Centrifuge

Hold my hand,
for we are spinning
and I feel the power
of the centrifuge:
We could scatter,
we could be adrift,
we could grow cold.
Hold my hand
and we will be a wheel,
Hold my hand —
we’ll be a constellation;
With the force
of our collective gravity,
we’ll keep this warmth;
With our collective radiance
we will cohere.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 28, 2013


Ark

I will make this ark
from the course of the spark
between us —
the bright cathedral beams
that form from joy
when we meet each other,
when we have come eager
for the gift, ready
to be blessed,
humble and ignited with anticipation
for the way that arch forms
when our eye lights make contact
and the arc is completed.

We soar in elation
because we are made for this
and this ark of our connection
will hold us up,
lift us gently rocking
above the heaving waves
and we’ll be safe there
until the waters ease
and set us softly
on the reconsecrated shore.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 16, 2013


Spirit Home

This is where our spirits fly
when they need to be at home,
when they need to be seen,
when they need to stretch out
along the lines of one another,
need to glide in the steady intention
of time-lapsed clouds and plants,
ever attending the trend of our merging,
in sinuous touch of this moment emerging

This is the nest of spirit home
feathered with gifts we each have grown,
welcoming each, in touch and song,
making each shining our own.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2013


Permacuddle

I’m ready
to take down all the bars
I want a permaculture
of cuddle
I want to hug
all the people on the city street
I want to catch each eye
And feel the bright exchange of recognition —
Smooth rippling surge connecting us
before we touch —
I want the hug to come as echo —
Warm confirming of the surge’s message —
And for each release to send
encouragement and strength
for anywhere they might be headed next

It would take a long time
to walk fifth avenue
But think how rich we all would be!
I would smell of cigarettes and perfume,
Coffee and garlic
And I wouldn’t mind.
I don’t want anyone, anymore, to not know how,
To not feel free to cuddle all the time.
It would be a permaculture
for our hearts
And we would spread our potent roots
all through the land.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 23, 2013


“In my Father’s house”

In this house
There’s room enough for everyone.
There’s room for those
who need to go slow,
whose moves are ponderous
and often hesitating,
Who may seem to forget sometimes
where they are going.

There’s room for those
who only lightly touch down
in the quick flitting of skittering motion,
Hardly here for long enough
to cast a shadow,
But wanting to have weight
and be remembered.

There’s room for those who need to lead
And those who wish to follow,
Room to blaze in brilliance,
Room to wait in silence.
Room for both those born within
And those who came from far,
Room for all to grow
and so step in to what they are.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 14, 2013


Ancient Ways

In my tribe 
the way it was
before the ancient ways were lost
to history, and to other tools
with which we’ve been subverted

In my tribe
each infant soul
was braided with such care
into the stream of all of us
that none was ever dropped or lost
and as it grew
each one learned its vital, pulsing rhythm
and its needed place
how to move strongly in the power of its knowing
how to contribute, how to own its name

So we were all 
united with the magic
and we strode along the elemental forces
and our hands knew how to bring
each fine idea to fruition
and our feet knew how to run the ancient courses

As they will again, as we remember
all the pathways of our common dreams
how to mirror forth our inner splendor
and braid ourselves together in the stream.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 6, 2012


Prayer Circle

In the cooling evening

In  the circle we had drawn
and sanctified by what we each had shared
In the space before the moonrise
As the sun departed softly
We united in our silent circle prayers

High on the hill, accompanied by kites
We whispered our desires,
We held them to the sky
And then together, when we all were ready
Sent them seven circle rounds and home

The common movement’s unity
The confluence of fervency
The power of our prayers
The comfort of community
Became a catalyst, I’m sure
(Beginning with each consciousness here present
Continuing with each one we each touch)
For something that, unfurled
Will now transform the world
In each of our perceptions and beyond.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 2, 2012

How could I not?

Considering what it is to love,
Why would I not?
How, among these people
could there be any reason —
Any reason not to love them?

Would I 
not love them 
because of their pain?
would I 
not love them 
because of their wounds,
and how they carry themselves
shielding what is vulnerable?
would I 
not love them
because of the way they’ve found
to move in the world —
what they use to feed their hopes,
and their patched-together life-rafts of the things
that let them know that they are worthy?
Or how they talk, or how they look, or how they smell?

No.  There is no reason not to love them
No reason not to throw the cloak of caring
over their shoulders
and wrap them in the fabric of my presence 
and be there for them.  Whenever.

Considering what it is to love,
How could I not?
For to love is what defines us
and love is what we are.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 13, 2012



Little tears, little tears

Little tears in eye corners
Little tears in fabric
Little sighs that come up
without my even noticing
Time to find some kind of mending
Time to hug, time to cry
Time for love and prayer sending
Time to greet each other without speaking

When the grand script is lost
and all its pieces
flutter separately against the fence
and we have chased them, tried to find them
patched them all together
and see in dismay
that now they make no sense,
It’s time to drop the story
and begin again

A tone, a chord
something to draw us back
to reestablish union
Something to fill the gapping lack
Somehow a new communion . . .
Frayed and scattered, we will gather
and will trust
that we will find ourselves again
because we must.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 11, 2012