Snow day, choices

My hands, this morning, 
(following your lead)
Spoke of living in the sphere
or being on the wheel:

The sphere of possibilities,
The endless opportunities
that bloom out from the present openness,
acceptance of the moment,
its engaged embrace;

The wheel that grinds you
on its path of sameness —
The future—mere projection 
of a broken yesterday
that runs and runs with no hope for escape.

We watched my hands 
and heard the words interpret
while sitting at a cozy cafe window
and outside, icy pellets pretended to be snow
(as well they could, with us safe from their sting)

My boots had little purchase in the slush
They fared much better where the snow was fresh
and squeaked and creaked beneath our feet —
We walked three extra blocks to choose it.

My hands outlined the choices that are given
Our feet walked on the snowy paths we chose
So hands and feet and hearts can walk together
Our sphere unfolds before us as we go.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2012

Today marks the first anniversary of my poetry blog.  Two hundred eighty posts, a few more poems than that, since I sometimes put two in a post.  3991 page views, mostly from the US, but a steady amount from Russia, and a fair number of other countries represented.  Modest stats for viewership.  Rather prodigious stats for poetry writing, I must allow.

It was in the summer of 2010 that I first started considering that I might think of myself as a poet, that I might become one.  I found myself haunted by the sounds of words and the taste of images, as they spun themselves to me on bike rides.  The usual internal critics were also present, the ones who said only experts could rightly tell me if my poetry was any good, if it even counted as poetry.  And the ones who mentioned that a lot of the poetry that literary magazines seemed to favor was stuff that didn’t interest me at all, so what did the “experts” know?  And the ones who pointed out that you can’t make a living writing poetry, so what right did I have to spend my time developing the craft . . .

Nonetheless, the sweet confluence of sounds and images gave me too much joy to leave alone.  So I started to consider taking on the discipline of writing poetry often enough to sustain a poetry blog.  And a year ago, with a modest buffer of pre-written poems, I launched Earth Whispering.  Over time, as consistent writing improved my craft, I came to consider myself a poet.

The writing of a daily poem quickly became part of my life practice — a discipline that served to focus me on what was honest, what was salient, what about the day needed a poem.  It became part of a three-part practice that launched me on a year of amazing personal growth (the other two parts are prayer and dance).  I look forward to where it will take me this year.

Looking to the next year of my blog, I’d love to increase my readership.  I was awake at 2 this morning thinking about this — how I could maybe encourage my current readers to share it with others, and how uncomfortable I feel about asking them this.  One voice opines, shrilly, that if they had wanted to share it they would have already.  That, when I asked for feedback from an earlier blog, I got no response, and why should I expect this to be different?  

But I am forging forward anyway.  There might be a few of you who are willing to help, and that will make this solicitation worthwhile.  If you are in support of my gaining recognition as a poet, here are some ways you can help:
1) Follow my blog.  On the right hand side, under “About this blog,” there is a button that says “join this site.”  If you press it, you can use an identity you’ve already established, or you can make one up.  Then either a little picture of you appears, or an unidentifiable face, depending on what’s in your identity.  I’m not sure what all it does for you to be a follower if you don’t also have a blog, but I think it makes it easy for you to comment on my posts, which I would love.
2) Share my posts.  At the bottom of each post is a series of buttons which allow you to share my post to email, blogger, twitter, facebook, or google.  If you ever like one of my poems and think of someone else who might also like it, it would be very sweet of you to pass it on.
3) Tell me what else I might do.  If you have any savvy about these things and know what I could do to increase my readership, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who read this note, and thanks in advance for any feedback you might have.



Ode to Beethoven


 
















So many years before my birth

Beethoven wrote the score
of my internal landscape.
His music opens doors
to wind-tossed trees and
fervent heady breathing of the day
the seething susurrus of grasses
and the pulsing of the light
and the fragrance of the air
and the insects’ humming flight —
How did he know?

His music walks
with sure and practiced steps
along the pathways of my hopes
my efforts and my struggles
through the darkness
to the ever unsuppressed
returning dawning of my joy
and the centered peace
that is my home—
His genius for me is not that he 
heard something no one else could hear
but that he wrote so truly
what is mine.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 18, 2012

(Background music: Beethoven’s 6th Symphony)

Liberation

Nothing stops you.
But what wrestling will it take
To break free of every hook in thought
that snags against your fabric
so you’re caught
And makes you think you have no choice at all?

