the call

the call

I yield myself and am borrowed —D. H. Lawrence

this, the gift
to give over until
willingly taken
I wait

stars winking
plenitude inside
creation, a joining
thee and me
source and means
a seeming two yet
one in play

a labyrinth
this web of words
shivers rush
my back
the unknown calls

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

perplexed

perplexed

this worldly life
abuzz and busy
so puzzling
where’s the quiet?
instead of dominion
I need
listening, watching
for how we fit

the worm does its part
aerates soil
birds and squirrels
spread seeds—
greens feed animals
then their bodies
nourish ground
mutuality in cycle
dear me,
look around

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

when all is cold,

when all is cold,

I’m cuddled up in furry
orchid fleece
dog warming my feet

her recognition
of my need
and wet, chilly toes

that closeness
when loss hovers
invites willingness

I raise my gaze
the sparrow singing
chest puffed out,

impervious to cold—
I am not
but I am warmed

by our home
and the love
that supports me

I think of many
in bedraggled tents
on the streets

in earthquake-
crushed buildings,
or washed out by flood

could I be courageous,
share
my fleece or dog?

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

the age of loss

the age of loss

every day a new reminder
an ache a twinge
minuscule shift,
but there—
harbinger
marking a different time
new signposts
come   grow   go

a friend reported
my brother died
I’m the last one standing

her gaze hummed grief
and comprehension

before, a distant veil
floating our way
now here
raw
obdurate
inevitable
the clouds pile
look—
how majestic they are

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.


lightkeeper

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

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

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.

mud puddles and twig

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.