A Psalm for The Day

A Psalm for The Day

By Jane Tawel

December 9, 2019

 

God of mercy,

God of grace,

Help me God to seek Your Face.

 

God of judgement,

God of power,

Grant me hope in this dark hour.

 

God of Moses,

God of Christ,

Give us all

We need for Life.

 

Fill me, as I empty out,

All my pride, and all my doubt.

Empty me to do Thy Will,

Listening for Your Voice, so still.

 

God of Light,

And God of Love,

Thy Kingdom here as it is above.

God of Love,

And God of Light,

To be My God, I, You, invite.

Forgive me now,

And teach me how,

To walk, and do,

In worship of You.

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Exclamatory Lives – an ode to living well

By Jane Tawel

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(Dick and Rick Hoyt Training for a Marathon)

 

Exclamatory Lives

By Jane Tawel

November 2, 2019

*

 

Take time,

Give space.

Hit the brakes,

Save Face.

Make Rhymes,

Reason, Wake.

Dreams, Climb,

Seek grace.

*

Beat the blues,

Tie up loose ends.

Hold your foes,

As close as friends.

Release worries,

Secure peace.

Subtracting anger,

Will joy, Increase.

*

 

Fix meals,

Break bread.

Find humor,

Lose your head.

Do Good,

Be Free,

All are commandments

For both you and me.

*

Exclamatory lives,

Are Actions and Verbs.

We are meant to go lightly,

Yet, with virtue and nerve.

So Be! And Do!

Embrace all that you,

Are capable of,

And in this way, you Love.

Beating Heart — a poem

This is a tiny poem I wrote a while ago for a delightful blog I follow called The Alchemist’s Studio. It was for the “Name That Vase” event.  Check out the Alchemist’s beautiful exquisite raku pottery and also the delightful and interesting posts and stories  at:   https://rakupottery.ca/

 

Beating Heart

By Jane Tawel

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Is the blood that beats inside us all,

A result of Heaven, or result of The Fall?

Does my blood run red, or does it run blue?

And what of the blood that throbs within you?

If I could catch a beating heart,

Then that might be at least a good start,

To understand that what pulses in me,

Is perhaps the world’s greatest mystery.

 

Here – A Poem

Here

A Poem By Jane Tawel

October, 2019

 

Here, Autumn slips in slowly,

Like a mother, she checks her sleeping child;

Tiptoeing into our rooms

Letting lengthening shadows obscure her smile.

 

Here, Summer runs off swiftly,

Like a child late for a play-date;

She laughs away the poignant dusk,

As she fades from our view.

 

Here, the Spring is remembered sweetly,

And Time is an old woman rocking in her creaky chair.

And no more come the Seasons, but one.

It is always hoarding Winter now,

Here.

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It’s All a Game Over Here

It’s All a Game Over Here

A Poem of Polarization

By Jane Tawel

October 2019

For the Hopeful and Hopeless both here and there.

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“Flat Flags” by Paulo Capdeville licensed under CC by NC-ND-4.0

 

 

 

It’s all a game about winning,

Over here on this side of the pond.

And I wonder if you,

On that side of the blue,

(Whether you call it “mundo” or “monde”),

Have been led to believe

It’s alright to deceive,

Or if you, like I do, feel quite conned?

 

We’ve decided that athletes are all gods.

We treat senators like they are kings.

The fools entertain us,

While corporate crooks rein us.

Heaven’s reign’s in the void,

 With Earth’s greed on steroids;

And the preachers’ idolatry pains us.

 

I wonder if there you feel hopeless;

As I sometimes do under my flag?

Or do you feel the same onus,

To try not to vomit or gag?

 

If we’re going to make this world different,

To not play the game,

To swallow our pride,

to not aim for fame;

then it’s time to decide.

We can’t keep on ignoring life’s current,

Will we bet on the horses

Who keep Caesar’s stable?

Or invite all the needy

To dine at our tables?

 

I wonder if you too, can’t pledge to your flag,

When the world just keeps filling with more body bags?

I wonder if you’re tired of games that destroy,

The planet for Future’s small girls, beasts, and boys?

I wonder if over there, over the sea,

If you too would rather be choosing, with me,

Some new games, and new roles, and new consequences,

And a way to build more homes, not more cement fences.

