A world made
of everything that happened,
an armature of sighs,
something seen the moment
before I opened my eyes,
not enough time
to make any difference
There may be hope
in the very slightest of things,
the gossamer of insect wings,
the care that has been taken
at every scale where things can be perceived —
we may not understand
but this may help us to believe.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2019
You may ask
What is hope made of, anyway?
How does it manage to rise up,
how does it bear us across
so many empty, lonely days?
It’s an important question
because whatever it is,
it’s not made of
all these things that fall,
all these things that fail
If you can see
what hope is made of,
you can also tell how it works,
how it is anchored in a world
where all the light in this world comes from,
how after all the turbulence
has come and thrashed and gone,
it still glows.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2019
We find our way to climb
like birds, like vines,
counter thrust to the weight of us,
oblivious of time
This aspiration
breathes through us constantly
whether we know it or not,
whether or not we’re trying —
we will go higher
in natural response
to what looks up within
and always rises.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 30, 2018
I hesitate to put my whole weight
down on the answer,
not wanting, once again,
to feel the setback,
not, once again, to feel the back seep
of misplaced hope,
the backward look confirming
I never really launched
I hesitate, but heaven’s traces
do proclaim themselves around me.
There is goodness
everywhere there is thought.
Let me look forward,
let me be overwhelmed by evidence,
as has been promised,
as in heaven, so on earth.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 14, 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
Who can predict the consequence
of one truth restored, one thing
that had been unknown, now
deeply understood?
It may be a keystone, rebuilding the arch,
allowing the bridge to go across,
it may be the line that closes the circuit,
lighting up the house,
it may be a birthright, rendering royal
whole peoples, all along the course of history.
One truth may be all we need.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 6, 2018
Across this path the trees
have written of themselves,
their shadows elegant,
celebrating the gift of sunlight,
their gift to us who walk here
while the wind blows strong
and spring is still a promise
And promise is something
that we’re looking for,
along with any signs that clarify:
promises are not about the future,
promises express the grace of now.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 5, 2018
The work being done
there on the outside
is nothing for us to meddle with,
a business of wind blowing in all directions
and snow, various kinds,
coating trees, filling window screens,
piling high on roofs and railings,
driven up again, in powder form,
from the ground
We haven’t been out all day,
contenting ourselves with
food and naps and laundry,
thoughts and hopes,
wistful as snow,
blowing around inside.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2018
Ravens converse, traversing the valley,
clouds converge, crossing the sky,
in the close stillness of here and now
many things live hidden
A mind can be populated by opinions —
eyes look out, see only
what is set upon their curtains,
whole worlds can roll by unseen
but veils are sometimes lifted
The industry of mice, the vibrancy
of every effort creatures make
to be themselves, to thrive,
points to the uncounted ever-presence
resting, firm and gentle, on our days
Sun will grace us all —
no blinds, ultimately, close off our vision.
We will see the opening of comprehension
of how we’re woven, tenderly,
into our place.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 4, 2018
The fact that we’re here to save the world
doesn’t mean we have to be
serious all the time. There’s room
in the moments between
to be droll
There’s enough power here, after all,
that there’s no need to strain or struggle —
there’s room to be silly and soulful,
there’s plenty of space to laugh.
The world will be fine.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 23, 2017