Clear

 

As I seek a way
to smooth the river of your voice
so it runs clear,
the way I've always heard it up till now,
I know it can't be words I use
(for stones, however well placed,
won't stop the rush,
won't still the turbulence)

Instead I lean in to our source,
the Principle, the essence of our being,
I name that as the cause
of everything we hope,
and all we strive for,
and all we do -
I let that be the course
for all our currents,
and all that runs
must hence run true.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2022

Parade

 

You don't need to ask yourself,
What can I bring? What thing to carry
would make me worthy
to walk in this parade?

No one is watching,
and no one is judging,
but the light of blessing
that falls, just so, upon your head,
the light that graces you, and then reflects
in every face with whom you interact  -
it is the thing we all are here to walk in,
and all of us can tell that it's enough.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 29, 2022

Light Show

 

Now it's evening. The light show is over,
its last act, some pinkness in the clouds ...

The light has gone to gray,
the gold is gone -
though dark has touched down many times today,
this time the rain will not blow through
with sun fast on its heels,
brightening the rain drops,
nestling shimmering clouds among the hills

Now the clouds have tucked themselves in,
pulling darkness over their heads,
letting the last light slip away
into the west.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 28, 2022

Abide

 

I came up from where
it was raining inside my ears,
I came out from where
everything was melting,
I closed that scene like a book,
the characters no longer marching
their abject stories
through my halls of mind

There is a truth
that nothing can  be written on  -
no ink, no etch, can mar its face -
it fills all consciousness,
so nothing more or less
is seen or felt or thought,
and everything abides with it in grace.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 27, 2022

Rendering

 

We all curl back from everything
we have called our days,
we all roll up in recollection,
in gratitude or in misery,
in peace or in regret  -
at this grand reckoning
none of that even matters

All the names we called ourselves,
and what, reflecting those, we called others,
all our fears, facades, and tears
fall together, tumble in
to be smoothed, to be cradled,
to be rendered

And what we all become
is all we've ever been
and everything we've dreamed for -
what we are has proved itself to be
our ticket home.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 26, 2022

Shirking

 

Something like a phrase I don't quite hear,
distorted by a phase shift, fog, or dream,
sidles up against my waiting thought -
could I be your  poem? but says no more

It's gray, and has some drape or flounce of fabric,
holes that could be lace, or rags,
a shuffle and a flutter  -
if I'm still, maybe it will come closer

This could be the price of reading all day
yesterday, and even for some hours today
(though I did dredge up some discipline
to do some chores)

Sunset came anyway,
colors mirroring the fire,
even its shapes echoing the logs,
while fog crept up beneath it ...
granting grace in giving me the sight
before it swiftly rolled off into night.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 23, 2022

Music

 

Every tone that waits to chime
in the hollow of its time,
the perfect silence, opening
to give it space, to let it ring

Every voice that waits to sing
into the perfect listening,
the heart that hears, and tucks the song
where it can echo, sweet and long

All sounds, received, so find their rest,
a still point of their own,
the consummation of their quest,
the hum in which they're known.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2022