Send my roots down
where they’ve never reached before —
the land is arid,
the former streams are dry
Send my roots down
to the hidden corridors
protecting the secret,
connecting the trees
Let the ancient, strong alliance,
feeding everything that touches in,
be what sustains me,
be what grows my trunk
and greens my limbs
Send my roots down —
it’s a long drought on the surface,
but here underneath,
we’ll share the streams.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 29, 2018
(to Oohna, inspired by a collaboration)
Alleluia, intoned the lark,
for song can overcome the dark —
take it under your wings like wind
to soar through the bright canopy
and bring the light of hope across the land
in echo of the joy of morning trees.
Listen within to where your heart says, “hark”
and say amen — so you become the lark.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 17, 2018
This is the truth of you,
not in limbs or joints
but in the way your joy
meets the envelope of your being,
the smooth and moving
line of connection
that vaults you into praise,
to the delight of days,
to that expression
that slipstreams your life like a sail,
thrilling you forward.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 1, 2018
Save, or I perish —
that is, hold me,
for your holding
is what makes me what I am,
Your thought of me defines me,
my movement and my voice,
my love, my focus, my desire,
my strength —
this is all your great idea
So I am not
(though it come back and back
like a recurring dream)
a crier on a mountain,
whipped by wind,
my voice blown back,
noticing whatever truth
I climbed up here to tell
is lost
My words, my song, my truth
come from you —
they are not lost,
for you are making them
new in each moment,
fresh as each morning.
I learn myself from you.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2018
Wind blows through, bringing weather —
trees send the signal along the ridge,
pressure drops, flotsam falls from branches
prefiguring the coming rain
There is no stress within the mounting rush —
it comes with patience, each development
in its appointed time —
soft rolls of thunder, turkeys gobbling in response,
moving patches of darkened fields and sky
Then the showers, quick and cleansing as our tears,
here and there, sweeping through briefly,
wetting grasses, trees and roads
Then the angelic sunset
riding with us as we headed home,
touching down, reminding us of grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 24, 2018
One day you’ll wake up feeling fine —
the dread that sullied
so many of your early mornings
gone — you’ll feel, within,
the strong light rising,
pure as blackbird song
For this, this bright upwelling,
is what you’re made of,
what you’re made for, too.
The thin veneer on which anxiety is etched
must wear away,
leaving nothing but the true,
which overcomes,
which carries all the days.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 17, 2018
These days the bottom falls out of us
at unexpected times.
It could be a good thing,
dropping us through
our soggy cardboard efforts
to hold ourselves together,
down to the waiting, changing land,
the rain and all the spreading seeping
and the tender sparkles
of returning morning sun.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 9, 2018
The land speaks to me
in insect hum
and in the chirps of birds
along their daily paths
The air speaks to me
in the awakened breath
of all that is alive,
that rises eagerly
from the patient soil
and makes itself known
The day speaks to me
in the steady shine
of its curving arc
as large and subtle
as the earth’s turning
It says, you will find peace
as you learn to be peace,
it says, come with me
and I’ll show you.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 7, 2018
These flowers bloom
even if their stems bow down,
even if their faces hit the soil
and their petals
begin to commune
with the ground, with the turning
of everything back
to the place of starting over,
humble and dark and untroubled
by being anything with a name,
anything but ready
for the things
whose time has come to begin.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2018
We tried to go back to the old hills
but they were gone, tried to navigate
the once familiar paths,
but after walking them awhile
we could tell that we were blind
and couldn’t see the markers
Strangely, we could also tell
that we had never seen them —
we had been content with blindness before —
now we can’t abide it
and we would rather
not take any steps except
when walking in the light,
not say anything
unless we know it’s true.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 16, 2018