Author Archives: Wendy

Language

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lower pasture last May

Let me translate your words
back into light, back into
towering grand fir, gracious at evening,
green glow of grass in western sun,
purple of delicate iris

Let me translate your actions
back into desire,
into the impulse of being seen,
of connecting, belonging,
and being uniquely needed

This is the original language,
shared by bees and geese and ravens
and whatever bird it is that
sends that trill of liquid joy
continually across the land —
this is the language
in which we are understood.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 19, 2016

Filled

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Mill Creek, dusk

May you be filled, daily
with what you desire daily,
that thirst that opened up in you
when the deep crevasse was formed,
when you cracked open
and the molten light welled up
swift and searing and so satisfying,
(and you had never before even known
of the desire before that happened)

May you be open like that daily,
and may you be filled.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 18, 2016

This Smile

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iris

I traced the line of your lips
with my finger,
I touched your cheek.
That was all it took, really —
that kind of attention
calls forth affection
as if out of nowhere

I smile. You are not sure —
you really hope to believe it
but I have been less than warm
for longer than I’d noticed.

So you’ll look again
with that hope in your eyes,
hope for this smile,
which, really,
how could I have withheld it?

©Wendy Mulhern
April 15, 2016

Partnership

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Edward on grass roadEach step we take is tiny.
There is, it seems, extreme effort
to any thing we can say in a sentence
that we did —
It’s astonishing
we don’t accomplish more

Yet we find a sense of owning, of tending,
that grows as if without our efforts —
I feel the land responding,
settling in to trusting us,
moving, generous, to aid
the things we’ve planned

Grand things will happen,
but it’s good to know
we are already here.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 16, 2016

Lazy

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garden, evening

Let’s not call ourselves lazy,
as the wind plays the chimes
and ushers cherry blossom petals,
not unkindly, along,
as needle fall, from douglas fir,
makes its dry ptick against the wooden bench

Let’s not call ourselves lazy
to be lifted thus, by sun and scented breeze,
to notice the pace of insects,
to be in dialog with what will grow,
in gentle give and take
with what the garden offers

Indeed, it is not lazy
to honor the pace
of our breath, our days,
to take time to listen,
and know to offer
only what, right here, right now
can be received

These tendrils we develop,
these tender patterns we pioneer,
will prove essential
as our sights clear.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 14, 2016

Choice

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misty trees

Whether or not you get to choose what happens,
you always have the choice
how you feel about it. Not to recommend
some sort of tortured mind game,
a mental strong-arming,
a set of taut constructs

But you have the choice
to stop and look,
you have the choice to not
go down the cataract
with all your wild emotions,
you have the choice to stand there
in the tumble of them
and wait

And you have the choice
to stand still
and let the pool of you
fill with your essence,
and you can use that —
all that overflowing light —
to find your way out.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 13, 2016

Version (intro or extra)

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flicker peaking

and in solitude,
how shall one pursue the baubles
and the light that comes
from their exchange?

but in multitude,
the jostling shifting
of everyone’s efforts,
how can one find and proffer
the right one?

it’s easy enough to go home
without having said anything,
without engaging,
easy enough to say
one didn’t need it, anyway,
or didn’t need it here

if there’s a whole other being,
a light inducing, producing,
seducing incandescence,
luminescence from within
all satisfying,
it still should serve
to lead to bright connections,
not wean one from them,
don’t you think?

©Wendy Mulhern
April 12, 2016

Release

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branch with bikesI thought my struggle
was to become capable,
to learn and do, do and learn
until, from rough edges
a fine form emerges
and I do the needed thing
with grace

But perhaps my struggle
is to silence all the loops of thought
that cast me as unable
and all I need to do
is leave those loops
to step out knowing
I have always done those things
and done them well

Perhaps my struggle
is the smooth release
from all that said I couldn’t,
exchanging calculation
for faith.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 11, 2016

Spring’s Truth

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maple blossoms and leaves

Nothing is mundane
when the fragrance of blossoms
blesses every breath
and blackbirds and robins
sing its praise

Nothing is mundane
when the inner greening
continues tender
and rapt attention
finds its place

All the dead blackberry stalks
have become brittle,
and though they still may snag,
they can be snapped away,
they can be left behind,
space can be made
for what is soft and fresh and sweet,
we can be defined
by where we are alive.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 10, 2016

This Rhythm

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sunny spring day

Cherry blossom petals flutter, settle,
small insects — flitting sun specks —
oscillate between the shadows,
chickadees are house-hunting

Green leaves everywhere
present reflecting tops,
translucent undersides,
trembling in the light breeze
and the transfixing pleasure
of illumination

Robins have been singing
since early morning.
Clearly, this is the rhythm
in which life must unfold,
this is the model
for us to follow.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 9, 2016