Games with sounds and space

You peer with interest

through the interstices

to find, somehow, the ultimate escape

where everything transcends 

what it was thought to be —

the thing becomes the space between

as focus shifts, the space becomes the thing

Come inward, then, come through

to where, on tiny scale, space opens out —

infinitesimal, the infinite within

deftly reflects the universe without

This is a thing you clearly want,

less certain is your need —

you will try to take it home —

Who knows? You may succeed.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 29, 2018

Version (intro or extra)

and in solitude,

how shall one pursue the baubles

and the light that comes

from their exchange?

but in multitude,

the jostling shifting

of everyone’s efforts,

how can one find and proffer

the right one?

it’s easy enough to go home

without having said anything,

without engaging,

easy enough to say

one didn’t need it, anyway,

or didn’t need it here

if there’s a whole other being,

a light inducing, producing,

seducing incandescence,

luminescence from within

all satisfying,

it still should serve

to lead to bright connections,

not wean one from them,

don’t you think?

©Wendy Mulhern

April 12, 2016

Kin

Kin fits in skin

Within my ken

With what I can

Those of my home

My folk, my clan

It’s what I know

It’s what I am

Kin kindles kindliness

My kind, like-mindedness

Conscious connectedness

Seeking and finding

So may my circle

Contain all the cosmos

Its sphere as my realm

And its oneness my center

As large as awareness

As cozy as kinship

Here in sweet presence

Skin-intimate

Soul.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 26, 2012

Innocence

Writing in my journal today, I paused, and wrote, “incite insight” - just a sentence that came to mind.  It reminded me of a set of poems I wrote in college, around the time of my first love.

I keep the poems on an index card in a once-white plastic file box which contains my recipes.  After desserts there’s a tab that says “linguists’ assertions”, and contains quotes about various kinds of presuppositions.  The tab after that is blank, and behind it are poems, and pep talks to myself.  The first poem of the set is missing, but no matter - I know it by heart.

Innocence

I

Innocence

In a sense

Unwarned, in love encaptured

Unaware how not to care

In loving arms enwrapped

Enraptured.

II.

Innocence

In essence

A warming concord captured

Well aware how much we care

As Love holds us enwrapped

Enraptured.

III.

Innocence

In us, sense

To see our source of rapture

The wonder of untrammeled love

That trust makes us so apt

To capture.

©Wendy Mulhern
-Spring, 1980 (I think)

White Space

I didn’t listen to myself last night when I said, save one of those poems for tomorrow.  Ah, I thought, I’ll have something new for then.  I thought about the same things today - developments in the Middle East, what makes something poetry.  I worked on revising my novel.  I wondered about ways I might get the feedback I crave, the dialog I long for. I watched snow coming down.

I’m trying to post every day.  What does it matter if no one even looks?

(I left the space white overnight, but then crept in to add the following:)

No need to fight too hard 

against the white space

it’s not a tight space

it’s something unconfined

Consider it a wide place

a place where you might find grace

a landscape where you might trace

something divine

Try giving it a night chase

fast colors in a light race

you aren’t the only nut case

who’s so inclined

You might yet capture some trace

that maybe you can’t quite place

that leads you to your right place

your rescued mind.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 24, 2011