Tag Archives: story

A Dream

Posted on by
Reply

The power started calling.
Its lines were well-developed —
vast networks underground —
and it started calling her.
Its call was stronger, more persistent,
than the voices of caution,
the voices of fear,
that said
this is not human,
you would betray humanity
to take it up.

And she knows she has to do it
so she goes —
follows its direction down suburban streets,
finds the corner place and reaches down
to heft the golden bricks.
The power comes up out of the earth
in swirls of white and gold.
A deep hole forms, and the swirls keep rising.
A woman in a windbreaker
stands beside her, resolute,
her jacket flapping in the rising of the power.
She says, But I need to stand in defense of love!
Don’t I need to stand in defense of love?
The voice says, Love doesn’t need to be defended.
She says, But I need to stand in defense of the earth!
Don’t I need to stand in defense of the earth?
The voice says,
The earth doesn’t need to be defended.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 3, 2013


Still

Posted on by
1

In the absence of words
the mind still does its melodies
sometimes with attention,
sometimes not,
and images may rise to meet the tunes

In the absence of conscious thought
the breath of life can still entrance —
so many variations to its inrush,
so many swirls within the currents
of its outward flow

In the absence of direction
the heart’s impulse, still present,
guides the mind into the stillness
before the words —
the quiet spring,
the soft upwelling
of what most needs to be heard.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 19, 2013


Ark

Posted on by
Reply

I will make this ark
from the course of the spark
between us —
the bright cathedral beams
that form from joy
when we meet each other,
when we have come eager
for the gift, ready
to be blessed,
humble and ignited with anticipation
for the way that arch forms
when our eye lights make contact
and the arc is completed.

We soar in elation
because we are made for this
and this ark of our connection
will hold us up,
lift us gently rocking
above the heaving waves
and we’ll be safe there
until the waters ease
and set us softly
on the reconsecrated shore.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 16, 2013


Song of Being

Posted on by
Reply

The clear song poured forth
because it had to,
making no attempt
to fill the proffered goals
of artistry and excellence,
oblivious of any frames of critics.
It overflowed all their lines;
they were amazed
and put forth praise
and tried to hold it up
as the new standard.

But it kept coursing forth,
forever free,
forever unimpressed
by what the pundits said.
Clear song of being —
creating its own perfection
in every melody,
in every chord.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 10, 2013


End of Game

Posted on by
Reply

All ye all ye in free!
So we were called home
at the edge of dusk
when the lights were starting to glow
in the houses,
and the evening’s cool
was softening the sky
and we would all return
to the separate circles
of those lights, and our families.

Well, it’s getting to be
the end of the game
and all the chosen roles
and all the tokens
are swirling down the vortex
towards their fall —
What will we hear of next?
It’s a strange thought
that everything might be falling
but we can’t feel it
any more than we feel the earth’s spin
But there are signs
that the whole game is ending
so we are looking up
ready to be called home.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 9, 2013


Cleansing

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve been foiled by this lie before:
The curling worm cringes in
and the fleeing form
sinks down —
This is flight mode,
hide mode,
play dead mode —

It is very effective:
If I try to pry it up
it goes all slidey,
try to lift it and it shrinks back down
The more I try to get it out
the more I am enmired

But I will not give up
If I can’t engage it
(and I can’t)
Then I will flood it out
Flood it with the consciousness
of every tiny, perfect life form,
every act of love under the soil,
every handclasp, every trust,
and all the harmony inherent
in the turnings of the sky,
let those fill me up
so there’s no room
for any lie.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 4, 2013


Another Fairy Tale

Posted on by
Reply

They wouldn’t let her see the enemy —
Long drapes hung down between,
refracting fabric that sent the light
in all directions, so she couldn’t see
what was jabbing at her, what she
was jabbing out against.

No, it was worse than that.
If she had known there was an enemy
she would have stood up, summoned her strength,
her resolve.
This was more like something eating away
at the edges of her being,
bland nibbles never noticed till too much was lost.

Well, that’s how it was at first.
Then she stood up to fight
and they wouldn’t let her see the enemy,
until, in some last flash of survival instinct,
she stopped thrashing at it
and turned her sword, instead, against
the deceptive drapes,
sliced at them, as high as she could reach
until they started to fall,
great cascading ripples of heavy cloth,
their weight finally hastening their descent

And she saw, on the other side,
someone just like her,
lost and scared and wounded.
In stunned recognition,
they both dropped their swords,
the clanging sound still echoing
as they picked their way across the cloth
to comfort each other.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 17, 2013


Comparing notes

Posted on by
Reply

When we all come back
from our respective dreams,
We’ll share the things we’ve learned
You’ll say, “I’ve got this down,”
and I will see, with admiration,
how you persevered
through the long parched miles
and the floods
that took the bridges out —
How you built, with your life,
a place on that land
where lush green could return.
And I’ll say, “I’ve got this down,”
and we’ll marvel at the parallels —
All our lives
through such different circumstances
Winning the same prize
Learning the same wisdom
Shining the same truth
right through our dreams.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2013


Greening

Posted on by
Reply

Along the ever-surging edge
of what’s alive,
There’s no time
for construction of a casing.
The growing tip is light and soft,
Ever moving into what it is becoming.

The story, the woody stem,
That which will uphold it
over future years
Will come later
in the established corridors
of nurture and support —
The long-stretched-out connection
between root and frond

But its identity,
Its form, its exaltation,
Its phototropic, geotropic
orientation,
The sensitivity, and the sensation,
Are most felt
in this newly forming green.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2013


Fluidity

Posted on by
Reply

From flashes in the corner of my eye
I start to sense
that what I operationally
have called reality
is completely fluid,
unanchored as water —
Which helps explain
the many times I’ve fallen through
when leaning into something
that I thought was real.

What I have called reality
is as fluid as thought
and changes just as deftly
as a dream —
Not only in the sense of what is now,
but also in my thought
of everything that’s gone before

Fluid as thought
And anchored only in the forces
that control its waves
that weave the grand and languid dance
that nothing stops —
Each impulse’s momentum
playing out its power
Nothing forgotten
in the rolling course of life.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 25, 2013