eternal.

A Love Poem

by Jane Tawel

November 30, 2020

A Love Poem

By Jane Tawel

November 30, 2020

Your eyes,

Are the color of memories

I thought I had forgotten.

But they light up my dreams

And waking I remember

who I am with you.

Your laugh

is rare and stingy;

Like a coin that grows in value,

The longer it is out of circulation.

I hoard the things that I can say

To make your laughter fibrillate to life.

Your hands

have seen their share of work

and show the wear of worry.

But gently, gently they caress away

the stress of days gone sideways.

We touch in circles of meaning

And fill what felt so empty.

Your arms

Strong from gathering

the provisions of a thousand needs.

We lock arms together

like wrestlers taking on the world

and rocking infant prayers for peace

to sleep.

Your heart

Not beating, but ticking to my tocking.

And all the love we ever felt

Timeless, rages

against the seasons and the tides.

You—

not in parts,

But part

of the fused soul

We make from two halves.

And sometimes

Are whole.

by Jane Tawel

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