 

Over here I want new ways of seeing each other,

Not on teams, but as families, like sisters and brothers.

Over here, it’s all rah-rah, and yay-yay for teams,

But I’m hoping that we who still dream greater dreams,

Won’t care about winning or losing and such,

Because in the end, games won’t matter that much.

 

When The Augurs regain

What the childish teams drained,

And the new world has gained, what’s now lost;

All those who bought and sold.

will lose all, to those bold

Enough to live for only soul-stuff.

 

And when those never picked

by the tricksters and slick,

those who captained the teams in first-class;

then the first shall be last

and all teams will have passed,

and the last, to the top will be flipped.

.

When Three only remain,

With Love ruling again,

With no flags left to fly

Then I hope you and I

Will no longer, ask, “Why?”

But instead hand in hand,

We will make a new land,

where the meek all are owners.

No more hungry. No loners.

We will all share our dreams

Without hate or extremes.

For those old teams, you ask?

  It’s Game Over.

Until We Fly – a poem

Until We Fly

by Jane Tawel

September, 2019

 

When we go

How slow

How fast

Nothing changes

Nothing lasts.

 

This life

like sleet, it

does not stick, it’s–

so fleeting.

 

The heat melts,

and melds with cold

The heart stays young

But body and mind grow old.

 

Death parades us

like the trained

Animals we are.

Reality, feigned us,

until–

We fly with stars.

 

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Verses 2-4 of A Mother’s Poems

***Verse 1 of these poems was published separately on February 10 under the title: “This Small Heartbeat”. These poems are for my thriving adult children.

 

A Mother’s Poems

By Jane Tawel

 

Verse 2- A Haiku

by Jane Tawel

February 11, 2019

 

Metaphors slide skew

When I try to write of you.

Only love will do.

 

 

Verse 3 – an Ode

 

Beyond and Above Aphrodite

by Jane Tawel

February 12, 2019

 

Now I, the geek,

Will mimic the Greek.

But Odes to love of children

Are false gilden, not real gold.

Or so I’m told.

 

I strive like Psyche

To see you, hidden from me.

And in the process, burn you

Then angst ‘bout why you flew.

 

Wondering why

And wandering nigh’

I hold coins in my mouth

To keep the devils out.

Yet before long,

My righteous strength is gone;

Opening forbidden boxes that you might see

A mother’s lasting love in me.

 

 

Ah, Aphrodite’s  love of child can not compare

To the cupidity of my every prayer

That you, my dear divines,

My treasures, as long as sun does shine,

Will find more Love, than all I’d give

And find True Love within you lives.

 

 

Verse 4

This is a poem I wrote several years ago that I thought I’d end these with for Verse 4.

Whoa

March 11, 2015

By Jane Tawel

To Justine, Clarissa, Verity, and Gordon

 

Whoa, slow down, where you galloping off to?

A second ago, you were a useless collage of limbs.

I had to raise your hands to clean.

I had to raise your head to drink.

I had to ask you questions then answer them for you,

You, without a word, or sound that anybody knew.

But I.

 

Whoa! Take care! You’re running much too fast.

You’re going to slip and fall — I know.

I’ve seen it happen in my mind

A thousand times a day.

Did you hear me? Can you hear?

Have fun! Be safe! Too fast!

Rely on me and all my knowledge present, future, past.

Love you.

 

Whoa…slow down… I missed what you just said.

I see the buttons, levers, gears.

My fingers fail where yours speed on.

I hear the words that used to mean

A different thing. A different thing.

Did I already say that?

You tumble forward, catch yourself.

I used to catch you when you fell.

I’m still here watching, waiting– holding out my helpless hands.

Too much.

 

 

You’re gone and I can’t hold you here.

My whoa’s are just my own.

Remember—no, you don’t, I guess.

I clutch the memories, now — no more.

I once held you, my baby, child–

And now you’ve flown,

A Pegasus with wings of dreams

Not flaming myths,

Not lullabies from me.

I’ll sing your story old and new

Not mine, not ours. All you.

I’ll never seek to slow you down again.

My joy in you and your bright flight

Is how I can explain these blinding tears.

Blurring my sight

Of your fast ascent.

Forever.