Early Morning

The sun, delaying its delivery

of promised strength,

drifts through a spread of casual clouds.

I doubt it will affect the day —

just my cold hands, in this brief moment

But it’s too early to be sure —

Sometimes the sun will gather more —

Whole sky-fulls to attendance,

drawn as they are, no doubt,

by its warm kisses,

Unconcerned (as are we all)

about their shadows.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 30, 2014

Inside

We are all pure inside,

We are all innocent.

The raging game of blame,

justification, tallies of offenses,

indignation,

the cringing battles fought within

about the way things went

and what they could have been,

the cover stories, image and bravado

are all just cloaks

and superficial froth

that hide the truth

that we are pure inside

And some of us, for some of us

will have a miracle of insight

to find the door, to take the path,

to wend their way inside

and with their touch reveal

each other’s innocence,

releasing that bright truth 

to light each other

and, perhaps, the world.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 29, 2014

“I Shall Dwell . . ."

(questions)

Where do I live?

Do I live in dogma,

do I live in story?

Do I live in the rolling screen of memory?

Do I match constructs of my expectations

with the way things seem to be unfolding?

Do I try to make corrections?

What does it mean to live in Spirit?

What does it mean to live in Love?

Can I call this a house,

this place of comfort,

this felt experience of being loved?

Can I call this a house,

this consciousness of my delight

to stand here at the threshold

where we may see each other,

where we may meet,

Where we cross over?

©Wendy Mulhern

May 28, 2014

Pictures — A Triptych

I.

Someone should take a picture of this,

my grandmother would say.

Here, stand just here, and look:

The square of sunlight from the window,

That bar of shadow from the doorframe

And the cat, alight with color

from the warmth of afternoon,

sheen on fur, luxuriating

II.

My mom takes her iphone, Wink,

and trains it almost daily

on the same scene,

aiming to capture

the light that fills her

and all the subtle energizing changes

in the seasons’ life

III.

I, who for so long have said

that photographing stints my other senses

and even cramps my vision,

have this small camera

(the one we got in Costa Rica so it speaks Spanish,

the one wherein I scarcely see what fills the frame)

Because I want for you to see

the poem I’ve written,

I take my camera,

I point and click.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 27, 2014

Morning, Magnuson Park

The uplands rise in harmony

above the meadow,

above the wetlands

where blackbirds sing

and land on cattails

rising from reflective waters

(last year’s rattling stalks,

this year’s eager green)

Above, the swallows dip and dart,

close their wings to surge and fall,

flick of tail or wing tip turning them

in flights as wild

as those of flying insects

The sky is still,

the morning light holds its breath

while all these weavings —

sights and sounds and creatures —

form a dome of peace

over this moment, over this land.

©Wendy Mulhern 

May 26. 2014

My Request

I want to share a place

where I can touch home,

a point to which we come

between our journeying,

And our convergent energy

provides collective heat,

and our communal comfort

recharges us

I want to be a place

where you can touch home,

a point to swing around

in your exciting orbit,

a place to gather strength,

a place to feel

that you are seen and welcomed,

and belong

I want a core that’s large enough

that no one ever feels the need

to bear the weight alone,

and everyone can nestle in

and anyone can find it,

so we will always have a way

to touch home.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 25, 2014

See

Most things are not inscrutable.

In general, things are waiting

to tell you what they are,

waiting for that catch of eye

that shows you’ve seen them,

waiting for the mutual tug

that shows you’re tracking,

ready to notice

what they’ll show

Most things long

for the steady cohesion

of your attention.

They’ll thrive under it,

they’ll yield their deepest secrets

willingly, elatedly —

so fulfilled they are

at having been seen,

really seen,

at having been known by you.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 24, 2014

May Rain

The morning’s soft rain,

heralded by wind chimes

at the open south window,

conversed about by crows,

welcomed by waiting seedlings,

settled in cozy,

the outside air still warm enough

to allow it the run of the house,

the gentleness of May

embracing the quiet wetness

as fully as it yesterday

embraced the sun.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 23, 2014

Quiet

(Matthew’s Beach, half past noon)

My mind is quiet,

As quiet as this water

with its slow undulation

and its quicker shimmers,

As quiet as the glide

of goose families on the lake,

Open to sky reflection

and the darker view

(underside of ripples)

of refracted colors

from the bottom, from the shore

My mind is quiet,

and the gentle, ruffling breezes

that rise from time to time

and stir up little waves along the shore

Are as patient and as aimless

as the fluff of cottonwoods

drifting and resting,

and the shafts of rippled sun,

Oblivious to all the local chatter

and the drone of distant boats

Quiet as the depth of

no need for decisions

as the day flows along

its broad and open course.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 22, 2014

Your Calling

There is a time

when the goal comes into view —

When you first see it

it may be blurry

like the moon through clouds

but it will insist

And though you may resist

by picking up whatever else

had ever held your interest,

You will drop them

or they will fall away

because they lack the light

to capture your attention,

You will look up from them

and the goal will shine

That’s when you’re ready

to bring everything —

all your dedication, your humility,

your earnest perseverance,

your steady work,

your insight

and your eager readiness

to be forever sparked,

because this is your course

and you will run it.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 21, 2014

In the Tent of the Universe

Oh, this life!

