Author Archives: Wendy

Maiden in love

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It slides in place
as effortless as dawn
The rising grace
each line so finely drawn
Each hue precise –
the subtle cast
of rose-infused delight
to render loveliness 
to her sweet face.
Why should we be surprised?
Does not each life
unfold its perfect pattern through its days?
As hummingbirds that hatch
in nests with spider silk and down
and grow from awkward cuteness
into darting grace
Have not these flowers opened out and opened out?
Yes, but they, too, are miraculous
as much as they are ordained.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 1, 2011


On Story

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I.
Although I know
that story is a tool
with which to carve
the potent wave of feelings
and stir and move emotions
along the course the story indicates
Today
Let me not try
to carve them
Let me not define
with story 
what it is I feel
Let the weather go through me
the rain
the strong wind
that which beats against
the inside of my eyes
And let me be
like a field
that takes in rain
lets it spread deep into the roots
Compels the sudden bloom
of countless flowers.
II.
I once said,
to be without a story
is to be without a home
and you have to go and live
in someone else’s story
a supporting character
who sleeps on their couch
and drinks their leftover coffee
before they wake up
brown ring on the cup
no choice of your own
but now I see
To live without a story
is to live
on the edge that is always unfolding
with new surprises
A story you’ve never heard before.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 30, 2011


. . . and closing

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the liquid in the petals feels the pull
and turns
a thoughtful wandering
the call to its core distant
half heard
like bells across many hills
or voices across traffic
they begin
a quiet molecule migration
and the petals close
relaxing from their urgent reach
feeling their own breath
enclosing their own scent
inward and inward
petals meet petals
in handclasp that reprises bud
though there’s enough world inside
they don’t align precisely
don’t seal
dew of day condenses and falls inward
like communion
or swallowed tears
the cloister darkens
petals press together
inward and inward
seeking internal support.



©Wendy Mulhern
July 29, 2011



Surfing

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Spirit is the wave on which I ride
from which I carve the cleft
of liquid light
that arcs across my sight and dazzles me
makes me feel
the dew beside my eyes
and in my lashes
taste the spray
on lips and tongue
and breathe a shuddered breath
of piercing joy
Each arc returns
in rippled splash
to the commanding wave
Each moment carves new definition
So the arc continues
the infinite responding to my presence
overwhelming liquid power
showers me
A blessing that I can’t
hold in my hands.


©Wendy Mulhern
July 28, 2011

Cloudscape

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Did you know? — A shift in thought
a subtle yes
even a small acceptance
of my deep desire to bless
can move the clouds in me
initiate
colossal drift
of ponderous
cumulus
command a sudden breakthrough
sunlight streaming
send a deeper breath of inspiration
evaporate my cloistered condensation
make me rise, refreshed
embrace the brightness
drink the sun
and open, like a light-infused cloud canyon
through which I’ll fly, with you as my companion.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 26, 2011



NIght Beach

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In the time after the sparkles
when the dark waves speak
in their low tones
along the dark beach
and the liquid heat
has drained out of the day
Lean in close
to take in what they have to say
Here in the hush
of night high tide
where water meets the soft sand
and the seaweeds glide
in the last glowing of the evening sky
The ancient secrets whisper once again
No, you will not put words on this
even though you’ll hear and understand
The soothing language of the bay
can comfort you
beyond all reason, or anything you planned
The circle, circle, rock and rush
persistent, peaceful, patient
when you’ve gone home, this hush, recalled
will bring you here again.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 25, 2011



To Edward

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Across a course of chaos
where I strayed
by stepping forward
anchorless and unafraid
and eager to take in the possibility
of soaring in the updraft of infinity
You reached me
with a zinging call to honesty
that loosened all the curling twines
that tangled me
You brought me home
to calm and settled clarity
reminding me how you, unfailingly
have been my mirror and my clear pool
I drink from you again and rise, whole.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 24, 2011



These little things convince me

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These little things convince me:

the flowers’ affirmation of the breeze
the sudden dart of dragonflies and hummingbirds
the ambience of bees
the constant roll of water shoreward
in and in with no sound of receding
the slow glide of an osprey
and the smell of seaweed
the chirp of songbirds, intimate and sweet
the warm/cool scrish of sand against my feet

these things convince me of my right to ask
for every harmony to come to pass
that all our lives be lifted in a strong embrace
where each of us rides splendid in our perfect place
no more to ever settle for that dark illusion
in which our basic state is thrashed confusion

if all these things are held and blessed
then so are we
our lives in woven light, exalted, free.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 22, 2011

A love poem

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Your face doesn’t matter
None of us has a perfect face
It doesn’t matter how evolved you are
For we are all buffoons
It doesn’t matter
How much you worry, how you obsess
Or what regimes you’ve self imposed to engineer success.
What matters is your sweet heart
And your intrepid soul
And that you love.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 21, 2011