Parenting a teen

My friend is coming over, he said.

Please:

He doesn’t know how weird you are

Remember

This impression he will form

is what he’ll keep.

So hard to be a teen with parents

who might dance in the kitchen

while making dinner

or laugh out loud

or even kiss

So mortifying

They don’t realize

how to be props

nondescript

acceptable

like all the other parents that he knows

Me - I hope that as he grows

he comes to see

To dance in your own kitchen

and to be

as jubilant or goofy as you feel

Gives others, too, permission 

to be real.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 10, 2011

Burning

And every door you go through

You leave behind another thing

Whole worlds forgotten like dreams

Only emotions, trailing in threads,

Remain, remind you something . . . 

And then they’re gone

And you’re still moving

And you’re still here

While everything you thought you were

Dissolves

And in the tingle

You may think you’re fading too

But here you are

Still moving forward

Burning through

A comet on a wide elliptic arc

Your changes - blazing gifts 

Against the dark.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 9, 2011

equilibrium

whirling in a balance

like a maple seed descending

in late afternoon of year

as the earth keeps rolling, 
     bending the low arc of light

more inward

in the grasp of shadows falling

as the lively air invites us

to the dance of bright leaves flaming

so the inward hearth light calls us

to its quiet steady warmth

and the potent stillness pulls us

to its radiating strength

so balanced - spinning outward

folding inward

we revolve

strength offsetting strength

love inspiring love.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 8, 2011

frost

frost last night

rooftops white

called out for cuddling

hugging and snuggling

soft radiation

from warm liquid comfort

coursing the corridors

running the heart paths

beating the inner drum

toning the ancient hum

fire cast shadows

flicker in reddish glow

heat sources, signaling,

summon me home.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 6, 2011

On Fire

Throw another log into the furnace

Pump the bellows, let the heat keep rising

For, whether on purpose or by chance

It seems I am committed

Open to alloys

Open to alchemy

Whatever will meld

Whatever may emerge

That which will grow stronger

as it melts and flows together

That which will arise transformed

to something unimagined

Though the steams arise and cloud my sight

Creative sparks in circling outward flight

Will forge a more expansive view

Herald the birth of something new

While anything that’s burning off

consigned to ash, will float away

without my even noticing:

The fire is where I am today.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 3, 2011

Folding: Three Figures

I

Some origami masters

fold in dim light

Perhaps this helps the forms

engage imagination’s flight

Perhaps it sensitizes

their fingers and their thumbs

Engendering precision

that only comes

with the closest of attention

with the time it takes 

to sense the folds

against the darkness

of the room.

II

You asked me for some feedback

I said, just that it was perfect

That appraisal can apply again today:

That everything you brought —

Your gifts, your insecurities —

Were just what was needed

As must be

(The law that governs this

being impeccably precise)

No thing you bring

is ever out of place

It flows in oneness

in the dance of grace.

III

I’m taking time

to let you grow

to let me heal

to smooth the flow

until the shift across the fold of time

will, in its time, reveal

the form once hidden

in the implicate—

unfold it splendid

in its primal state

where all potential stands, realized and steady

where all that is to be is there already.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 2, 2011

Autumn: Three Leaves

I

The smile of fall

a rare and fleeting gift

like that of one whose visage

is reflexively severe

from discipline built up through years

of self-constraint, of striving for the prize

the burnished glow of mastery

that shines through fruit and crimson leaf

against impassioned skies.

II

But no

for fall speaks of the grace of letting go

the end of effort and the floating backward

tumbled down, but glinting brilliant

not because of winning

but for all the steady time beneath the sun

falling as a blanket to the earth

now that the kiss of summer’s done.

III

in every Autumn day

three faces

one for looking forward

one for looking back

one for looking inward

toward what glows against the lack

When green retreats

the inner fire

will find its core

and flame up higher.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 1, 2011