Keepers

Be thankful for the day —

it is enough

to tuck the old man in,

to see the comfort

of soft sheets around his chin

It is enough

to have accomplished 

the simple tasks

and to have felt the soft burn

of inner fire, curling

at the base of being,

connecting us to eternity

and the truth no lies can cover

and the clear direction that it gives,

untouched by any turbulence of time,

bearing us silently

into our role

as keepers of the stars.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 9, 2017

Waking

Am I, even still, in deep dream?

Or am I slowly waking?

is it possible all this could be

just what it seems,

or are we long mistaken?

My fumbling hands try to determine

what is freedom here, and what is chains.

I find I’m bound by what I thought was comfort,

I find I’m freed by my internal reins

And what may seem a heaving shift of landscape

may be the rift of an illusive scene,

and what may seem a fearful theft of power

may lift us up to finer, lucid being —

to grasp and taste the source of true delight:

illumining the universe with light.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 8, 2017

Snow

This morning I woke up remembering a poem about snow  I wrote some years back. Then a friend wrote asking if I had any snow poems. I went and found it (preserved on paper!) It was from 2002. It violates a couple rules I have for myself now about writing poetry, but I still find it sweet, and it sings itself to me in the tune of Tallis’ Canon.

Oh night! hold snowfall, soft and wet,

do not give up your magic yet —

bring us your silent world again,

stay white — do not succumb to rain

When daylight next suffuses skies,

let white on white enchant our eyes,

let all be softness, all be still,

your clean caress our senses fill

Oh night of snowfall, soft and wet,

do not give up your magic yet!

Lace in sweet cold to hold the spell,

to keep each snowflake as it fell.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 27, 2002

New Growth

As old containers fall away,

we each may find

we’re more cohesive

than we knew,

and now, no longer blocked off

from the places where

we always longed to grow,

we’ll send our shoots out

bold and green

We’ll be so much more wild and thick

than how we had been told

we had to be,

we’ll twine with others

who had been forbidden,

we’ll make a thicket, a collective tree

And we’ll hold ourselves together

not by rules and condemnation,

but by the gracious tendrils of our truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 5, 2017

Failing

It’s been a tough day —

large bungle spill

of ill-advised emotions

who rushed out blind,

not even slowing down

in their blustering forays

to hear the voice of their mom

who, had they listened,

would have counseled

that playing on this ground

always results in getting doused

in whatever slop you try to throw.

She could have guided them

to more productive fields,

but no, they had to go

and try to conquer

in all the places

where they had to fail.

No matter. Tonight

she will tuck them in.

They will sleep. Tomorrow

she will try again

to help them get up in the sun.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 4, 2017

Sifting

From this side

it feels like Spirit sifts me

and all that is opaque

falls by its weight

while all that is transparent

dances and shines,

proving its substance

by how it stands unmoved

by tugs upon it,

and how it swoops and dives

unwavering from Spirit

It is my heart’s deep joy

to be found thus,

and I sense

that from the other side

there is no sifting,

but just that Spirit

knows its own.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 2, 2017

Healing the Beast

The beast, wounded,

snarls and snaps.

There is a correlation

between unhappiness

and being mean. The unhappy feel

their meanness is justified —

after all, if they aren’t happy,

why do they owe thoughtfulness

to others?

The beast must be captured

with cords of understanding,

wrapped in kindness

till it can’t lash out. Slowly, then,

we can start to heal those wounds

it has inflicted on itself

It may seem more natural

to try to punish it, for all the damage

of its many incarnations,

but that is what the beast would mandate

Let us then heal

the beast within ourselves,

that our hands may be free

to bind and heal the larger, outer beast.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 1, 2017