Tag: poetry

Dust Motes

“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust (NASA, Chandra, Spitzer, 03/30/10)” by NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

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Dust Motes

By Jane Tawel

March 18, 2023

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Dust motes are quite beautiful,

if only I stop and watch.

I had nothing better to do just now,

so, I watched them, just because.

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You may not have noticed — 

I know I did not,

but they don’t just fall,

they rise.

And there’s much to learn

from a speck of dust,

which took me by surprise.

*

You see, we are all just specks of dust

who eventually also will fall.

But taking the time to open our eyes,

and to notice our fellow dust motes,

I think we will see that quite often, we rise.

And does that not give the world hope?

*

Look deeply, my friend,

at all that might be,

right there, just in front of you, here.

The world’s full of magic and beauty and light.

The world’s full of wonder and hope.

And it’s there in those small acts that keep love afloat.

And it’s there right inside you, and inside of me.

If we just take the time and the care just to see,

there are sparks of light rising in every dust mote.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Then? When? Now? It’s Just a Matter of Time

“Grass ii” by satakieli is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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Then? When? Now? It’s Just a Matter of Time

By Jane Tawel

March 9, 2023

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No one knows what happens.

Don’t believe them when they say they do.

They tell you there’s a Heaven out there

and so, we stop focusing;

our eyes grow bleary with the hopelessness,

of bringing Heaven to earth now.

There can be no fear if we admit

we simply never know enough.

Never enough — 

not then, not now, not whenever.

I hope to hope

mostly from now on,

to hope in what I can not know.

Let’s live in hope,

that all who seek might find,

and all might have and be at home,

here and now.

*

And no one knows the Truth

of what once happened

long ago or yesterday.

Your truth can never be mine,

nor mine yours,

but therein lies peace.

We all have inner-inter-interpretations;

and the impressions left on hearts and minds

run deeper than a chasm of doubt,

run deeper than any one can dig us out of,

run deeper than a mother’s love,

run deeper than a child’s dreams,

run deeper than a hope unborn.

The ruts are deep

and mine are mine to mine

and yours are yours to rest in if you choose.

All of us should stand ready,

above the ruts we’ve worn,

and hold out hands

to lift another up,

or perhaps just to see

if arms are really wings

and we can fly.

*

I tried to write a final verse

about living in the moment,

but instead I went out to lie in the green field,

and there I played with a blade of grass.

And I thought no more of yesterday.

And I thought no more of tomorrow.

And I thought no more of you or me.

And I thought no more,

but rested there,

and played a little with a blade of grass,

and hummed a small and meaningless tune.

*

Then? When? Now?

It’s just a matter of Time.

I have so much to un-accomplish,

and so little else to say.

Time is short, contracting in upon itself.

Only what we love will last.

Come be with me,

until our time has passed.

And of yesterday,

we will remember only love.

And as for tomorrow,

we will need know nothing,

only Love.

And as for now — 

Come, let us laugh,

and play with blades of grass.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Grey and Me

“Rainy day on Campus” by cseeman is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

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Grey and Me

By Jane Tawel

March 4, 2023

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I love the sounds and sights of grey.

It’s funny how a day

can feel a certain way to some

and others feel a difference.
 Do you think there’s significance

in just what kind of mood is struck

by just what luck the weather holds?

And whether we like sun or clouds

will take some blame for what enfolds.

*

But as for me, I do incur

a pleasure when the world is blurred

by fog or clouds or rain or drizzle.

But others like the world to sizzle

with sun and heat and bright, hot blues.

And that’s okay — that’s me and you.

*

So, whether we find solitude

or being out there romping through

the kind of weather that brings people together — 

they’re both okay — it’s just our kind of day.

But if there are a few of you,

who like I do, need some excuse,

to stay inside, alone, obtuse

to what so many gain in pleasure

by peopling out there in fine weather,

then you may know, and with me say:

“God, give me less of sunny rays!

I find myself at home in greys.”

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Dust and Rain

by Jane Tawel

my window seat and rain

Dust and Rain

By Jane Tawel

February 24, 2023

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Sitting here,

watching the birds in their feathered drab raincoats,

pick through the dust for worms.

The lovely, longed-for rain has come.

