lightkeeper
to tend the flame
feed it twigs
then forage boughs,
my homage—
to kindle warmth
in my small sphere
sometimes it sputters
amidst hard rain
I shield it
with my hands
my heart breathe
embers awake again
this, the work
it calls my name
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
seasons
growing body gaining skill
first steps, attempts
putting it together
new loves
untried adventures
the middle span
assessments
reviews, confessions
now, taking away—
from friend, beloved
or myself
small or large
twitch, twang, or sorrow
every day a leaving
sobering,
this season of losses
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
spring tease
taunting warmth
tantalizing blossoms
flavor the air
then temperature drops
bone chill again
dog is lucky
one all-weather coat
she watches gravely
as I pull on knee socks
long underwear
and thick jacket
to face the field’s chill
forty minutes later
strip off the same layers
cook oatmeal and walnuts
to warm my insides
the mist has burned off
I stand soak in the sunshine
by noon
stripped to shirtsleeves
three hours of real spring
then the temperature cools
Jazz watches
as I dress up again
time for her evening walk
I imagine her thinking
silly humans
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
ebb and flow
waves thunder in,
recede to the sea
gusts of rain
wash over, pass through
hearts empty and fill
100,000 beats a day
we come, we go—
some young, some old
more swiftly
than we can envision—
how to bear the flow
of inexorable rhythm?
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
mud puddles and twig
blank mind dread
still dark
never sure
if words will come
then I remember
what my poet friend says
it doesn’t have to be good
but it has to be true
I trust true
will come when I wait
in the discomfort
of not knowing
the beat of my heart
drops me
back into my body
where words collide
once there’s a slurry
I trust play
will find shape
and take form
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
starstruck
split open by stars
filled with their light
from faraway
and eons old
forces at play
so colossal
I quail
yet welcome
their light
and alien touch
gracing my skin
engraving
the word imagine
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
for once, good
glance at the news
reread to believe
cooperation in Congress?
they got something done?
walk outside—
late afternoon’s luster
lights up the jasmine
one more tiny sign
and hope rises
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
harvesting
in a star’s wink
change comes
it could be small
first gray hair
or huge—
accident or loss
we name big shifts
life-changing
but change is all we have
to walk this life
without resisting—
suffering’s end?
now’s the time of harvest
I shape a bowl
to hold the good
and blow the chaff away
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
I wish
my mother sighed
wishing doesn’t
make it so
desperate,
deep inside
I wanted yearnings
to come true
she stole
enchantment—
where I wish it,
tap it with my wand
and lo!
it comes to pass
although she was right,
the means
were heavy handed
permit the child her fancy
filled with beating wings
and potions where poof!
problems vanish
and dreams come true
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
what if
The heart is the center of the mind —Sufi Inayat Khan
this is why
I’m broken—
was taught my heart
is in the center
of the chest
and I believed it
the mind
left on its own
a mosquito
busy deadly
transmitting malaise
needing supervision
call in the heart
plant it
strengthen it
in the fertile marrow
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 