When I take a stand for kindness,
a straight and square stand,
no wobbly plea
When I take a stand for fair dealing —
no drama, only honesty
When I take a stand for goodness —
not tomorrow, or at some
vaguely gestured at
contingency,
These things will win,
for they are solid —
not found in the elusive
posturing of quid pro quo,
but simply what they are,
ever here, frame and bulwark
of our home.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 29, 2019
I sit on the cabin porch
and wait for the rain,
listening to thunder
and the rattle of the neighbor’s tractor
as he tries to get his grass mowed in time.
The wind comes up, the daisies and the firs
send message —
I can smell it, I will see it soon
A doe is nonchalantly
grazing in the meadow,
little birds are quiet
while trucks keep rolling home,
and the rain is here
fresh and rhythmic on the roof,
the place we are suddenly grows small
but we are dry
and there is room enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2019
Mice tease out the seeds
from grass heads, and they weave
the soft chaff into bedding
(I know because
when we moved lumber
we found a stash)
I don’t know if they camp
or homestead. I don’t know
if we uprooted them
or if they were long gone
I know they have busy hands
and keen noses, and they seek heat
and water, and soft fiber,
and they get around.
I know they can live without us
but I think they would rather not.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 26, 2019
Let me pause and consider
how grace is given us,
moment by moment,
day after day
Not as some rare prize
we came on by chance
or earned with great virtue
or masterful play
Grace is given —
it blesses us,
though we’re confounded
by how we occasioned it,
how it arrives
Grace we live in
will bless, too,
the others around us –
in blessing us, they, too,
will graciously thrive.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 25, 2019
There was nothing substantial
to make a poem with
in that squid-inky mass of emotions
that squished around on the currents
of deep sighs, and a breeze
a little too cold to fall asleep in,
a state that could pass
like the swing of a hammock
or an adjacent snore
of exhaustion, late in the afternoon
of a day so unabashedly brilliant
that no kind of lostness
made any sense,
yet there it was,
waiting to be redeemed.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2019
Everything comes when we need it —
help, visitors, time on our own,
and someday we may learn to trust
the Principle which brings this all in line
Someday we may understand
that what is given
is not the things that meet our needs,
but our identity, our heritage
as ones who are provided for
with richness and bright whimsey,
with thoughtfulness and boundless generosity —
given this place in Mind where
we sing and delight and are loved and delighted in,
just like everything is.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 22, 2019
We found ourselves moving
through a haze,
a sun-bleached, wind-burned, work-worn haze,
moving, because we weren’t clear
how to stop,
asleep on our feet, not sure
how to find revival
We felt nomadic, rustic, almost homeless,
though our home is growing,
though our home is vast.
We will sleep, we will rise,
we will work again,
we’ll count this all for joy
after we’ve rested.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 21, 2019
The day fills up with
the bobbing of grass shafts,
their heads identifying
distinct natures
above the blades
The day fills up with
winds that rise and fall
and the clicks and tocks of ravens
and the crystal-colored calls
of blackbirds
The day is full of
the presence of Spirit
rising up through everything,
causing and being everything,
each seed head and foot fall,
each breath, each perception,
each grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 19, 2019
Is it OK to take a moment
before I step back
from the dry path of sadness,
to feel the desolation
before turning back to green?
It isn’t forbidden
but why I seem to want this
eludes me. this path was fruitless
even before the hope died,
it was a way I would have wasted
life energies and time
Well, being here, feel it —
feel the hollow wind
sucking at the dry rocks,
feel the hunger, feel the sorrow,
feel it for as long as you may need to
Then you can turn yourself,
and live.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 18, 2019
And if you didn’t think
you had enough,
you could always
open all the doors,
especially the ones
you thought were locked,
especially the ones
you didn’t know were there
A willingness
to allow for their existence
will help you see them,
a humbleness of mind
will help you find them.
What you need will flood in
without disturbing anything —
a dawning of awareness
of what’s here.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 17, 2019