*

Yet I recall

that all and all is gone

or almost gone.

Faith fades like light in shallowed dusk.

And you have left,

and you and you and you.

*

And I will leave soon, too.

And this time, I will leave (I hope) for Good.

I’m sorry — please forgive me — 

that I so little valued Time

and little valued you, and you, and you,

’til all, or almost all, were gone.

*

Oh, what are memories,

but fallow, shallow-laid dust?

Yes, we are but from dust

and to the dust shall we return.

And one can only hope,

The Wind will carry us.

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Perhaps The Wind,

The Wind of rain and dust,

will carry us,

to land upon the future,

and sting some other’s eyes.

Perhaps my dust will settle down,

to meld with other dust,

and rain will form us into mud,

to nurture living things.

Or might my dust,

light softly on my dear ones’ heads,

as off they tread to the party,

to dance and laugh

and remember sometimes,

that though we are but dust,

Love is what we’re made of, too.

*

Some say it’s never over;

that one becomes one plus One

to equal more than just this particle of dust.

And some can bide their Time

until the ooze of Earth has passed,

and Time is blown into Eternity,

like so much dust.

And some can find a way,

to shape dust into clay,

and mold the hours of now

into something worthy of Love.

*

But I am just a little thing,

not much at all,

not more than just this speck.

And yet I have been loved.

And yet I have so loved.

*

I don’t know much of anything.

but for today,

as I sit here,

the lovely, lovely, needed rain,

will have to be enough.

© Jane Tawel, 2023.

  • ** This past Wednesday I was able to partake in what for me is still one of the meaningful rites and “passages” in a lunar calendar, Ash Wednesday. This poem may have been inspired by the ancient teaching in the Genesis story and the beginning of profound humbling as to who we are and to what we can possibly hope for from a SomeOne/ Something that chooses to communicate to even dust. (Genesis 3:19: “And God said to Adam, from dust I created you and to dust you shall return.” ) 
Ash Wednesday, 2023

I Teach Them How

I found this in a notebook when I was clearing out “stuff”. I wrote this way back in 2007, before I ever started this blog space and when I still drove my four kids around to things and often drove them crazy. Written before I knew how quickly those years of parenting would pass and written, well, during everything that mattered.

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I Teach Them How

by Jane Tawel, 2007

Morning seeps in.

I wake… frayed.

To start the day whole,

I pray.

“Dear God, open my eyes — 

literally.”

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I drive.

Tires screeching at cement,

me screeching at other drivers — 

“Jesus! Watch out!” — 

as if they could hear me.

(Thank God they can’t.)

My children watch me

and catch on –

they are learning — 

Life is Stress.

*

Move on. Move on.

No time for now.

I teach my children how

to live ahead.

And how to dread,

Time’s screeching stops,

and miss the drops

of grace that only appear

when fear of something being taken

is prayed away

by living in the present

of the Present.

*

“Dear God of Open Roads Ahead,

and open skies and open hands;

Dear God of open minds and open hearts,

please open mine.

Open my life to Yours.

Open me to just this moment.”

“Okay, Kids, Open the Door.

Everyone get out.

We’re here.”

*

Home, hone, hold.

Hope.

Home.

Here.

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Frazzled at day’s close,

clinging and cuddling

those who look to me — 

and I — I look to them.

The holy diadem of motherhood

is tarnished but not lost.

I thank God for the cost and pray:

“Oh, let there be a better day,

a better way

for me to love as You,

Great Parent-Father-Mother,

Who does at greatest cost,

Parent the small and lost.

Redeem my every childish way,

my every willful, careless day,

and help my children see,

the You that lives

even in one as immature as me.”

*

© Jane Tawel, 2007

The Junk Drawer

“A junk drawer, inherited” by eugmeid is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

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The Junk Drawer

By Jane Tawel

February 14, 2023

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Everyone needs a junk drawer,

a little drawer where they can keep

the things not really needed,

but that they just can’t throw away.

*

I have a junk drawer

where I store

the odds and ends,

the manuals and receipts,

things that cause me fear

to disregard;

Things I’m too afraid that I might need someday.

I’ve thrown in

the pictures and notes,

the nails and screws and washers,

the old wine corks and pieces of string;

the things that must belong to things –

 — I’m sure of it! — 

things I might need some day.

