Emissary

I sat with you on the couch
your legs across my lap
me hugging them
willing my touch to span
the space between
my hope and your dread
to flock like emissary birds
to flutter by your head
and brush you with their wings 
and softly coo
awaken all your inner angels
so they stand in force and tell you
you are not alone
you are not fallen
you are as strong as a brass horn
that chortles in the morning air
and summons great guffaws of joyous confidence
from wells in you
deeper than you ever knew were there.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 10, 2011



From a Conversation

Attraction is the need to give your gift,
She said. No need to choose from stories off the shelf
Each summons has its own configuration
Each connection will define itself
If you can keep yourself from predefining 
Refrain from digging ruts into the groove
You’ll hear the music rise, find it aligning
With everything you’ve yearned to give and love
I’ve tried it some, she said, it has its sense
It keeps me in the moment where I am
To ask, what is my gift for this one instance?
Lets me be true to what just now demands
I can’t assuage my yearning altogether
But this is helping, and it’s getting better.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 29, 2011



Bringing it Home

(for Edward)

I ride into the bright sunshine
Push against the strong wind
Glide within the soothing shade that lets me see
And I am loved by all of these
And by the sweet air
And by the soft seas
I bring the love of all these lovers
Home to you
You’ll see it in my eyes
And smell it in my skin and hair
You’ll take me in your arms
And they will be there
And they will make you want them
As they make you want me
We all will flow together
As it should be
So with my many lovers
I am still true
Enriched to be with them
And bring it home to you.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 26, 2011



Rush

My heart is open, and a wind blows through it
A wind of longing and of deep hope
For this my life, what I may give to it
As sun gives magic to the far slope
The rush of high I feel, what calls it forth?
Is it these people, are they like none other?
Is this my tribe, my compass home, my true north
Just taken half a lifetime to discover?
Or is there something else, a shift in attitude
That lights me up, and everything I know
A unilateral influx of gratitude
That shows us shining in our native glow?
If so, it signifies a clear design
Where everything that lives may so align.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 4, 2011



A True Confession

It’s time for me to stop bragging
and confess my need
I need to share
the Mind touch
and not be alone
I need the sweet receivers of my being
I need to know that I am of the One.
That would assuage 
the loneliness
I beat back daily
(usually with pretty good success)
obviate my craving for some token
a heart connection openly expressed
unfold for me the oracled reunion
where all of us remember who we are
and dance as one in rapturous communion
so satisfying every deep desire.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 18, 2011



Enough

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



Cloudscape




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



Seasoned love

My husband and I have been married for a long time.  On my bike ride yesterday, I was reflecting how solid I feel about our love.  Wishing I could give encouragement to young couples who might be in the throes of tension and passion, wishing I could somehow say to them don’t worry, lean into love – it’s stronger than all your dramas.
It also may go without saying that not every moment has been rosy.  I was thinking about that on the ride, too – and how I really think we’ve moved beyond the place of angry dramas.  So it was funny when, on our walk this afternoon, my husband turned around abruptly and started storming back.  “I don’t need this,”  he said.  “This is not what I came for.”  I walked on, the distance widening between us.
I wasn’t really upset.  I think it’s true that our love is a solid enough cushion to keep our sensibilities unscratched.  But I had been looking for a poem, and the one that started to come reflected my position.  It also reflected my sense of the power of love.
I didn’t think I’d share it.  It’s (sort of) dirty laundry, not showing either of us in our best light. (Him, because I say he grumbles, etc.  Me, because I say he grumbles, etc.) But I like the poem, and no other ones sprang to pen tip.  So here it is:
The argument continues in the poet’s thought:
Admit it: it takes more than wit and gumption
It takes great love and humbleness of heart
to navigate your minefields of assumptions
though I can take no credit for my art
The Love that guides me through them is much larger
than what romance or reason might require
The universal law that is in charge here
will save us both from your reactive fire
So now, though you’ve withdrawn into your grumbles
of what you don’t have time for, and your cold
rehearsal of your valid indignation
here is the place of peace that I can hold:
The Love that made us burns as love within us
and it will lift us, bless us, purge us, win us.


©Wendy Mulhern
March 20, 2011



Innocence

Writing in my journal today, I paused, and wrote, “incite insight” – just a sentence that came to mind.  It reminded me of a set of poems I wrote in college, around the time of my first love.
I keep the poems on an index card in a once-white plastic file box which contains my recipes.  After desserts there’s a tab that says “linguists’ assertions”, and contains quotes about various kinds of presuppositions.  The tab after that is blank, and behind it are poems, and pep talks to myself.  The first poem of the set is missing, but no matter – I know it by heart.
Innocence
I
Innocence
In a sense
Unwarned, in love encaptured
Unaware how not to care
In loving arms enwrapped
Enraptured.
II.
Innocence
In essence
A warming concord captured
Well aware how much we care
As Love holds us enwrapped
Enraptured.
III.
Innocence
In us, sense
To see our source of rapture
The wonder of untrammeled love
That trust makes us so apt
To capture.


©Wendy Mulhern
-Spring, 1980 (I think)

Songs vs. Poems

For me the difference between a song and a poem is simple: a song comes with a melody, a poem doesn’t.  I’ve never written a poem and then set it to music.  I’ve started to put some of my songs here, without the tunes, which is a little like posting blind, as I always hear the music when I write or think them, and don’t know what they sound like without music.
The tunes haven’t gone far beyond my own head.  My brother Geoff took to singing one of my songs, so it has a music life.  My other songs remain trapped, due to my aborted music training, my lack of drive to pursue it, and my lack of courage to perform.  Plus if they were going to be performed, they’d probably have to be altered to fit the format of popular songs.
Sometimes songs don’t come whole, as did Vineyard Haven Kite Song.  Sometimes a first line, with its melody, calls for another.  In those cases I have enjoyed playing with the words, the rhymes.  In the following song, I enjoyed making not just end rhymes but internal rhymes, with some lines nearly completely rhyming with each other.  
That mid-college period of my life was a prolific time for songs – I don’t know why.  I shared some of them again with my brother Geoff recently, and he said they were probably not songs he would sing, as they bore that unmistakable stamp of college age sensitivities.  He may be right.  What do you think?
In the gentle wind a leaf flutters
And my stirring heart utters echoes
Murmurings of fear are forgotten
As the joyful rhythm beckons
Come, let us dance, oh let us sing, let us be merry
Some are set on chance but we on things less arbitrary
I could shout and still keep a secret
It would speak to him that would hear it
This I send my song out to seek for
Someone who has sung with its spirit
Let it be known – the word is clear, it has been spoken
What is coming must appear – its truth cannot be broken.




©Wendy Mulhern
Fall 1978