Work in the sun has dissipated
my ableness to put two words together,
but light drenched images remain,
and it was fine to watch the colors change –
waves of richness as the sun went down
so late in the evening – too late for me
for anything but watching
and drifting off, and tottering to bed.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 10, 2022
Teach me to be
the child I never was –
open-minded, free,
eager to receive
whatever gift is offered
in another’s face
Teach me to be the child I am,
whom I have been since before the world began,
eager to give what is given to me
of the light that delights
and enlightens us all.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2022
Sometimes I want to cry
for no reason,
sometimes music that sounds like coming home
will bring the tears –
I don’t know why, a kind of longing, maybe
Sometimes I want to slide back
into a beloved book, one I’ve read
more than once. Just let
all the important problems
I seek so earnestly to solve
wait until morning,
until a festival of dreams
has washed my mind clean
and I’m ready to start again.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 8, 2022
Things unravel
that were never fiber,
that turn out not to have
even the substance of thread
or the chain of a story
They dissolve like dreams in the morning,
and my footing, too, must realign itself
to day’s dimensions, to gravity’s
orientation
Every unraveling is a reveal –
that which is there after it’s gone
will teach us substance.
Our being there after it’s gone
shows us our place.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2022
I can remember lakes of kindness
and jumping into them,
and the light that powers smiles
soaking in, and filling up, flooding me
with an abiding wellbeing
Some I could return to often,
some were more like puddles
but were enough to light me up
There were dry patches, too.
I could go for long times in between ablutions,
sustaining as they were,
and because I still could access them in memory
But the richest thing is when
I can create a lake for others –
when I do that, I never lack.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 5, 2022
Hold me in the hollow
of the waxing crescent moon,
in the halo of the memory of day,
let me cruise as softly
toward the dark horizon’s hills,
soothed in my sweet hammock’s gentle sway
Stars have been infrequent
in this recent time of year –
rain has owned the music of the night,
but frogs will sing for rain or stars,
and I –
I’ll take in either with delight.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2022
We are not made of smoke,
and so the sweeping winds,
fast shifting and insistent,
don’t disperse us
And those who wield the fans that push opinions
can’t corral us into predesigned reactions,
however much they blow on us,
however much it seems as if they can
We’re made of truth.
So whatever winds blow through,
they can’t disturb us –
can’t rearrange our shape,
can’t realign us
And this is true of everyone,
and so we stand,
when all the smoke has cleared,
exactly where we are.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 2, 2022
My mind can yaw like a boat –
a slight suggestion
can set up magnifying waves –
my efforts to correct them
just makes it worse –
sets things rocking even more
My thought can drop like a rock
below the surface
where the waves don’t reach,
I can take refuge
beneath the words and the reactions
in the silent depths
where everything is still
There is an underlying law,
there is a calming,
though on my own I couldn’t steady
what has been riled up –
I can perceive it
as hope, as homing,
that stills the sea and sets all things to right.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 1, 2022
It’s easy to find beauty
at the soft end
of these soft wet days,
to think fondly of lullabies
and summoning a household peace,
gently combing out the tangles
of fear and worry, smoothing them away
Late sun comes out pink under the clouds,
rain still trickles off the roof
and out the overflowing tank,
reflections of inside lights
hover above the garden as we
put April to bed for another year.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 30, 2022
The promise of joy
is not distant, after all –
is not based on conditions to be met
The promise of joy shines brighter
than the jagged fear edges
through which it breaks
and ultimately
it doesn’t need to overcome them –
in its brilliance nothing else
has any presence
For joy is even more than promise –
it is our natural state,
the breath of life before the world began
which knits us, breath by breath,
with our I Am.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 29, 2022