Birds sing with the freshness
of air that has been warmed
by the sun, cooled in the night,
and awaits the cusp of morning,
the floating moment
where warm and cool
rest in perfect balance
and the most delicate fragrances
reach full volatility
Gratitude is the elixir
which gives rise to joy,
huge flocks of it
turning as one
filling up the whole day.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 8, 2016
Oh, peace,
send your flourish
down all my fractal curls,
let me hum
with the vibrancy of unfurling,
each part in its most deeply welcomed
way, each a marvel,
the “aha” of this moment,
in the soothing ease
of belonging, exactly,
in this here, in this tapestry
where every color
nestles in around us
to uphold, define, and complement
our shape, our hue, our time.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 6, 2016
We are each in this place
where life’s currents
(so it would seem)
have set us,
much like these hills
dropped by floods
so many times
so long ago
The seeds within our banks
wake up and start their processes,
roots seek into soil, scout into places
where water collects under pebbles,
where threads of mycelium
extend their welcome,
shoots lift their heads
as if nothing else had ever happened,
as if no cataclysm
had rent the land,
as if, indeed,
this opportunity to live
had been expressly prepared for them,
this dew, this sun,
this whole community,
this hour, this day.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 3, 2016
There are processes
of settling down,
ways the jostled clutter finds
to re-collect,
regroup as like with like,
become contiguous,
ways the pieces
find their way
back to peace.
These I summon
at the end of this fractured day,
before the dream drift starts
(a way to smooth it in
and make it pleasant):
breath like tides
to comb the tangled webs,
deep drafts to let the scattered thoughts
find the restfulness
of their weight.
An end to the to do list,
a pause. Just listening . . .
©Wendy Mulhern
April 1, 2016
Well you told your story
sounding so justified,
it had me bleeding
for the other side
There has to be a way,
there has to be a win
where forgiveness counts
and compassion enters in
Stories are as common as desires
and as compelling —
I get caught up in the string of one
and in its telling,
and then I see in me
someone I don’t recognize,
I find I have forgotten
someones eyes . . .
No story, please, to set us each
in our appointed place of right or wrong,
just this, the being here,
the blessing and the song.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 31, 2016
This is not my battle,
this is not my battle,
I can let it go
This is not something
I can lose, not by wrong moves,
not by neglect,
this is not something that would benefit
from the weight of my anxiety.
I will not throw my weight around,
even in the privacy
of my own mind
This is something
that is well handled
by something much greater
than my small repertoire
of strategies
This is not my battle.
This is a time for me
to watch and learn.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 29, 2016
What treasures can you hold in your hands
as the dream dissolves
(the dream of your hands,
along with what they hold)
Where is the place you can put
something you have loved so deeply?
What can you bring
into the next place?
What holds your treasure
is more substantial than hands,
more lasting than memory,
more true than time
You’ll find it,
though it may be dispersed,
(so many light points to the reflections
in moving water)
It may take a while
to find its name again,
but its love will leap back to you,
jump into your arms
like it never left.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 28, 2016
Rain beats down
in interruption of
the fleeting sun,
sun in its brief windows
interrupts the rain,
sleep interrupts thought,
thought interrupts sleep,
anxiety about our course
interrupts excitement
We will smooth it over,
we will fill our moments
with enough learning
that we don’t have time
for gaps of panic,
and the places between the doing
we’ll fill with hope.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 27, 2016
We stand
startled at the sound
of our voices,
not having heard them
in so long,
lulled and cowed and simply worn down
by the loud drone constantly imposed,
passed off as our own,
asserting its message
of fear and division
all through the day and the night
Now we have spoken
and it’s wonderful how the sound
hums in our throats, in our bones,
how we find we have more to say,
how good it feels when others
resonate, corroborate.
So we stand together,
learning how to hear,
learning to be heard.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 26, 2016
I walked back today
along the path, in my mind,
where I had come, saw the crags,
the sharp ascents, the bracing view,
a good reminder
(as the way trends downward
into the understory, shaded and close)
that progress has been steady,
that the path rises, after this,
to further heights,
and there will be more views,
more stretches harder
than I have ever climbed,
more to change me beyond recognition,
and nothing for it
but to keep going.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 25, 2016