Harbor Song

Mystic harbor, grey on grey,

the breath of peace descending,

rainfall, nightfall, come what may,

the buoy clangs unending —

this, too, could be your song

Beyond the thought of what to say

or how the mood is trending,

the quietude can find its way

to meet your heart ascending —

you, too, belong.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 30, 2019

It’s Universal

You may be rising

but the tide is, too —

we don’t go anywhere alone

Landmarks fall away,

measurements, too —

we can’t compare,

so much is new,

so much is felt in the attention

to these moments, all subsuming

as they are

Try to notice one

in the fleeting space of a thought,

try to hold it through the scrim

of day to day

If you miss this one,

the rhythm will come round again,

the place to grasp, in here and now,

infinity.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 29, 2019

Walking in Truth

Feet step out in wonder —

Try to describe this,

soaring down the tailwinds,

bright spirited day after the squall

Flowers bloomed where she walked —

that was one way to say it,

joy meeting joy

not something precious or singular,

just the natural way of moving

and its expected effects

Surely goodness and mercy

shall follow me

(I shall have a legacy of blessing)

all the days of my life

that’s a way to say it, too,

in the house of presence

where each breath

brings forth fruit.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 27, 2019

Huh

Turns out, it seems,

I’m not afraid of death.

It is a subtle thing,

the lack of terror — no struggling up

of something held at bay,

no frantic pushing back

against the upflow,

no fear-frayed patches present in my prayer

A thing to only notice in thunderstorms

(bike tires plowing through the water,

lightening flashing, touching down ahead)

or in an airplane, when they talk about the life vests,

or other times I haven’t yet observed

Not that I have a death wish, either —

I’d rather have my life be affirmation

that Life is here, and kind,

I’d rather be here for the folks that count on me

but being unafraid —

that’s something I don’t mind.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 26, 2019

Shifting

There was movement everywhere

but presence was defined

by stillness,

a translucency

whose glow was seen

between the arcs and threads,

between the strides,

between the branches

There was music ringing out

from deep within the silence,

what seemed dark

becoming clear

in the sheen of rolling curve

We turned our focus

from what we thought defined us

to what was underneath,

to what has been here all along.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 25, 2019

My ipod serves up love songs on the plane

I listen and my empathy

follows the threads of passion

(threads like water veins

upon the land below,

the rivers, lakes, the melting snow,

the cities clustered there, along the roads)

I feel the longing and the pain,

I feel the exaltation —

my spirit hums an all-embracing chord

that circles round the threads

and drops beneath,

enfolding them in overarching blue.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 24, 2019

In the afternoon

It may look like I’m weeding

but I’m harvesting — these dandelions

are destined for great things,

performing their wizardry

on crusty ground,

pushing through,

making room for more life

The sun was here briefly,

later the cold wind came through,

but didn’t deter us from harvesting

sweetness and strength

from the field of our connection

and the truth that is with us

wherever we go.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 23, 2019