Author Archives: Wendy

Flow

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mountains from plane

Perceptions loosen, floes flow,
rigid edges bump against each other
and fall off, shapes get rounded,
constructs that were solid
become dislodged,
where there was certainty,
the questions form

There is a current coursing underneath,
pulling everything towards the source.
There may be grinding creaking,
there may be logjams,
and signs of overwhelming force

Don’t be afraid.
You’ll find a suppleness
replacing former hardened forms,
you’ll find a truth that doesn’t count on stasis,
and an identity that doesn’t bow to norms

You’ll find yourself
finding yourself fluid,
define yourself in how you learn to move.
What must melt and break
will do so
as you approach the subtle, steady truth.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 27, 2016

Freedom Prayer

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Katama shadow selfie

Make me new, each day,
remind me of the bright strength
that waits, quicksilver, for me to ride,
always safe from any efforts
to frame it stiff, subvert it,
remind me of the over-welling love
that floods out all attempts
to make it small

Not what I own,
but what is mine
by virtue of belonging
in all that is,
not what I thought I was,
but what I am,
ever surging with the infinite.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 26, 2016

Clear

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clouds from breezeway

Let my heart be soft,
let it release constrictions,
let me trade in my judgments
for innocence

Let my breath be full,
let my soul feel its expansion,
let me trade in my regrets
for forgiveness

This is a time of freshness,
two nights’ thunderstorms
achieving crispness on the second morning,
the hot thickness, for now,
cleared from the day,
This is a time for clear eyes, too,
scratchy opinions
all washed away.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 24, 2016

Wind

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wind

The wind has blown through the whole day,
tossing tree crowns and plastic chairs,
bringing mugginess from the south
but cooling it to bearable

Dragonflies have danced, devouring insects
who had found, perhaps,
a still point in the air

We have walked this day
with grace and finesse,
we have found ways to move,
ways to make others happy

We have kept listening
to the patterns of kindness,
passed from tree to tree, sung by many birds,
held in the dignity of each tousled head
that lifts itself to face the wind.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 22, 2016

Rising

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cirrus at Weaver Lane

Your soul each morning
walks out open,
arms spread, ready as a kite
to catch the updraft of being,
to soar and scud, to dive and dance
along the upward currents,
to rise and rise,
even as your gifts flow
out and around,
to let the impulse multiply
and come back through again,
ever cycling, ever linked
by mutual nourishment
to other cycles,
other life forms rising and releasing,
all of us emerging as a whole.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 21, 2016

Joy Wins

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lower pasture, july

Joy wins —
It is the starting point,
the quality of every impetus

Not something hoped for,
waited for, a distant endpoint,
not something to emerge
(perhaps) after travail and sorrow

(Though it does emerge there,
being unsuppressable, waiting,
always, for the point when,
drama spent, we pause from flailing)

Joy wins.
It is the trumpeting
of everything we are,
not tied to loss or gain
but simply here —
the life force pulsing us
through every day.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 20, 2016

Signs

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wind from north

I.
Today at the end of my bike ride,
enjoined from coasting no-hands,
I imagined wings at my shoulder blades.
I could feel them, and the way my lungs filled
as they opened. My breath deepened,
and emotions pulled at my chest

I could feel the work of muscles
down my back, I could feel
how wind caught
under their downstroke.

I felt myself lifted,
I heard the wing beat,
the rush at my ear.
It was more than enough to compensate
for my three fingers on the handlebar.

II.
I take it as a sign of goodness
that the air has cooled —
the wind has come around from the north
and the clouds have gone to cirrus,
still visible in pink above the afternoon’s
high cumulous, as twilight
wafts in on the drier breeze
promising deep sleep.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 19, 2016

One Moment

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lagoon schoonerEvening brings
a chance of thunder,
a momentary glow,
last sun gleaming
on a boat’s white hull

Memory offers
people hardly even listening
while waiting to be seen,
to be heard, to be known

Wisdom intones
No one needs coaching
on how to be.
It’s never right to ask,
how are you doing
at learning to forgive?

I must honor
the cloak of respect,
must honor your quiet space,
big enough for you to twirl around in,
big enough for you to turn three times
to make a nest of long grasses
in which to sleep,
big enough to fling yourself down,
to howl, to moan, to cry,
or not. It’s OK for you to just sit there, too.
It isn’t mine to pry.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 18, 2016

After the Opening

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vessel at sunset

My mouth has been full of thank yous.
Bright threads of them
trail through thought,
Images flit in memory
like a convergence of moths

The day’s events are over
and all their preparations
can now lie smooth
for the next day’s work to build on

In a while, all this excitement
can settle as well.
Tomorrow, of course,
will take care of itself.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 17, 2016

Vessel by Jennifer McCurdy, photo by Josh Liebowitz

Habit

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Magnuson shore

You don’t need to swallow
the bitter drink of disappointment
even though it’s a habit

You don’t need to close your eyes and nod
while the gall spreads down your throat
and pools of it settle behind your eyes,
and your teeth grind together
in the misery of another brick in your wall
of small

You can set that cup down,
you can bow your head,
you can wait to be filled
the way water fills footprints
in shiny sand

You can insist
on drawing no conclusions
until joy rises up
to smooth your brow.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 15, 2016