Nothing stops you.
But what words can overcome
the song of chains
you’ve heard so long you find its rattle soothing
Because (you think) it shows you where you are?

Nothing stops you.
In this moment you can rise to grasp
the vastness of your being
and the endless sky,
The power coiled within
that now can launch you free
to spin your dance across the deep expanse of space
Always supported in your native grace.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 17, 2012



Soul play

to Edward:

I’ll be the kite
You be the anchor
I’ll take flight
You hold us steady
So we feel the wind.

You be the kite
I’ll be the surfer
Leaping along the waves
Delighting in your lift
Gratefully we spin.

We’ll be the kite
Truth can be our anchor
Holding us steady
As we reach new height
Soaring again.

Love can be the kite
We’ll be the surfer
Dancing as one
Waves splashing bright
The ride never ends.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 16, 2012


Shining

To Becca:


At this time, it doesn’t matter

what has been your lot
your course so far
These things turn out to have no weight,
no say in who you are.
And if you have been sick
And if you’ve been deprived
And if each turn of life
seems to have conspired
against your dreams, and everything
to which you have aspired,
it doesn’t matter:
Today you are awake
Today you have decided to be mindful
And you will tell yourself
as often as it takes
that in this now
your present shining is enough
And the pink sky
can guide you
to the vastness of your being 
and the power of your turning
and the dawning that starts now
regardless of the day’s constraints—
This fuels your hope
and is fed by it
and renders you a beacon
for us all.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2012



The language of touch

The language of touch
Is as broad, and as nuanced
As any language
And it can be learned
And passed from one to another
Like any language
And like many native languages
It has been forbidden
It has been almost lost
But it can be reclaimed
Pieced together and reconstructed
From the snatches of what we remember
What some gifted few
Embody
It can spread like oil
It can multiply
Till every body knows
How to speak it
And it can sing
In rich and glorious harmony
Shared, rising, rebellious
Overthrowing the long-enforced silence
That kept us boxed off from each other
We will sing this language
Of touch
Until everyone hears it
And finds their way home.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 14, 2012



Revolution

The revolution will not happen by itself.
I can’t turn over for another hour’s sleep,
Then see it like late morning’s sun,
so many hours risen . . .

The revolution will not happen 
from my smugness
where I pretend I’ve worked out
all my issues
and can simply wait . . .

The revolution needs
my deep insistence, daily
on the laws which cause my brightness
and every dawn
and refusing to again be duped
by any story casting life as barren.

The revolution takes knowing
You are needed
I am needed
Each one needed, uniquely
Swelling in the firm, insistent way of seeds
Whose self-unfoldment cracks the rocks
Each tiny one performing
Its own miracle of growing
So the revolution comes.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 13, 2012



Repenting

Today I’m coming home
to Spirit
Eyes wide open
to what this light reveals
Trying to take in
everything, everything at once
Learning it again
Learning it with my eyes
My virtual touch

Coming home
Remembering the things I loved
whose memories had faded
And how I loved them
And what that love was like
Refocusing, rethinking
Repenting
Preparing to start again
This long blue path winds forth before me
And the January sun
Low-rayed, brilliant, fierce
Bears witness.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 11, 2012


Understanding



Turn the tumblers, one and then another
For you to enter, all must be aligned
It opens to the easy spinning 
of your secret
Or to the deep discernment
of a listening mind.

Don’t settle for the superficial level
The one that opens up without a key
Where all may stroll 
but none may know the meaning
For to be true, the entrance must be deep

Beneath the layer of rationalization
Beneath the tallies of the service due
Beneath self-image and self-fabrication
A more fulfilling essence waits for you

Go deep, for underneath 
the thoughts that you can voice as words
You’ll feel the breath and pause
whose choice is to be heard
in silence, and in limpid images
that let you understand what really is.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2012


(music in background of recording: Isaac Shepard, “Dimming the Lights”)

Sadness

Sadness is the need to close a loop
Something wanting to be given
Something not received
An uncompleted sequence
Brought up short

Your yearning runs
Along the broken circle
Time and again arrested by the gap
It throws its spark in stark desire
Attempts to arc across the emptiness

It tries, it waits, it paces, tries again
It falls back in exhaustion, gathers strength
You send it till it leaps
And reaches the exalting joy
Or till you give up on the trial
And turn away.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 9, 2011