Author Archives: Wendy

Mementos

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The box labeled
parental sentimentalities
is small
and the things in it
were not carefully vetted

They were just what got caught
at moments when the momentum
of moving on
flagged a little
and these were dropped like sediment
from the slower flow

Or when a stick snags something
near the river’s bank
and other things, arrested, gather behind it

Somehow I couldn’t throw out
the paper cut out figure smiling benignly,
curling at the edges
or the fimo depiction
of a sink with snow in it

Many years hence
I may look at them again.
For now, this box is ark
among the flags.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 21, 2017

A Day Like This

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A day like this
it’s easy to understand perfection,
how things live at the crest of their giving —
nothing tentative, nothing restrained

It’s easy to understand
fear is no part of being,
doubt is not a concept
that life comprehends:
each electron gives its all
in the imperative leap
of this moment’s equipoise —
I can understand
this is what is happening now.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 19, 2017

Escape

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The lush green
from so many weeks of rain
pushes at the windows,
invites a quiet escape
from the room of classical music
and the old man dozing and rocking
and too much heat

To where everything is too long
for the well-groomed yard,
too wild for easy tending,
and birds and engines vie for prominence
in the suburban soundscape
and I haven’t really escaped anything
by stepping outside.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 18, 2017

Animal

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I keep thinking about
the little animal
with the sharp teeth
and the silky, sensuous body,
with its mammal warmth
and its round lair
and its flaring territoriality

I watch the animal within,
I see it turn and curl,
I see it growl and snap

And I remind it
it doesn’t need to do that.
There’s a grand connection here,
there’s ample safety
and there’s peace.
No need to defend me —
the animal is free to sleep.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 17, 2017

On Further Examination

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I break open the day
and find myself innocent
though many records
have intimated otherwise

My current self
has not been kind
to my former self
in terms of estimation of her worth

But there are signs amid the boxes
that grace was also present,
there was lovability
and she was loved

It’s right to learn things,
it’s right to grow and to outgrow
and with that progress,
forgiveness also has its place,
it’s right to leave some things behind
but still remember
in a fundamental sense
I’ve never changed.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 16, 2017

Fridge Poetry

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It seemed hard to find a poem today, my hours having been dusted with sorting, discarding, packing; my mind pursuing something as yet too arcane to fit into a poem; my body having its own issues. But one boon to the sorting was finding, again, a little booklet in which I recorded the poetry found on the fridge, courtesy of several collections of magnetic words. It seems appropriate to share (each clump is its own poem):

from which deep music
is this delirious joy
like skin whispers
I only ask
that I may feel
eternity

mother goddess
water color
I will soar free
shake time
sing life
life
in forest sky language

swim a thousand storms
why not live
sweet surreal rain music
springs here

moon be still
nude petals shine deeply
next to my feet
all there is
is here

luscious music
sweet to create
best two play

angel please
as always
color my every vision

smoke will make a masterpiece
under fast water
falling sculpture
a wild moment of
surreal grace

essential rock
shake free of time
wanting a thousand springs
only ask an eternity together

why not live
behind the rain
music above
purple wood near
song beneath
swim soaring
over the day

life’s blue whispers
from which I rose in sky
always feel gifted

Wendy Mulhern (and maybe some others)
sometime before and including October 2007

Coming Back

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But if I am a prodigal
I don’t regret
the years my older brother would call squandered

This path has taught me
everything I needed day by day,
this life has brought me
all these precious gifts
which I can offer,
humble and in awe
upon Love’s altar

I have grasped the very substance of my being
in the brothels, streets and bars,
in my losses and my tears

Proving
my Father’s hand never left my shoulder,
my days were always guided,
my return assured.
The song of gratitude I sing
is purer, bolder,
now that I know Love’s hand
is ever here.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 14, 2017

Undisturbed

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My days go along smooth
like a stream that’s found its rhythm,
gathered enough volume
to flow in silent swiftness
with only subtle murmurs
over underwater stones

I seem to be learning
through a series of reflective observations
how to distinguish who I am
from the impostor

I’m finding that I cannot be offended,
can’t be insulted or annoyed
and can’t be injured:

The “I” that’s true
gets its essence from its source
which never ceases,
and gets its impulse
not from reaction
but from the constant sustenance
of good

So things run smoothly
which before were turbulent
and what was helpless
finds the power of calm.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 13, 2017

Safety

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Look at the arches, consider
all the micro-trusts,
the leaning into,
at even the smallest scale,
that results in this entity,
this contiguity, this structure
in which we now take shelter

Is it not a miracle
that you know you’re safe here?
Is it not a thing to celebrate,
the way we both can trust
there is a place for us?

Indeed, I hardly understand
how these things happen, and why,
though I have an inkling
they are far more common
than our theories of their process
would support.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 11, 2017

Nothing is Lost

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Today I have proof
that nothing is lost,
though the hounds of regret
may howl and whine,
though sorrow sinks like cold air
into the place where hope has been uprooted

The great Love that fills all space
will finally be felt embracing everything,
and every loss will prove to be
a place that fills with joy
and all misunderstandings
will be redeemed

Even the most unconscionable blindnesses
will be revealed — eyes will be opened,
remorse flowing like tides
till all is equalled
and everyone will get to go home

Nothing is lost —
not chances, not years,
All will have their moment
to be the gift of love.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 10, 2017