All of this is given –
the subtle colors of the grass in mist,
the times of work, and this,
a drift through almost sleep,
where I still hear the music,
but my sense of where I am slips
in place, in time, in physics –
my planes of presence bend, blend through each other
When I come back, the light is different,
and I feel rested, but still languid,
and richer for these fusings of perception,
the layers they have added to my day.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 17, 2023
We settle into the rainy afternoon.
The couch entices napping.
The fire doesn’t argue strenuously
against it. Nothing is strenuous.
Higher purposes await their turn –
they will lift me, if only I will
give attention to them,
take the day in hand,
deliver something.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2022
I settle into my sleepiness
like it’s a soft chair
that sends rest up through me,
growing like fast vines
to form a cradling network
There is so much more to do,
but I’ve fallen, gratefully,
into the willingness to let it go another day,
to let the wave of eagerness
catch up to me again
so I can ride it
through the next phase of my work.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 25, 2022
When I woke from my nap,
words kept darting around
like rapid eye movement,
stitching images together –
sense from nonsense, or vice versa
I had closed my eyes for just five minutes
but suddenly it was ten thirty
and I had no reason
to be up anymore
except to catch some fleeting words
and put them on a page.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2022
And when the day’s tough times were over,
the dogging demons not so much defeated
as dispersed, not ever seeming
to be obedient, but simply passing
outside of my attention,
after the fire was long gone
but the stone was still warm,
the waxing gibbous moon
peered through the clouds,
bright enough to cast a shadow,
and dark blue patches showed
between the clouds,
and nothing that had bothered me
was worth taking to bed
where everything waits
to be recombined.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 16, 2021
I’ll probably sleep well tonight,
long day’s work spreading itself oddly
into my dreams,
working with tools, solving problems,
being caught aloft in a gust of wind
There may again be waking moments
when the waning gibbous moon
peers piercingly
through our little window,
or the cold and hot of things
requires adjustment
But there is a rich blanket of peace
that billows like a magic carpet –
it will carry me through those moments
right on till the early dawn.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 29, 2021
This evening features
the soft conversation
between the stove and the roof,
their metals interacting respectively
with fire and rain,
a series of clicks and taps
I was thinking this morning
how little is random,
how hard it is, for instance,
to generate random numbers –
in this case the sounds
are not random either,
though they defy prediction
as they lead me, pitter pattering,
towards sleep.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 14, 2021
After I fed us
we both fell asleep
before we intended to –
you, by the fire, letting your book drop –
I watched the twitch of your folded hands,
the nod of your head, wondering
if this was an effort at meditation
Then I woke up with a start,
also having nodded in my chair –
my page still blank,
the fire almost out
One more piece of wood
for the stove, one more
cup of tea,
the single flame, like me,
probably unable to keep burning
till the wood is gone.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 15, 2021
The poemless feeling starts as yawns,
then marches on
like a road that leads to
the inside corners of a box,
like a day
that runs out of ticks,
or they grind down
and the next one
simply never comes
It doesn’t ask for diagnosis,
just for bed.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2020
I roused myself from the half dream gibberish,
out of the hammock before I knew I was awake,
hammock put away before I had decided
that I was done resting
As I was just lying down,
I had been thinking,
What would it mean to live every moment
as if I might wake up at any time?
As if the whole dream could fall away
just like that –
What would I want to be noticing?
©Wendy Mulhern
June 18, 2020