Walking the Land

Other people have loved this land before.

Signs of their presence,

in leaning posts and rusted fence wire

are unmistakable. And in the fact

that this is pasture — grass

must have been mowed last year

But something else calls out —

and echo of my footfalls,

generations old, perhaps,

And how this love that rises

from the land

must have captured others

They must have felt held,

just like this, in the sun, the air,

the solitude

and the quiet endurance

of all things living,

all these things that wait

for our full return.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 14, 2015

Wooden Nickels

A friend remembers, as a child,

she once tried to give a wooden nickel

to a blind girl.

She doesn’t know why she thought

it would be fun to fool her

The blind girl was indignant,

for of course she knew,

as would we all be,

as do we all

And yet it seems so often

we try to give them to each other —

smiles without light behind them,

words without truth,

touch without 

reverberation, overlap of waves,

and the profound fulfillment

of harmonic tones

We’ve been taught to pretend to be fooled

but no one ever really is:

We all sense,

at least a little,

what it is we want,

what we need to give.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 12, 2015

When You Know Who You Are

You get refocused on the inside —

All the vectors realigned,

the causes reconceived,

a subtle but essential shifting

where all your elements

fit better, settle

And in the new-felt points of contact

a surprise thrill —

Enough to power

all the things you suddenly

can see you’re here to do,

enough to light your flare

so others see you

and you see them, too.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 11, 2015

Body of Movement

Consider my body

and how it moves —

the reach and balance points,

the arcs extended

through my spine, my limbs —

consider how it spins

and how it leans and stretches

There is no moment

when it is not made of motion.

Even at its most still,

the counterpoints of rise and fall,

of soft and taut

are what define it

It’s not a mass of matter

waiting to be activated.

It’s not comprised of elements

that might move.

It is the actual movement

as clearly defined by my thought

as the vortex form

is governed by its rippling imperative —

cohesion of the liquid

and the gravity that draws it

and the honored channels

through which it flows

My body is like that —

transparent, wave formed,

kinetic,

whirling through the dance

of present tense.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 11, 2015

photo by Edward Mulhern

Light On The Page

Somewhere in between the printed words

I find myself in the velvet place

where secrets are imparted

as quietly as dew lifting

And the awareness

spreads like color

across sun-brightened fields

and joy —

like the spring trilling

of many tiny birds

So these are the promises

and this is how they are fulfilled —

in the soft silence

of becoming new.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 9, 2015

Life Work

I start to see

my life is more

than finding ways to feel fulfilled,

more than arranging energies,

emotions, thoughts, and movement,

metabolism, focus for my days,

more than finding ways to feel OK

I was made to bear fruit.

My life feels good when,

in essential interaction,

I engage cooperation

with the life around me

and we all thrive

My life is working

when Life’s work

is manifest in me —

The works define

what I’m meant to be.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 8, 2015

Artwork

Reality

sets up like paint —

things are blocked in,

they change,

refinements are added

in color and shadow

and things dimly glimpsed

become clearer,

remote possibilities

suddenly seen

as the way things are

and had to be

(wasn’t it obvious?)

We walk by turns

entranced, bemused, euphoric,

through the colors of becoming

Reality

sets up like paint

beneath the artist’s hand.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 6, 2015