Author Archives: Wendy

Ranging

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What starts as early morning bliss
may bolt—grow gangly in the climbing sun
and come to feel like hunger
and pace, in search of consummation—
Some outlet, some release
some clasp of hands
to close the circuit
and bring peace.

What soothes the ranging heart?
Is there a circle big enough
and close enough
to draw it in?
A quest for it to take
A stepping forward?
—An act of prayer
that settles it in channels
where it can deepen
as it flows down
to its sea.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 12, 2011



A page from the biking philosopher’s notebook

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– for Jennifer

As it is written
In the paws of a dog
In the sudden life arc of a spider
Things come to being out of thought:
From the imperative of their intent 
They come to life
Stretch forth in being what they are
Without a thought of being something else
And everything about them—form and function
(As paws that twitch and dream of running, digging)
Enacts that impulse which has brought them forth
And brings them forth again in every moment.

In the ephemera we call this life
Where things and plans dissolve so fast
Like dreams
Some thought that runs
Much deeper than our conscious mind
Calls forth a force
More steadfast than it seems
That orients our being to its course
Aligns our lives with our desires
And pulses us through underlying pattern
Our hands, our thoughts, and everything we are.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 11, 2011



Soulmate

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Who is that who stands beside you
Close as sunshine on your arm
Leaning into you in sweet connection
Blending strength into your strength?
Who is that with whom you whisper
Heads leaning in, touching in support
And easy closeness—who is your companion?
As present as your smile, your voice
Who is this love, and have you even met
And do you know that you don’t walk alone?
That every step you take is harmonized
By this essential presence—bone of your bone?


©Wendy Mulhern
August 10, 2011



True Summer

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These are the sounds of summer night
Served up in velvet warmth:
The braided rise and fall of cricket song, cicadas
The murmur of the wind, and water rolling
A clink of masts, a roar of distant traffic
The chatter of an isolated bird.

This is the feel of summer night
So full – 
My heart as sensitized as surface skin
A welling up of some sweet inner yearning
Awakened pull of tides within.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 9, 2011


True Stories

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No story is the truth
but there are true stories
If story is the arc on which you fly
some will launch you clean and true
and where you sail
will be the place you feel
the rising up of what you are
to meet the opportunity
the awesome, scary challenge
calling forth your deep integrity
A story that is true
will keep on ringing
with fractal echos still reverberating
the rightness of the patterns it’s creating
affirming you
forever reinstating
what you have always been
and now shall be
A story that is true
will set you free.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 7, 2011



A true story

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No story is the truth
but there are true stories
and this is one:
(it could be said the story is the frame)
This is the one in which
I own my name
move strongly in the archetypal power
where all particulars of who I am
can flower
with no apology, no shame
Like wings unfolding
once a chrysalis has split
They stretch and take in substance
from the sun and air
They multiply and reach
their shape still undefined
their ribs still forming
their planes coming aligned
Their strength now building
They soon will show
their bright resplendency
With opalescent glow 
they’ll carry me
No story is the truth
but here’s a true story:
To own my name
delivers me a new glory.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 6, 2011



Enough

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I don’t need your story
Your explanations of
The way you are
And why
And what it means
In terms of what you’ll be
I don’t need your stuff —
Self-constructed reasons
Phobias, reactions
I don’t need confessions
Pried with pain
From where you have them clenched
The miracle of who you are
Is enough.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 5, 2011



Morning Bike Ride

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I can be satisfied
with this ride
though the bends of the river tempted me
(Further down the trail, where the reflected riverbanks
braid back and forth against the river’s turns
their dance created
by the parallax
of my gliding bike
I, thus among them
swooping bright along their smooth dips
and the uncanny depth of sky)
I can stop here
where ducks kaleidoscope 
the mirror of the placid water
Gentle turbulence, further on
makes the reflection perfect
renders it in interlocking diamonds
gliding smoothly down
Colors shimmer, dazzle
Fireweed and roses
shine forth audacious purple and pinks
Willow limbs thrill in reflected ripple light
Precise lines of houses intersect the ripples’ circles
Though traffic-roar and sirens pierce the day
The mellow quiet hovers close
I can be satisfied
with this ride.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 4, 2011



facebook photos

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What is this urge? This longing to be seen?
The double image
—being you
and watching yourself be—
Adds desperate extra light
to the edge of your intent
If you are seen to be beloved
perhaps you are
The photo, captured and broadcast
is proof
And if you’re in enough of them
you’re safe
You won’t be fading out of view
until tomorrow.
©Wendy Mulhern
Aug 3, 2011