Intersections

We may walk together

along these paths,

along these stories,

we may share vistas

but this is not an open beach —

I am aware of holes

big enough to get lost in

Mostly

I’m not mentioning them,

I’m choosing ways

to go over or around them,

things I think you can believe,

things that won’t demand you

to walk the miles with me

through and out of darkness,

things that won’t demand you

to veer off wildly

from what you perceive.

Perhaps you also do the same for me

We only know each other

at the intersection of our known worlds,

and that’s the sector we can walk together.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 29, 2019

Parade

Sure, the thoughts of things

I could have done differently

do parade themselves along

from time to time, still sail by

trailing their pronouncements

about how much better things could be

if only …

My policy is

to let them go by once

but not repeatedly,

and never to climb on board.

The now I have is, after all,

the only one I’ve ever had

or ever will. And so it follows

that all good things are here for me,

as they’ve always been.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 27, 2019

One Dance

And who were you, and who was I

but lights connecting,

pulling out the filament of hope,

on and on, a constant stream

even as the loops and partnerings

within the dance

wove and rewove,

some splendid knot forming

of which we were not aware

or hardly —

the streaming light remaining

the one strong constant

till the smile that dawned in you

lit up the circle,

and as we wove that, too,

it brought us all in.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 26, 2019

Setting Sail

With great effort, I practice

what I don’t even try for with dreams —

that waking up and seconds later

forgetting everything, feeling the shift

into the day’s perspective,

deep sigh of steadying, reset,

to feel the flush of energy

take hold, like well filled sails,

to launch me forward in pursuits at hand

I take the effort, thus,

to reset my impressions,

my conclusions, my opinions —

on noticing the ways

they’ve boxed me in, and bent me down,

to let them go, forget them all,

and set my sails for winds of truth to fill.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 25, 2019

The closest thing to a night without a poem

Days like this

it’s a good thing

it’s not up to me

to keep myself going

I would shrivel up, no doubt,

or wander aimlessly

toward the next thing

to put in my mouth,

would stumble around

from armchair to couch

I would be hopeless according to

all standards of achievement.

But here is the marvel: 

it’s not up to me. And here

is the moral: there’s no need

to hound myself (or anyone).

Our presence and goodness

are assured. Just not by us.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 24, 2019

Tending Kindness

We hope our kindness

will be felt by the land,

the trees we plant,

the soil we tend,

we hope it will respond

with life that springs forth bountiful

We hope the land will teach us

the kind of kindness

that makes things grow —

fledgling efforts strengthened,

courage built, endurance lengthened,

everything that had been tentative

standing forth to claim its place

in the blessed rhythm of the day.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 23, 2019

Temple

Can my prayer 

be anything but constant?

Are there other things to think about

than Mind’s omniscient action?

or other things to feel

than Soul’s uplifting?

Are there other things to do

than Life’s unfolding,

or any other place I’d want to be?

I used to think it sounded dull

to never leave the temple,

but now I’ve been there

and glimpsed the size of it.

It’s everything, really,

and everywhere there is,

and I am happy

to go no more out.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 21, 2019