A junk drawer is a useful thing,

as long as you can close it;

as long as you can shut inside

all the things you can’t decide about,

all the things you plan on thinking about,

all the stuff you don’t know

what to do with,

stuff to save to figure out,

where it might belong,

stuff to save for using,

another day,

tomorrow maybe,

but not today.

*

I wish I had a junk drawer

for thoughts my mind can’t throw away.

I wish I could cram down inside

all the thoughts I have no use for,

thoughts that cause me fear

to disregard;

 thoughts that have no purpose,

but that I might find handy to pull out,

one day,

but not today.

I wish had a place that I could open,

and stuff in all my feelings,

and then close them up tight,

without needing to do anything with them.

I wish I had a junk drawer

for all the missing, broken parts of me

that I don’t know what to do with.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

I Have Lived a Life of Fear

“Cobwebs” by Settle Snapper is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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I Have Lived a Life of Fear

By Jane Tawel

February 6, 2023

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I have lived a life of fear.

From fearfulness to fearfulness,

like spiders creating strong webs,

I can’t escape.

And often I thought it was strength,

my ability to turn my fears into action.

Often, I thought my fear was strength,

and often I thought I was in the right.

Webs grow strongest

when they are left in unclean places.

*

Fear has so many disguises.

Now a spider,

now a child.

I was once that child,

hiding and seeking;

a child who didn’t know how or when

fear appeared.

Fear hides among the games we play.

As we grow, the games change,

and fear can hide among all we seek.

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Today I sat,

like a cat looking out my window

at the world.

And I tried for just a moment,

to let all thoughts die,

both the good and the bad,

both the anxieties and the memories,

both the hopes and the fears –

I had to kill them all;

I had to sweep them all out

of my corners and crannies and open spaces,

because I didn’t know which was which any more.

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And suddenly, like a breeze that

blows away the dead webs,

and leaves only clean light,

my Spirit became more than a caged animal.

And for a moment, within me,

there was an altar.

And my body was a temple.

and on the altar,

I sacrificed my fears.

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And the Temple of the Lord — 

my body, my mind, my heart, my life — 

was filled with the soft light of peace.

And I brushed away the cobwebs,

and let the spiders go free.

And The Temple of my World

was filled with joy.

And we worshiped.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

And On It Goes

On the Road to Joshua Tree by Jane Tawel

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And On It Goes

By Jane Tawel

January 20, 2023

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And on it goes –

this life.

If you’re lucky.

And if you take

(and give and take),

well, then,

a little time

can go a long way.

*

There is nothing real,

nothing that exists,

that you do not create

for yourself,

but mostly that, and if,

you do create

for others.

All else is suffering.

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Truth tells us truly,

that anything we make,

without love,

will never last longer,

than the span of our lives.

But all created  

with love is eternal.

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Today, be love.

Today, be eternal.

Be what you were created to be—

an image of Creator-Love.

Real. Here. Now.

Love.

Life.

Forever.

And on and on it goes.

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(c) Jane Tawel, 2023

Teatime and Rain

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

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Teatime and Rain

By Jane Tawel

January 8, 2023

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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.

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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.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

So, What Does it Mean to Be New?

By Jane Tawel

New Year’s Eve.

December 31, 2022

“fireworks” by SJ photography is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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So, what does it mean to be new, new, new?

Oh, what does it mean to be new?

For isn’t the time that we think we have spent,

just simply our changed point of view?

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Oh, what’s in the name of a day, day, day,

and what’s in the name of a year?

For don’t the hours pass in the same old way

as the moments by moments appear?

*

Oh, must we insist this is the new year,

encroaching, about to appear?

I fear we have missed the point — 

We exist to live in the now and the here.

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So, what does it mean to be new, new, new?

Oh, what does it mean to be new?

I think that it means I can be a new me,

and that I can see you’re a new you.

For I’m not the same as I was just last minute,

and you can have changes that have no great limits.

Will you look at me, and let me look at you?

And we will walk forward — so new, new, new.

Yes, we will begin again new.

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Happy New Minute, Friends!

Embrace Your New!

Embrace Your You!

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© Jane Tawel, New Year’s Eve, 2022