Author Archives: Wendy

Last Ride of Summer

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I rest in the smug comfort
of intermittent torrential showers,
as I have already reaped
from the day
a magnificent ride

Cormorant swallowing a fish,
mourning dove perching on a wire,
houses of the towns pert and clean,
sun almost emerging from the clouds

The crash of wild high tide surf,
the thrill of strongly tugging water,
sun sheen emerging
at the height of drama,
sand and wind and soft sea foam

Flat high-topped clouds just whispered
of the chance of future thunder —
I drank in all the glory
to fill my morning hunger

Then I returned. Two hours later
rain descended,
making lakes of roads approaching five corners,
thunder rumbling high across the sky,
me content and gleeful to be dry.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 6, 2017

Trust Moment

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It is a soft space
this place where we have
folded and fallen,
where shadows soften
all around us
and our edges
blur in darkness

There are things here
I can’t talk about to anyone
though I keep trying to imagine who

There is a place where
we have breathed together
and this will have to do,
I will need to be sustained
through the long silence
by some kind of a trust moment —
at its necessary time
everything will come clear.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 3, 2017

Reframing

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Save me from the cobwebs
of these stories,
save me from the crazed crack mazes,
save me from wandering, once again,
down these tired paths
to their mindless ends,
living these same frames
over and over, reaching the same conclusions

There is no need to live like this —
if I don’t like where these paths end
I don’t need to start down them.
If I don’t want to dwell in miry stuckness
I can refuse to take it in

If I want to live in light,
this is where I must begin.
Those worn out stories
can tell themselves to themselves.
It isn’t blindness
to lift my head,
it isn’t cheating
to choose a different place to play.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 2, 2017

Like Water

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I let my being stream
like water through a net,
I let my being rest
like water in a pool.
There’s nothing to hang up on
and nothing to defend,
there is no need for perturbation

True, there may be pebbles cast,
there may be large rocks
and woody springs,
there may be turbulence within the flow,
there may be eddies, there may be dams

But that which keeps welling up
still bears the character
of its source, remains tributary
to that which calls it forth,
retains its essence
in every place it’s found,
unchanging as it moves throughout the ground.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 1, 2017

These places along which we’ve laughed

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Getting further down the line
of what I’ve called my life
I find that many things
that seemed of ponderous importance
make no difference at all

Whereas what really matters is
the times we’ve laughed —
the way they make a path
down which it’s easy
to laugh again, catching each other’s eyes
at the top of a giggle,
opening up the corridor
through which joy can bubble —
joy and belonging and some
wonderful forgiveness
for any former blaming

These places along which we’ve laughed
define the ways we know each other,
give the flavor of our family
where we come back, so eagerly, to drink.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 31, 2017

Private Conversations

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1.
The wind in my ears
as we rode through the rain
on our bikes — a whistle it made
with my hair or my jacket,
that only I could hear

2.
The sun on my head
(just a square, just there)
as I napped on the couch
on the screened porch —
silent but warmly expressive

3.
Various unexplained hungers —
my stomach demanding
but not specifying —
well who does it think it is anyway?
Why should I listen to it?

©Wendy Mulhern
August 30, 2017

Red Right Returning

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The Island wraps me
in a cocoon of gray,
warm strong wind on the ferry,
steel sparkles from a partly shrouded sun

Though my loyalties have drifted,
though I don’t boast of ownership,
won’t brag about partaking
in night swims and sunset sails

Still the pull of family is strong,
and the wind is part of it,
as is the kinship with other ferry riders,
whom I don’t know,
as are the salty swells out of the east,
rocking the boat as it docks,
splashing the waves on the rocks,
speaking the rhythms of home.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 29, 2017

Use of Voice

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It seems reasonable
that at this time of life
I come to the place
where my personal issues
are solved, where I no longer stress
over image or performance,
no longer ever feel down,
discouraged, ashamed

There is, after all, much to do
in standing up for the free voice
of everyone, for the triumph of Spirit
over all obstacles, for the grand dissolving
of all that touts itself as power
but doesn’t shelter.
Only what serves life
gets to live. Only what liberates
deserves a voice.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 29, 2017

Morning Dip

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Cold water is no problem
once you get used to it,
especially as sun warms
despite the breeze

Eventually full submersion
is well worth it
for the layers and layers of sparkle —
clear water, sun reflection, skin tingles,
wind drying, shadow dancing,
sand shifting softly under feet
and freshness that endures throughout the day.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 26, 2017

Today (in sum)

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Evening creeps, almost unseen,
into the room,
today’s triumphs soften
and its brilliance cools

It’s  been an unassuming day,
but graced with a sense of rightness,
bathed in holy light,
rinsed in the comfort
of dawning goodness,
everything as it belongs

People come back from their festivals
where they went, hoping to be changed,
and maybe they are,
and maybe from here
we’ll amazingly
find ourselves uniting
in the dignity of every blessed day.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 25, 2017