Fifty years

A half century
isn’t even half a dream cycle
for a rock
which may sit impassive
or be carried
or be dropped
where, if it’s reencountered
it will be the same

But in a half century
a forest can swallow a town
that has been abandoned
Push up trunks through old foundations
Cover up the markers with its leaf fall

Fifty seasons, fifty rounds of rain and wind
tracked across the land
Recorded in the memory
of tree rings, river beds
and consciousness
Fifty years, each singular
And at once the same

And if we rise
and travel through
a cycle of awareness
coming back to where we see the whole
Then fifty years is ending and beginning
A season in the journey of the soul.

© Wendy Mulhern
March 2, 2012


Emerging



Gaze into the atmospheric eye
Until it draws you in
Drives you through its shadows
Where the forces push you
Downward, onward
Through the sheath of rain
Into the after-mist
To float in distant gathering of light

Choose your transformation
Any one will do
The dreaming earth
will softly turn
beneath her blanket
But for you
wide awake and streaming through the changes
it will be
Initiation into mystery.

© Wendy Mulhern
February 29, 2012



Imbolc

I wrote this poem on a bike ride near the beginning of the month, when an unusually balmy few days appropriately heralded the seasonal return of the light:

Still water of the winter river
Deep moving but surface smooth
Clear reflection with a subtle shimmer
Brown, bare trees thrust into blue
Moon ghost floating in a cloudless sky
Sailing low, so pale, alone
Bikes and skaters glide on by
Through air that’s soft and warm — sun owned
Its scent enticing us to dream, to yearn:
A day to celebrate the light’s return.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2012



You have to be grounded to fly

You have to be grounded to fly
As kites well show—
Resistance from their strings
giving the wind the force
to push them high
Which if released would let them fall
slicing tip-wise 
through the layers of air

You have to be grounded to fly
As birds well know—
as they push off against the gravity
that holds the air that cushions them
Through which they carve their flight
with sharply honed intention
and the slipstream of their glide

You have to be grounded to fly
As planets go
through space, 
their molten centers coalescing force
The silent concentration of their cores
connecting them in orbit to their stars

And so it is with us
Within our deeply grounded center
is born the power that sends us forth
on arcs of soaring splendor.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 19, 2012



Soporific Rain

Soporific rain
Robs the morning
Of its earliest pursuits
Yet the sweetness
of the night remains
Wraps itself around my dreaming music

Languidly we move
There is no way
The clock can catch us
in its marching regimen
We’ll slide in languid sloth into the day
Let later light, in its own time
attract us

The day has duties that we dare not shirk
But we can meet them softly, without stress
Yes, we’ll take on all our needed work
But through a film of rain-kissed happiness.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 1, 2012



Snow day, choices

My hands, this morning, 
(following your lead)
Spoke of living in the sphere
or being on the wheel:

The sphere of possibilities,
The endless opportunities
that bloom out from the present openness,
acceptance of the moment,
its engaged embrace;

The wheel that grinds you
on its path of sameness —
The future—mere projection 
of a broken yesterday
that runs and runs with no hope for escape.

We watched my hands 
and heard the words interpret
while sitting at a cozy cafe window
and outside, icy pellets pretended to be snow
(as well they could, with us safe from their sting)

My boots had little purchase in the slush
They fared much better where the snow was fresh
and squeaked and creaked beneath our feet —
We walked three extra blocks to choose it.

My hands outlined the choices that are given
Our feet walked on the snowy paths we chose
So hands and feet and hearts can walk together
Our sphere unfolds before us as we go.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2012

Today marks the first anniversary of my poetry blog.  Two hundred eighty posts, a few more poems than that, since I sometimes put two in a post.  3991 page views, mostly from the US, but a steady amount from Russia, and a fair number of other countries represented.  Modest stats for viewership.  Rather prodigious stats for poetry writing, I must allow.

It was in the summer of 2010 that I first started considering that I might think of myself as a poet, that I might become one.  I found myself haunted by the sounds of words and the taste of images, as they spun themselves to me on bike rides.  The usual internal critics were also present, the ones who said only experts could rightly tell me if my poetry was any good, if it even counted as poetry.  And the ones who mentioned that a lot of the poetry that literary magazines seemed to favor was stuff that didn’t interest me at all, so what did the “experts” know?  And the ones who pointed out that you can’t make a living writing poetry, so what right did I have to spend my time developing the craft . . .

