Fledging

The fledgling crow stood on the bench

for a long time, its eyes blinking,

its claws crooked on the planks,

its tail feathers stubby.

I watched it for a long time,

until its final stubby flight

into the grass by the fence

I watched another one later 

(or perhaps the same one)

balancing on too-thin branches

in the brush pile — tentative shifting,

weighing the give of the branch

against the thrust of take-off,

hopping to equally flimsy branches,

getting ready to try again

We are so very much like these crows,

almost or maybe able to fly,

blinking for a long time

in the uncertainty of the tasks at hand,

lovingly watched over all the while.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 9, 2016

Standing With You

You don’t need me to be with your fear,

you need me to go with you to where

you have never been afraid,

where you are so sure

of your place among

the forces that move everything,

where you own the free walking

down the winds along the high hills,

and the swift soaring 

between craggy canyon walls

and the profound stillness

of the center point

from which you know how you will move

I hear the raw keening

in your cry of fear,

but through the static

I also hear your clear tone.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 8, 2016

A Tree’s Counsel

The tree said:

I am not my branches —

my branches are just pathways.

I am the pulsing center of energy

that pushes up and out and down

through branches and roots,

and if none are there, or if

they’re in the wrong place,

I make new ones

You and I, the tree told me,

are not that different.

You are not your limbs,

nor yet the sum

of who you’ve known, 

and what you’ve done.

You’re not bound to the patterns

you’ve lived so many different times

You, too, can pull yourself back

to the dynamic source core,

you can concentrate your center

and from there surge out

in the way that makes 

the most embracing umbrella

your love can offer.

You, too, can stabilize the atmosphere,

you, too, can establish life.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 7, 2016

Testimony

It didn’t matter how huge

the machinations were, how

overwhelming the structure,

how intricately wrought

the arguments, that testified

to your defeat. It didn’t matter

that they were years in the making,

didn’t matter how many putative forces

had been involved, how many actors

had had their hands in it.

We were told, in no uncertain terms,

that their evidence was ironclad,

that nothing could assail the verdict.

However.

Tide rises inexorably, with power

no sand can ever challenge.

Each meticulously placed grain

is simply lifted in the surf,

suspended in its own singular encounter

with the truth, set down on its own.

No structure is even remembered,

and your innocence, your wholeness,

gleams smooth and clear upon the shore.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 6, 2016

Vessels by Jennifer McCurdy, photo by Josh Liebowitz

Heat

Even thought is subdued

in the heat,

thought and movement,

and getting too upset about anything.

It’s not worth the risk

of heating up the blood,

not worth the agitated state of unrest

The evening breeze is kind,

the scent of privet and honeysuckle

float on it,

the smooth coolness

inviting rest.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 5, 2015

Boxes

Everyone has their little box,

everyone has their story

posted on a placard

outside their confinement

(This is the long-tailed macaque

who comes from forests in Sumatra,

this is the gila monster,

king of the Arizona desert)

Upon the walls are painted

scenes to make our diorama,

illusions of our native habitat,

jungle depths in two dimensions

If we sit sad in our little box,

it’s not because the picture is inaccurate,

if we scratch away the paint,

it’s not wonton destruction of our paradise

Eventually we are forced inward

to grasp the Mind-power

that has the key to see us home,

sees us clear beyond the dream

dissolves the box, and finds us free.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 4, 2016

Footing

Becoming real entails confronting demons.

You can float along the currents of illusion

with a fluff-constructed image of yourself,

an easy (mostly joyless) ride from birth to death,

through all the trumped up strokes of luck and chance

But if you once find solid footing,

struggle and scramble to stand up,

to hold your place,

you’ll feel the current rushing up against you,

you’ll look your demons in the face

Take courage, you are gaining strength,

and you will be supported by this place,

the tingle of the bracing air will help you,

the kindness of the sun afford you grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 3, 2016