Tag Archives: daily living

What Joy Looks Like

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I’ll tell you what
I’ll tell you what joy looks like
Looks like that cloud
Stretching out its four arms
Against the blessed sky
Curling slowly inward towards itself
And reaching out again
Embracing blue
Looks like that day moon
White as the cloud
Diving down to it
Mouth wide open.
I’ll tell you what
I’ll tell you what joy looks like
Looks like that man
Riding his bike no hands
Clapping to some tune or thought
Only he can hear
I’ll tell you what joy tastes like
Tastes like this day
Leaves smelling of fall
Day full of journey and purpose
And sweet bright air.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 20, 2011





sinking

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The water closes over it
And it’s gone
The ripples lap over each other
And disappear
No sign left that anything
Was ever here
Other perturbations take their turn.
The water takes its color from the sky
The sky is deep; within it, many echoes
Across its breadth, a varied palette stretches
The water’s depth may thus stay undefined.
How far, how deep, how slow, how wandering
May be the drop down to the ocean’s floor
The surface stillness leaves a space for pondering
What worlds beneath have slipped away before
And if the momentary ease of foundering
Should be resisted.  Help me find the shore.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 8, 2011



The angst that haunts my edges

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Here’s the confusion of my current state:
No poem, because of nothing to relate
I’ve given up on hearing back from Harvey Hix
Nor can I count on Facebook for a feedback fix
What then? What? What can my future be?
What will fulfill my purpose, prove my destiny?
Can I love everyone enough to heal?
Heal me and everyone who has a need?
Or am I sentenced just to eat chocolate
And feel the roving hunger chocolate can’t touch?
Why do I always write about myself?
Don’t I care about anything else?
Enough! It’s time to stop this whine and do more
Let later days recount what these have been for.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 6, 2011



Day’s report

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Today has been a day of
rolling sails and stowing tarps
moving boards and loading scrap
folding cranes and writing prayers
hosing down the floor
While the sky has had a way of
rolling out stills 
from a dance
on a grand scale
dark gray flecked across white
white gliding into blue
bright display of pink
hastening towards dusk.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 1. 2011



Waiting for the storm

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The day is long, slow, hot
I move in viscous languor
through the tasks that are not urgent
but must be done before tomorrow’s urgent ones
Hang sails to dry, fold them
Do laundry, put things away
while others move the boats and cars
to higher ground
No sign in this day
of what may touch down in two
except self-conscious need to not be frivelous
as we track the storm’s path north
and wait.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 26, 2011



End of day

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end of day
wounds return from their adventures
thoughts grow quiet 
lights go down
and my body
curls up inside myself
like a child
to be held
to be healed
to be whole
in the deep trust of sleep
sure that Mind
will re-image every cell
realign every thought
knit all broken parts together
and come morning
shine my being through me once again.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 21, 2011



Ranging

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What starts as early morning bliss
may bolt—grow gangly in the climbing sun
and come to feel like hunger
and pace, in search of consummation—
Some outlet, some release
some clasp of hands
to close the circuit
and bring peace.

What soothes the ranging heart?
Is there a circle big enough
and close enough
to draw it in?
A quest for it to take
A stepping forward?
—An act of prayer
that settles it in channels
where it can deepen
as it flows down
to its sea.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 12, 2011



facebook photos

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What is this urge? This longing to be seen?
The double image
—being you
and watching yourself be—
Adds desperate extra light
to the edge of your intent
If you are seen to be beloved
perhaps you are
The photo, captured and broadcast
is proof
And if you’re in enough of them
you’re safe
You won’t be fading out of view
until tomorrow.
©Wendy Mulhern
Aug 3, 2011


On Story

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I.
Although I know
that story is a tool
with which to carve
the potent wave of feelings
and stir and move emotions
along the course the story indicates
Today
Let me not try
to carve them
Let me not define
with story 
what it is I feel
Let the weather go through me
the rain
the strong wind
that which beats against
the inside of my eyes
And let me be
like a field
that takes in rain
lets it spread deep into the roots
Compels the sudden bloom
of countless flowers.
II.
I once said,
to be without a story
is to be without a home
and you have to go and live
in someone else’s story
a supporting character
who sleeps on their couch
and drinks their leftover coffee
before they wake up
brown ring on the cup
no choice of your own
but now I see
To live without a story
is to live
on the edge that is always unfolding
with new surprises
A story you’ve never heard before.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 30, 2011