One thing I know —

Every separate thing

will come together

in some unimaginable arc.

Everything that seems so

out of whack

will still come round again,

in countless iterations, subtle shiftings,

till it turns out to be

the essential linchpin

of some delicious dimension

we’d never known before,

opening our sights,

vastly multiplying

the realms wherein we fly.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 20, 2014

In the Company of Plants

The day knew how

to sit with me calmly,

to let me move

in my own rhythm,

to let me get better

in the company of plants —

tomato and basil and leek starts,

green onions, kale —

No demands were made

on my attention

while I moved slowly

in emerging sun

through tasks that kept my hands

in contact with the crumbly soil,

learning its nourishment,

approaching whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 19, 2014

Gratitude for Activists

Those who fight for freedom

to be themselves beyond the norms of gender

fight for us all,

for we are all constricted by the norms

Those who fight oppression against women

fight for us all,

for every slighting of the worth of any person

slights us all

Living in privilege

makes people stupid,

because, in that mythos,

it’s to our advantage

to simply not notice

that we are complicit

in others’ suppression

There is no us and them

and every one of us

who lifts a voice in courage,

to be heard and seen and known,

makes room for more of us

under the sky,

to find our voices

and to claim our own,

to lift our many-colored heads

and grow more free.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 18, 2014

Jennifer’s Wisdom

(my sister’s words)

Who you are

is the same person

you’ve always been —

from birth, maybe before it

You’ve always been yourself —

you need not fear

that choice or circumstance

has made you less,

has trapped you into somewhere dull or damned,

or that by luck or narrow skill

you have avoided that so far

but that you might, at any moment, fall.

You are what you are,

and what you are is needed, blessed,

and is preserved, as pure as any element.

Nothing bad that’s come to you 

has ever been deserved,

nor can it dampen you — your essence

is not suppressed

This is your life

and you know how to live it,

This is your gift,

and you know how to give it.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 16, 2014

vessel by Jennifer McCurdy

image by Julius Friedman

One Morning, Lagoon Pond, Vineyard Haven

See how the colors change entirely:

At six thirty, the palette is silvers, bronzes,

olives, pale gold of early sun, mauve and pewter

in the water and the sky

At eight thirty, it’s all blues and greens,

sparkly water, tender glow of fresh young grass

with its russet seed heads,

white of beach plum blossoms, yellow dandelion

At nine, it changes again, as marbled clouds

roll in on mounting south wind —

blue water goes gray-green,

grass, by turns, is bright and somber

A seagull rides an updraft

upwind along the bank,

glides through time

as colors glide through the day.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 15, 2014

photo by Pam Cassel

Biking Philosophers

Well, she said,

Perhaps we’ve given up

on solving all the world’s problems

before eight o’clock in the morning.

Yes, I agreed,

In our maturity,

we have determined

there is no solving things

for someone else —

The only place 

we may have traction

is with ourselves

Later, as I watch the swath of sparkles

spread across the water

underneath the sun,

I think: These sparkles are a dance

between my eyes and the bright light —

They engage and spin together

in the nexus of perception

I will come away dazzled.

The light will keep dancing

with each living thing that receives it.

We’ll see it sometimes,

and not be aware when we don’t.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 14, 2014

Photo by Heather Mulhern

Tuesday Morning

I.

The coffee shop hopped

with bright wait staff

and cheerful locals

and earnest banter

about music and ways of seeing.

People moved

in the rhythms

of their expectations

and their relationships,

and one young woman

moved with the detached slow motion

of someone overcome

with an internal passion,

from which she looked out

and saw the world

as if it were a movie.

II.

On Lagoon Pond Road

we hear the whisper of last year’s grasses

and the warble of this year’s blackbirds,

while the strong north wind

that came in with rain last night

is sweetened by the strong sun,

and we walk in the sure comfort

of hands that know each other

while sand blows along the road

into my shoes.

III.

Home for breakfast

Five of us around the table

gobble popovers, and laugh —

A time like the brief passing sun 

through a window pane

to bask in as long as it’s here.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 13, 2014

Ready

Spring is pale here,

and though the weather swings

from cold to warm to cold,

the buds have ventured out,

as startling as katydids —

the revealed preparation

of all those tiny leaves

lined up,

now throwing off

their hard, sleek, sheathes,

ready to expand

with a rapidity

that’s almost alarming —

all those precise pleats and points

starting to unfold,

ready to fill the tree,

tender but unstoppable

like millennials

stretching out

into their lives.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 12, 2014

Photo by Heather Mulhern