Tag Archives: daily living

Too Many Hours Alone

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too much time alone2

I face the void,
I face my cluttered house
(my consciousness, that is)
I wander driftingly
for lack of company

I take myself in hand,
try to straighten up the stories,
pull at some of their recurring loops,
so many of them feeling old —
I don’t believe them anymore
(if I ever did)

These narratives arise from isolation,
they build inside, reverberating
from props I have set up
(characters to populate my constructs)

They become a burden, a distraction,
a show that takes attention
from present interactions
and I think how awkward it would be
if anyone could read my thoughts —
so far removed they are
from the expected present care

But if we all could read each other’s thoughts
I think these ones would dissipate
with all their lame assumptions and their fears
We’d feel the reinforcement
of acceptance, of approval

And we could walk easy
in the joy
of how light a touch of thought
could send such waves of comfort
to each other.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 9, 2014

Turn

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meadow tree1

The coolness of the air
brings sudden autumn,
a memory as strong as taste
of longing, of excitement
for things that might unfold
as they are borne along the quickening
fall of the year into endings
or new beginnings

A taste of bracing challenges
and rising skill that meets them,
the ramping up of inner heat
to warm us through
the passage of the cold
and take us once again
around the turn.

©Wendy Mulhern
Sept 3, 2014

Late August

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elm August

The air was poised
in a feather balance
between warm and cool,
shifting one way or the other
with the sun and breeze

And I had to go out
where it could dance
across my skin
and I could take in all the scents —
dried leaves, ripe blackberries,
sprinkler systems, roses and mimosa —
and the longer shadows
and the exhilaration
of this visibly shorter day.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 21, 2014

Weight

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weight

After the rain
while the summer air
still hangs heavy,
some little birds break through its shroud
with happy chattering

A slight aliveness of breeze
brings the scent of
just a little rain —
wet dust, the smell
at the mouth of garden hoses

The day is still pregnant
and the great unknown
of how the birth will actually occur
stretches its vast belly
over everything.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 12, 2014

A secret key

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sunflowers any living thing

Every living thing —
any given one —
can be a spark —
They need no pedigree
to qualify

Any light
can lift you from the dark —
you need no name
to call it by

The images of dream may leave their mark,
smudging out the brightness of your day,
may tell you there’s no reason to embark
on what will likely hold
no goodness for you anyway

And when your own ignition
seems completely spent,
your shiny hope beclouded,
your intentions bent,
You needn’t go back under
to see where they went
for any living thing
can bring you out.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 22, 2014

An Evaluation

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distance3_0001

Eventually I noticed,
by the echoes,
that my voice was in a small box,
buffeted by louder competing voices,
coming through in snatches
mostly unheard

I reflect on the absences
that brought me to that place —
the drive, on automatic,
the walking, with a sense
of obligation more than eagerness,
a sense of fatalism,
more than bearing witness to the truth

Yes, I was there,
and my being there was nominally good
(there is a value, after all, in showing up)
But at any time
I could have gone through
the other door in consciousness,
where nothing has been mindless
and the holy purpose
of everything
aligns us
with the present unfolding
of the blessing we each can offer
and each receive.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 17, 2014

Urban Farm Tour, Greenlake Swim, Home

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green lake2

We traveled through the day
between the stripes of
too hot to think
and the refreshing cool of shade,
of deadly red lights in the sun
and backyards under pleasant trees,
and found our way through afternoon

And now
something in the smell of lake water,
still refreshing in my hair,
and how the late sun reaches in,
illuminating limbs within the shadows
of that tree across the street,
something in the prospect
of the mellow rise of evening
fills the moment
with sweet well-being
drifting on the gentle course towards sleep.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 12, 2014

Sunday, 5pm

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weeping birch

Half moon hides among the clouds
in the surreal brilliance of summer afternoon.
There is a silent moment
between each sound —
too small, perhaps, to hear,
but clear enough
to send a sense of singularity
throughout this brief time
of the sky’s impossible blue
and the newly cool north breeze
that loves the weeping birch,
who loves the wind in turn.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 6, 2014

Safety

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safety

Where can we seek safety?
Not in numbers,
not in nameless crowds,
Not in being one of many,
herded, sheeplike, following the rules —
Not everything that claims to lead
is kind
And clearly, there’s no kind of safety
in following blind

How can we seek safety?
Not in more guns,
Not in more locks and keys,
Not in protection from so-called Security
Not in turning our faces
away from strangers,
Not in buying insurance
against all dangers

Not in conformity,
Not from policemen,
Not from reliance on logic and reasons,
Only by building
through small trusts, by hand
a net of acceptance that covers the land —
a weaving us in with no outside for anyone,
no one cast off, left afar —
Then we’ll be safe where we are.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 6, 2014