The words are all here,
the ones that make clear
what we are, what we see,
what we know
The truth is right here,
it ever leads us
to drop assumptions,
see things new
I paint the word, the truth,
on what I see –
the land becomes my illustration –
its wide upsweep, the trees atop it –
I rest my eyes here
and feel at peace.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 2, 2023
Maybe I’ve used up all my words,
except the ones that will describe
the thoughts that haven’t fully proved themselves
The thoughts are eager. They want to save the world.
They are sure they can, sure their lens,
with dedicated focus, can burn through every lie
The words are watching. They’ll choose
and arrange themselves, once they’ve seen
something certain. Meanwhile they think
there’s nothing new and true enough
for them to say.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 22, 2023
I don’t mind
being rendered silent,
my words, heretofore,
having, all too often,
served a regime I didn’t even know of,
and certainly would not support
now that I know
Let me serve instead
what speaks for itself
in the web-connected movement
of every atom reaching
into its purpose, into its bliss,
every being finding, in its living, exaltation
in its joyful contribution to the One.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 21, 2023
If a word could be a touch,
if a touch could change a mind,
if a mind could take in
every fact of presence,
that’s the word that I would want to use
We spoke of
something beyond language –
the next, a deeper, comprehensive way
to share, communicate, express,
and come to understand
We felt the longing for it,
felt the hope that it be something
we will learn,
and maybe, truth be told,
this hope is proof
that this is something we already know.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 12, 2023
I.
We talk about the failure of words,
but maybe it’s not exactly that –
a thing of timing, more, or cadence,
and how the images,
though not strange,
rest in a different context,
whose description
would take a lot of words
and tax our listeners
We may have finer sensors than we know,
with which we measure
the time we have to speak –
space of attention
in which our words must fit,
or else the bubble will disperse,
letting our words fall
and our connection with it.
II.
And then again, there is an art
to listening, without intent
to offer any words, unless
they perfectly tuck in
to the place of need
that has been shared,
which they will do
if we have rightly heard
the space prepared.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 30, 2023
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
I come around again to silence,
not knowing –
is it too soon to speak
or are my words already spoken,
is there hope behind the smoke
when so much is broken?
Let my silence not come from my fear
but from my listening,
let my lack of words make space
for something larger –
what fills all space can’t be corralled with words –
return me to beginning with the Word.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 28, 2021
The truth is not in the words.
The words are what rise, inevitably,
like morning steam,
from wood, from fields,
true as their source
and the forces that bid them rise.
They can be followed
by one who chooses the necessary silence,
all the way to truth
But when they’re argued over,
they move and dissipate
in all the curling currents of the air –
you won’t find truth in words alone –
it isn’t there.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 23, 2021
If I could tell you
my deepest, newest thoughts,
they would have the same words
that I’ve been saying for years,
the same words others are saying,
no doubt, like me, noticing that
they essence they are trying to convey
does not come through
Words! — they are fickle vessels,
more like light projections
that you can walk in front of
and fill them with your shadow
while the image is reflected
off of you
But light — light can inhabit words,
if briefly, and it can keep them
in listening’s reflective silence.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 23, 2019
Aghast at the clunkiness
of words, I sit down
on a block of them,
unwilling to lift any,
unwilling to make a wall
Whatever it is
I may want to have said,
it’s better that I let
the surprise blue
of late afternoon sky
convey my meaning.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 15, 2017