Author Archives: Wendy

Cygnet

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swan and cygnet1

The message is clear —
there’s time for what you need —
There’s time for you to nap on the shore
when the wind is boisterous
and the waves contrary
and the journey is too long for youswan and cygnet3

There’s time for you to tuck your head
and gather strength. Your parents
will wait and stand guard
while you sleep

Heir of grace,
you will be guided
through these ungainly times
before your white flight feathers.
You are every bit as loved
in your gray garb
as you have always been,
as you will ever be.
Months will deliver you
into your splendor,
but now you can take
all the time that you need.swan and cygnet 2

©Wendy Mulhern
July 14, 2016

Traveling

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blue sky

Riding through worlds
in concentric bubbles —
bubble of sound,
bubble of thought,
(poetry read against
music receding as images rise)
bubble of fuselage,
bubble of sky
enclosing patchwork earth
and lakes reflecting clouds

We traverse time collectively,
each of us cocooned
in our strategies
to pass through untouched
to the other side.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 13, 2016

Before my departure

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feather,stones

Set me down softly
the moment
floats like a feather
the stones
close in their other world
whisper of timelessness

We have walked here
close to the shore,
close in our linking thoughts,
close with companion hands,
closing the loop that will hold us together
across weeks, across coasts,
mind bridge of water and light
clasp of connection
till I come home.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 12, 2016

Cerulean

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cerulean with bird

I am reminded
to let go of all trying,
efforts on my part,
after all, amounting
to nothing more
than obfuscation

Today, as ever,
some swift patch of blue
fills my vision with the wideness
of effortless being,
the infinite home of cleaving
to omnipresent allness

(Even as my pack rat mind
scurries around, trying to package it
into a Lesson, a plan, a resolution)

Still, the brightness gleams
in so many places,
I can be reminded
again and again.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 11, 2016

Caregiving

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pink wildflowers

In this time of
standing watch,
taking care,
making sure
the quiet order of things
can unfold, unperturbed,
there’s little space
to move things forward —
too many tiny tethers
to accomodate wild leaps

Instead, the measured calm
of giving the attention each thing needs
proceeds in small steps,
none of them remarkable,
none of them leading us forward,
but all of them together,
keeping us steady
in the place we are.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 10, 2016

Waves

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Richmond Beach waves

I watched the waves come in steady —
for each three breaking, three more would appear.
At every moment, some were ending,
some were forming,
some would break and some just disappeared

I thought of life, of opportunities
as if each were a wave, as if I had to choose,
as if some waves would bring me
the fulfillment that I hoped for,
while other choices might well disappoint

and then I watched the light across the water,
the brightness of the blues, the constancy
of all the pattern, and I knew
what comes into my life is not beholden
on luck or on the choices that I make

Just as all this sea
is given to my eyes, and all this beach,
so all my days are given me, and all their joy —
There are no misses, no crestfallen choices.
The one who gives me life
has promised goodness, too,
and gives it constantly
throughout my days.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 9, 2016

Black Lives Matter

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crocosmia

Black lives matter.
They matter to every
brilliant, bright-eyed,
brown-skinned child
and to the world they grace,
for their potential for joy,
for discovery, for fervent love

Black lives matter
to every mother, father, brother,
niece — all of the blood connections,
all the humanity,
all the strength developed
through undeserved oppression,
all the courage to stand together
against colossal odds

And Black lives matter
to the poverty of my whiteness,
to the cruelty of a system
which has given me the harsh role
of oppressor

Black lives matter
and if we Whites can free ourselves
from our complicity,
we, too, will taste
some of the sweetness
we’ve been parched for, all these years

We will learn kindness
in ways we’ve never known,
for kindness only thrives
where it can be unbridled,
unmeasured, unwithheld,
where it flows freely
to wherever there’s a need,

To wherever there’s a bright child
who needs the world to know
her Black life matters,
(and Barbie, not a model for anything,
is just hard plastic)
One Black life can start to set us free.
Black lives matter to me.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 8, 2016

Seasoned

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grass and firs

Days come, in their variety,
Everything living jumps into the rounds —
birth and renewal, harvest and rest

We find ourselves seasoned by seasons,
patina’d, weathered,
rising and falling with readiness
for the arc at hand,
new growth superimposed
on the memory of last year’s cycles,
becoming timeless with the ancient breathing
of what returns again, ever new.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 7, 2016

Offering

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Shoreline sky

I will bow down
in order to take off,
I will dip into the slip stream,
I will rise swiftly, pulled up
by the climbing current

Each day, to do this, I will sacrifice:
I will give up my fear.
I will slip it off my neck, over my head,
I will lay it down. Thus unburdened,
I will be ready for the updraft,
when it comes. I will stretch my arms wide
to take it in, to revel in the sheer expansiveness
of flight

I will remember:
humility is light and pliant —
it is no pain to carry,
it is so much better
than all those splintered beams,
those sharp shards,
those things I used before
to try to build myself

I bow my head
to receive this blessing,
I serve this truth
in order to be free.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 5, 2016

Undersides

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Holly's

Jennifer says we think the same thoughts
all our lives. She says we never really change.

That may be, but still I see
a different view these days,
something like the undersides of leaves,
how light shines through them differently,
lending a softness to their edges, their presence

I think I see things softer now,
with less of an opinion
and more of a willingness
to let the light spill through
however it does, without needing
to be catalogued or edited

I think there’s more shadow
on the underside of my thoughts,
places where grief may gather
and keep itself company,
places for things to be undefined,
against which a days brightnesses
can stand out in relief.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 4, 2016