Tag: poetry

Braving Through

By Jane Tawel

January 30, 2020

 

 

Toddling, really,

Since it all began, at least if not more.

I fall-down daily,

Toppling over,

 in a mess

 amongst the pots and pans,

 or dandelions and weeds.

 

And I don’t get back up,

But lie crumpled where I fell

until I suck each bloody finger;

Or lick a tissue I find in a linty pocket,

winding-up flimsy paper,

into a pointy little wet periscope,

And dab my skinned knees until the tissue runs red.

I leave a bit of skin in every day’s hard pavement.

 

Today I wake and don’t want to.

I feel it might all be over,

and I can’t get my head working right and my body won’t unwind to stand.

I tell myself all the things I’ve always told myself

 about God and life and love.

And I can’t seem to believe in any of it, long enough to turn the bathroom light on.

 

So, I sit in the dark

on porcelain as cold as a tomb,

running out of stored tears and excuses,

until I am dry.

 I unwind fragile paper,

meant only for the garbage pile, after serving me;

rolling it out like a banner on the battlements,

declaring war on this new day.

 

Then I rise and stumble forth.

Braving through.

“Papers” by Ganamex is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

Do I Dare Care?

A poem of dissent and longing

By Jane Tawel

January 4, 2020

*

Do I dare care?

When there are so many of us,

So much chaff,

So little substance,

Just charts and graphs,

These endless bullet points,

And births and deaths,

And I grow weary of one more breath…

Do I dare care?

*

 

The waves of humanity,

Rolling on,

Rolling over,

Here and yon,

Rising up to fade away,

Words like oceans,

Night and day,

None to care about,

None to care for,

Too many, too few,

Passing ships of you and you and you and you…

Too much care, too much care….

I’ll just stay buried here;

Blinding myself, Oedipus-like,

Screens blare and glare,

And all seems so life-like,

Moldering here,

So why dare care?

*

 

I could be agape,

For 24/7,

Searching for signs that shape

Our hells and our heavens.

But my heart will not long for long,

I grow listless and numb,

As the schisms between right and wrong,

Are buried alive,

In the mass overdrive,

Of taking and taking and taking

and making and making and making

and greeding and greeding and greeding

and needing and needing and needing…

Just what?

Just who?

Just why?

So why try?

Eat, drink, tomorrow I die.

*

 

Just what do I yearn for,

And why must I keep score,

When our planet burns shore to shore,

And the rich scorn the poor?

Each human being’s urge for

The crowd’s roar,

The prime floor, the front door, the top drawer,

We’re covered in gore,

And we’re all whores

In our endless drive for

more–

And more, more, more, more, more…

To earn more,

And learn more,

And get more returns for–

I can’t find the words for,

The sickness I feel for,

That all I have worked for,

And loved for,

And lived for,

Is nothing in terms for,

The non-ending search for,

The meaning I yearn for,

but now Red Alerts for

the whole world is worse for

the wear–

so why should I care?

*

The Judge has adjourned for,

Some place more concerned for,

Not starting a world war,

Or making more eyesores,

But beings who still adore,

The Maker of neighbors, next-door,

So, why should I search for,

Those great Gods of old lore?

They all took the exit door,

And now it’s our turn for,

Figuring out what the terms are,

A real live concern for…..

Survival.

*

 

So why should I care?

Soul-survival will be rare.

And that small little prayer,

That we thought would deflect,

Us from evil and death,

Can never protect–

 Judgement Day is a-comin’!

The beat that’s a-drummin’

Is the one I suspect,

Is the cause and effect,

Of the time I have spent,

In true love.

*

As the masses march on,

Love and life will be gone,

And a new world’s bright dawn,

With a new Kingdom come,

For those acting upon,

Not the rage to be first,

But the soul’s aching thirst,

For a world without end,

Where my foe is my friend,

And my only protection,

Is in new Resurrection.

*

 

Oh, there once was a Good Man

With the only stratagem,

For recreating our atoms,

Into new Eves and Adams.

The Good Man set the pace,

for our life in this place;

He began a pure race,

Made of sinners and saints,

Whom the earth will embrace,

In true heaven-like space.

It’s by seeking His face,

That my cares are erased,

And replaced….

With love.

*

 

There’s a world that’s not found,

In my burdens, earthbound;

But a kingdom that’s fueled,

By upside-down rules,

Led by Servants and Fools.

Isn’t that what I’m wanting

When I’m striving and flaunting?

But what just keeps on haunting

Me is just how darn dauntingly,

The day gets away from me,

And the night appears sneakily,

And by morning’s light,

I’ve forgotten our plight,

Long enough just to bury,

All the things that are scary,

And I busy me, mine, and I,

With pain-numbing lies,

About how the Divine,

Doesn’t care—

So why should I dare?

*

 

So, I search and explore,

  But meanwhile, I’m still lost,

In this endless, vast host,

Of my own words and thoughts,

All borrowed or bought,

And it’s all such a bore,

I can’t take too much more.

Oh, I swear,

I don’t care….

*

 

Yet this still, needling Voice,

taunts me to make the choice,

to pick both Truth and Dare,

and just care.

*

What I yearn for,

Is Somewhere,

And I beg

to be led There,

by the One who beat death,

just a man from Nazareth,

yet, the true image of,

Endless Meanings of Love.

Those who live like The Son,

And those acting upon,

Others’ needs, hurts, and cares,

Even now, as true heirs,

Will partake and drink of

Endless peace, endless love….

*

 

Oh, I slump here, world-weary,

Barely able to query…

Do I dare?

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

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.

 

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.

“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

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.