Nonetheless, the sweet confluence of sounds and images gave me too much joy to leave alone.  So I started to consider taking on the discipline of writing poetry often enough to sustain a poetry blog.  And a year ago, with a modest buffer of pre-written poems, I launched Earth Whispering.  Over time, as consistent writing improved my craft, I came to consider myself a poet.

The writing of a daily poem quickly became part of my life practice — a discipline that served to focus me on what was honest, what was salient, what about the day needed a poem.  It became part of a three-part practice that launched me on a year of amazing personal growth (the other two parts are prayer and dance).  I look forward to where it will take me this year.

Looking to the next year of my blog, I’d love to increase my readership.  I was awake at 2 this morning thinking about this — how I could maybe encourage my current readers to share it with others, and how uncomfortable I feel about asking them this.  One voice opines, shrilly, that if they had wanted to share it they would have already.  That, when I asked for feedback from an earlier blog, I got no response, and why should I expect this to be different?  

But I am forging forward anyway.  There might be a few of you who are willing to help, and that will make this solicitation worthwhile.  If you are in support of my gaining recognition as a poet, here are some ways you can help:
1) Follow my blog.  On the right hand side, under “About this blog,” there is a button that says “join this site.”  If you press it, you can use an identity you’ve already established, or you can make one up.  Then either a little picture of you appears, or an unidentifiable face, depending on what’s in your identity.  I’m not sure what all it does for you to be a follower if you don’t also have a blog, but I think it makes it easy for you to comment on my posts, which I would love.
2) Share my posts.  At the bottom of each post is a series of buttons which allow you to share my post to email, blogger, twitter, facebook, or google.  If you ever like one of my poems and think of someone else who might also like it, it would be very sweet of you to pass it on.
3) Tell me what else I might do.  If you have any savvy about these things and know what I could do to increase my readership, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who read this note, and thanks in advance for any feedback you might have.



Ode to Beethoven


 
















So many years before my birth

Beethoven wrote the score
of my internal landscape.
His music opens doors
to wind-tossed trees and
fervent heady breathing of the day
the seething susurrus of grasses
and the pulsing of the light
and the fragrance of the air
and the insects’ humming flight —
How did he know?

His music walks
with sure and practiced steps
along the pathways of my hopes
my efforts and my struggles
through the darkness
to the ever unsuppressed
returning dawning of my joy
and the centered peace
that is my home—
His genius for me is not that he 
heard something no one else could hear
but that he wrote so truly
what is mine.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 18, 2012

(Background music: Beethoven’s 6th Symphony)

Romance

I took a cautious step
beyond the edge
I didn’t fall
I took another, checked my feet
They still stood strong
I jumped, I leaped
and next I’ll fly
For nothing is forbidden anymore

I made a world
I made it in my mind
I gave the sky a magic, stained glass blue
I used high clouds to mark its great expanse
I made a window into it for you
If you will join me
we can let our feet
be coated in the sun-warmed sand
and climb the driftwood, where it leans
above the rising tides
and revel in life’s interlocking, overlapping swirls
the waves, the wood, the sky
the shifting windows into worlds . . . 
I won’t believe a voice that says
my life course is constrained
To me belongs my mind
and all the pathways it contains.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 1, 2012



Attitude of Dance



    Two trees
Their limbs now bare
Reveal an attitude of dance
The smaller one
Leaning in to feel the sweet enclosure
Of the other’s arms
The larger one
Awed and grateful
Holding such a rare and precious gift

Along the dance of time
The moment
The truth of their embrace, their love
Is held
While we, ephemeral
May wander by it
May be drawn in 
By moments we have felt
Which may remain
Long after we have danced them
A memory this kind of stance imparts
As stable as if formed in living wood
Enduring as a tree
Within our hearts.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 7, 2011

(background music: Isaac Shepard, “Letting Go”)

Steady rain, steady love



    As sure as rain
That falls into the ebbing year
With pools for our reflection
When the ripples clear
As sure as rain
That summons windshield wipers’ thrash
And vigilance in traffic
As the trucks’ sprays blast
The hypnotic, droning rhythm
That propels us on toward night
And the dampening of leaves
Impelled, thus, to their final flight
As sure as rain
This law:
That steady love
Poured out in constant stream
With no concern for consequence, no shame
Or thought what it may seem
Will call the same.


©Wendy Mulhern
November 23, 2011

Music in background: Sprinkle to Rain by Isaac Shepard