Angel

I sat still 

so I could

consider the angel —

that rift of my daily perception,

that tearing away

of the predetermined

course of things

(the slowly wilting fading picture

with all its hopes diminishing,

its outcome possibly horrific

or ultimately, in the best case,

sad)

The angel was like

a ripping of that scene in two,

revealing, where the picture was,

a vast expanse,

a light above the sun

I had to stop,

for everything is different,

have to watch

to see how I’ll be led.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 30, 2019

Taking a Stand

When I take a stand for kindness,

a straight and square stand,

no wobbly plea

When I take a stand for fair dealing —

no drama, only honesty

When I take a stand for goodness —

not tomorrow, or at some

vaguely gestured at

contingency,

These things will win,

for they are solid —

not found in the elusive

posturing of quid pro quo,

but simply what they are,

ever here, frame and bulwark

of our home.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 29, 2019

Before the Rain

I sit on the cabin porch

and wait for the rain,

listening to thunder

and the rattle of the neighbor’s tractor

as he tries to get his grass mowed in time.

The wind comes up, the daisies and the firs

send message —

I can smell it, I will see it soon

A doe is nonchalantly

grazing in the meadow,

little birds are quiet

while trucks keep rolling home,

and the rain is here

fresh and rhythmic on the roof,

the place we are suddenly grows small

but we are dry

and there is room enough.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 27, 2019

Mice

Mice tease out the seeds

from grass heads, and they weave

the soft chaff into bedding

(I know because

when we moved lumber

we found a stash)

I don’t know if they camp

or homestead. I don’t know

if we uprooted them

or if they were long gone

I know they have busy hands

and keen noses, and they seek heat

and water, and soft fiber, 

and they get around.

I know they can live without us

but I think they would rather not.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 26, 2019

Grace, Given

Let me pause and consider

how grace is given us,

moment by moment,

day after day

Not as some rare prize

we came on by chance

or earned with great virtue

or masterful play

Grace is given —

it blesses us,

though we’re confounded

by how we occasioned it,

how it arrives

Grace we live in

will bless, too,

the others around us –

in blessing us, they, too,

will graciously thrive.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 25, 2019

A kind of lostness

There was nothing substantial

to make a poem with

in that squid-inky mass of emotions

that squished around on the currents

of deep sighs, and a breeze

a little too cold to fall asleep in,

a state that could pass

like the swing of a hammock

or an adjacent snore

of exhaustion, late in the afternoon

of a day so unabashedly brilliant

that no kind of lostness

made any sense,

yet there it was,

waiting to be redeemed.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 23, 2019

Everything

Everything comes when we need it —

help, visitors, time on our own,

and someday we may learn to trust

the Principle which brings this all in line

Someday we may understand

that what is given

is not the things that meet our needs,

but our identity, our heritage

as ones who are provided for

with richness and bright whimsey,

with thoughtfulness and boundless generosity —

given this place in Mind where

we sing and delight and are loved and delighted in,

just like everything is.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 22, 2019