Tag Archives: daily living

Daily Poems

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Every day has a poem in it
— That little girl starting to run,
short-stringed kite two feet above her head
Her mom, walking behind her, smiling
(colors: pink, purple, red)
— That man on racing bike,
his smile denoting deep contentment —
Each of these are poems
though only briefly intersected here

Clouds dance along horizon
reminding me there’s more
than the smell of tar,
the roar of motors;
There are
Echo tunnels on the trail,
A chalk-drawn paean to Love
(now almost washed away)
And a delighted Downs boy with a dog

The sun begins to cook the day under the overcast
The coolness sighs and looks for places to lie down
The wind bears thistle fluff along
and sets it in the river
Small girls with their grandma play around

Every day has a poem in it
I only need to dip my head in
like these ducks
Reach beneath the surface,
Pull it up.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 8, 2012


Gardens

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So many things in my garden are bolting

Racing against death
Preparing a dual departure:
Packaging their life into capsules for the future,
Letting their stalks fall back into brown

In the face of my neglect
The plants perform their dramas
Weeds stake out their turf
Flowers stretch and bow extended stems
Bees and rain bestow their ministrations

Some year, I think, my garden may be tended
Each tender plant well fed
with soil amended,
The weeds, with gentle firmness
kept in hand
The flowers celebrated, blooming
lushly, just as planned

But I’m distracted by another realm
Where, like fennel weeds
My dreams extend their gangly fronds
And wave about, seedy and untended
When I visit them, I have no clue
Which ones to pull, which ones to prune
Or what to do to garner greater flourish

So neither garden gets my full attention
And both grow wild, and dry, and spare
But still, in both, the sun-drenched flowers
Summon me, and touch me there.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 26, 2012



Amends

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A heart that has been touched
will turn
walking back along the path of words —
things said in hope of being heard,
whose impact may have singed another:
“No, that wasn’t what I meant —
I didn’t mean to cause you pain
I only wanted to be seen
Please let me make it right again”

Back along the path
Running now, to close the distance
Running, hoping not to trip
To reach you, and . . . 

What’s needed here 
is not more explanations
Such words, I fear, would only further tangle
Just let me take the time to stop
to witness you
To listen and to hear
Behold you
and really see
Breathe with you 
until you know:
When your heart spoke,
Its language stopped me in my tracks
Made me turn back.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 23, 2012


Waiting for a computer repair at U. Village Mall

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Let me invoke the rhythm
that ties us all together
Grasses bending in the breeze
Little birds dipping in and out
All these people walking
alone, and in groups
P’tick of sandals, heel-toe rock of dress shoes
Words and gestures, turns and pauses
Cars creeping through the parking lot
Car doors closing

Let the backbeat in the background
define the orchestration
Let the running water of the fountain
be a unifying patter
Even when we’re not aware of it
We are connected

Though we may feel isolated
by our stories
(who we think we are,
what we think we have to do)
And isolated by the inroads of acceptance
that we haven’t carved
And the separate trajectories
that only randomly have intersected here
Behind our myths and burdens
we are one.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 12, 2012


Facing the Void

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She moves with confidence
She twirls, she beams
But when she turns to face
the empty space again
She loses steam
and rivulets of insecurity
start seeping through the seams
The gaps between perceived reality
and her most treasured dreams
Now seem to yawn
The fabric she has woven with her hopes
now seems to drift in disconnected threads

What builds her up again?
What deep, supporting truth
can she believe?
What calming voice can counteract
the howling judgment
that whistles down the hollows
of her bones?

A pause to gather courage, to rethink
and reassess the evidence
A confidant to give her new perspective
Or some kind of sign
So she will choose to rise again
and meet the challenge one more time
And this time maybe she will power through
face down the void
and forge herself anew.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 6, 2012


Alpaca Shearing

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Feels like an honest day’s work
Hands dirty, clothes dirty
Body fatigued
Easy to slip from attention 
to numbness
and on into sleep

Feels good to work as a team
Never abating the pace of the labor —
Hum of the motion of sharing the effort —
till every last thing is done

Heat of the animals
Heaving and powerful —
Holding them firmly
while soothing them softly
Treat them with iron and silk

The sound and the smell of the shears
Precision and speed of the shearer
The texture and spring of the fiber
Gathered up quickly
and passed to the sorters
in grade labeled baskets
over the fence

And I didn’t feel tired till the pause
when a wave from behind me
rose up and engulfed me
and sent me to where
all the ambient sounds —
bird calls and bleating —
took on different meanings
drifting me closer to dream.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 2, 2012


Relativity

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Everything changes
No one’s sense of self is static
Each one grows
Things you were so sure
would be impossible for them
become their norm
And things you thought you’d never do
You learn 
(That’s why it makes no sense
to hold on to a past offense)

Nothing changes
The primal pattern reasserts itself forever
The track of every orbit orchestrated
The cords of union hold us fast together
However far we think we may have skated
(That’s why we recognize ourselves
in everybody else)

Never too far from home
Never too far
from where we can close our eyes
And let the scene reframe
In that bright centered place
From whence we always came
(The way of being that we always hoped to learn
And where, in soft precision, we return.)

©Wendy Mulhern
June 29, 2012


Angel Wings

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As I was driving home
the sky was full of angel wings —
Angel wings of all kinds
and I 
having slid through two tunnels of sleepiness
(the first one, a battle with my eyelids;
the second, a little closer to surrender)
Was finally awake enough 
to take in their splendid spread
of grays and whites and yellows 
against the generous blue
Portending something
(I hope)
greater than another day of rain.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2012


An empty page

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Perhaps it is a time for breathing in
Breathing in, taking in
Listening instead of saying
Having nothing to convey
Ingesting rather than creating
Letting rushing showers of stories
fall across my vision
Hearing all the sounds
and making no decision
Let the magic coalesce at other sources
Let the message be sent out
by other voices
This yawning blankness of my mind
may well be for the best
Every field, including mine
must have its time of rest.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 29, 2012


Sun Catchers

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These moments catch joy

as bubbles catch air and light
In the confluence
of attention and intention
Of expectation and surprise
Of readiness to be delighted
and whatever light refractor
floats into our sphere of interaction:

A bright, chance meeting in a crowded festival,
A long-awaited reuniting of the clan,
A perfect day, and freedom to ride into it
open, ready to be wafted to adventure,
Or this: a tent of time —
Enough of it together
for each of us to open up a secret treasure
to relish as we share it with each other

These lights may now be kept
trapped in the amber of memory
Where they can serve as talisman
against the darkness of tomorrow’s doubts
Remind us, from our cloister,
How we can go out
like bubbles in the wind
and catch the light.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 27, 2012