Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Another day of work


I notice
it is my choice
if I am wimpy,
if I say, mixing concrete
is too much for me,
or at least, I sure dislike it —
the heaviness, the dust,
the scritchy sound,
the muddy mess of cleanup

If I say so, I will be weak
at the prospect of moving the bags,
I will express my distaste,
my visage will be sour

I may become emotional
and tell myself I’m played out,
and tell myself I just need to go home

But if I do that,
it is my choice. If I prefer,
I can choose strength and sunniness,
and growing capabilities. 
Something to remember,
something to put to use.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 16, 2018

Monday, October 15, 2018

The day we live in


The day we live in
as we walk side by side —
is it the same day? Or is each day,
for each of us, the color mixing of
our outlook and our observation?

The land we walk on —
does it speak the same,
up through your shoes —
do you feel the message
in its ancient language,
the calming reassurance of belonging,
the fleetingness of time
and its irrelevance?

Certainly we both feel
the uplift of the crickets’ tireless chorus
and that exhilarating quality
of sun-warmed air through fir trees

The day we move through
may not be the same
but their are signs
that both of us receive.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 15, 2018

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Rounding the Corner


Frost greets us —
silver gift, celebrated
by morning birds —
singular recipe —
beauty, severity

Much as the early chill
made luscious the warmth of covers
and each other’s bodies,
though soon, work demanded
that we rise

The climbing sun brings warmth,
first in its radiance,
later in the winds
which started frigid
but soon were balmy

Tonight we’ll drain the pipes
against the freeze,
the crescent moon will set,
the stars will send their cold light down,
tomorrow we’ll await
the same steep curves,
seasoned by season’s turn,
well met in grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 14, 2018

Friday, October 12, 2018

Neighbors


We will be neighbors,
we will not pick and choose,
we will be glad
at those that live near,
those that drop by

We’ll still be neighbors,
though some will leave
and others will move in,
though futures we imagined
involve a different cast

The distance teaches us
to value every face,
the land’s benevolence
becomes a part of us.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 12, 2018

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Within


All that we own
lies within us,
all that we build
patterns that form,

We may discover it
bringing it forth,
we may recognize it
as always known

All that we love
lies within us —
the kingdom of heaven,
our hope, our home.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 11, 2018

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Endless


Some things, certainly, are endless —
the variety the sky gives — this morning,
fog turning blue before it lifted,
day stretching sunny and kind,
sunset (though we were almost
too tired to look) graced us 
with its colors through the trees

I had, perhaps, ten minutes
to sit down (after I made the meal,
before the cleanup)
and at one point, in the golden, royal evening,
I thought I might run out of joy
but some things are endless,
they dish up infinite variety
when I am willing to let them in.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 10, 2018

Monday, October 8, 2018

Back to Work


With a small sputter
we swing back into work,
finding our rhythm,
finding the feed of joy
that comes from being mindfully engaged

The tools have secrets
they can teach me —
the crowbar and the hammer
can be artfully employed —
nails squeak and creak
and give up, and come out,
bent and spent, to throw into a bucket

We work till dark,
we put the tools away,
we rest, rewarded
by the progress made.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 7, 2018