Forward

There may be times to look back

but this is not one of them —

Not now, when the dissolving floes 

are drifting,

breaking up the paths 

we used to walk on

Not now, when our only hope

is in how solidly we place this step,

right here. And how attuned we are

to those deep harmonies

along whose lines

reality solidifies

This is the time to create the ways

for those who have been lost to follow,

and for all those coming up

with hope as yet unsullied

to have our boughs to twine on

In this way, we’ll weave a world

we all can stand on

and look around

in any way we want.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 18, 2014

Wasteland

We could live all our lives

in suburban toyland

with no discomfort,

with our pretend jobs,

with tools that are not dangerous,

that sort of work

We could tell ourselves

there’s no reason for

that reckless longing

that keeps rising up —

We could beat it back

through shopping,

live all our lives that way

But they would be short —

We’d die of shallowness,

of not being able

to get a deep breath

We’d die of feeling no danger,

no aliveness

We’d die because fear

would come and get us anyway

in our little holes

because fear is never conquered

by running from it

We can’t live all our lives

in suburban wasteland.

Wilderness calls us

and from deep in our throats,

deep in our guts,

we answer.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 17, 2014

Taste of Heaven

We start to look away

from all the things we thought

we cared about —

mementos, milestones, celebrations,

everything we thought would mark success

The taste of heaven

tingling on our tongues

drives us, hungry,

toward something we’re not finding

in the old pursuits

We seek it

in every place we’ve seen it —

smiles of strangers, twinkling eyes of friends,

wild abandon of winter colors in the land

and the promise of souls touching

hinted in those

inexplicable

sudden moments

when the uncountable

Importance of Everything

gleams clear.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 16, 2014

Snuggle Me

Snuggle me

for I’ve been playing the grown-up

for too long —

heaviness tugging me down,

hard knots in my forehead

Playing the grown-up

with all of its hang-ups,

studying contracts,

haggling with language

Snuggle me —

Somewhere within

is the timeless and ageless

core of my being

where wisdom runs totally clear

Let your heart reach me there

where the sweet currents

wash away every care,

smooth out the tangles,

free me from worries,

free me from anguish,

from those conundrums 

offer release,

rest me serenely 

in snuggle-deep peace.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 14, 2014

Madre Terra

We are made to speak with the earth,

Soles to press to loam,

Skin to sing the pure vibrations,

Tongue to taste the curling air

that bears the tale of everything alive

We are made to speak with the earth,

Eyes as emissaries, catching shafts of light,

relaying truth of all that lies within —

blue cast in the scent of oceans,

red in sun-warmed soils,

green and russet wetland grasses,

silvers aromatic in pine and sage, 

rosemary

This has long been hidden

under roads and floors,

the pictures all presented 

through small and separate windows

so we haven’t known

what they all mean together,

haven’t known how they comprise a whole

But still the earth will call us,

pull us out from where

the dry pursuits have trapped us,

Lead us by some image, by some zephyr

to the place that owns us,

to our land.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 13, 2014

Coming Home

Everybody’s coming home.

What looked like long and rocky trails,

what looked like walls, what looked like jails,

what looked like horrid snarls

of debt and obligation

are all the same

We set out on our journey

with strong resolve,

desperately determined

to give all it takes,

This time to finally leap free

of all those loops that snagged us,

dragged us back

so many times

We’re coming home.

It may be our resolve

or just the truth of our belonging:

The hard travails begin to fade

as we engage them —

We wake,

We wake to find ourselves

home.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 11, 2014

Current Events

I tear myself away from the pictures

so many times a day,

sickening and sad,

grief hanging with the edge of rain

on my windshield,

on the ledge behind my eyes —

Where can we turn now,

How did we drift so close to checkmate?

I look for solace in the colors —

winter reds of shrubs against storm gray,

dark trees against the sky,

I look for comfort

in the words of friends

These send me where I need to go,

down to the depths of my roots

to find the place where life

is ever coiling

to rise in its own strength,

to claim its truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 10, 2014