curiosity

curiosity

saves her
again and again
when she tumbles
down, boulders
careening behind her,
a small curious thought
“I’m falling”
just then, she
drops, not
down the mountain
but into the
present—
inquiring, still
bumping along
how to stop?
broken parts?
help around?
she notes
dust and pebbles
scent of pines
the lapis sky

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

let silence speak

let silence speak
note from self

silence is lusty
it hangs in the clouds
rests behind rivers
hides within dovesong
lurks inside tinnitus
we flow from it
are made of it
loaf in it
return to it
sometimes it sings
sometimes it growls
it often hides
get very quiet
it will whisper to you
form it into a hammock
lie in its embrace
it won’t tell you stories
but will share its secrets

listen

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

listening

listening

note from self

this world calls—
begs for attention
she cannot refuse
too fast, too fast
(or so she thinks)
her heart answers back
“what’s needed here?”
“can this being help?”
instructions are clear—
attend with care
be kind
spread love—
that’s all you can do
to mend this riven world

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

bloom with laughter

bloom with laughter
note from self

so many bumps
in the road
craters, too—
times she gets
caught, shaken
and rattled—so
what does she do?
soothes a friend’s
blues, mops up
spilled stew, its
gravy leaked wide
walks the dog
who insists, pulls
apart bickering kids
wanders into the
garden throws back
her head and roars
laughing—she feels
eyes are upon her
squirrel hovers nearby
unsure paws folded
as he stares—
giggles
escape her, she
cannot control them
it’s life’s consolation

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

the hot seat

the hot seat

2010-2012

she notes her patterns
most lead to anguish
she must perch on the seat
sit in her stuff and
unwind the past—it’s
daunting and painful
and also the way

when facing what
burns her, her fresh
stare unnerving, she
slips off the seat and
back into her drama
familiar and repeated

her thoughts are not true
they mislead and trip her
committed to face this
she clambers back on
to see through the lie
she so carefully erected

turns over rocks
yanks out the roots
the closer she draws
to her core confusion
like volcanic lava
the hotter it gets

her shame almost
swamps her until
she sees through—
she bows to the seat
knows she’ll return
oh! this being human

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

only home

only home

note from self

she smells
trailing jasmine
—only herself
sees a hummer
sip lupine
—only herself
feels soft fleece
tucked inside her sling
—only herself
hears the kind voice
of her friend
—only herself
tastes the sharp tang
of her latte
—only herself
here we are, only home
blazing light of knowing
our very own self

servant to the heart

servant to the heart
note from self

the rooster crows—

she awakens and
comes alive to
this world again
plants her bare
feet on the floor
parks her hands
on her heart and
dedicates the day—
“allow me to serve
let me be kind
may my words be
humane, my touch
tenderhearted
I affirm knowing
not-two”

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

behold

behold

Highland coo on
her cup full of pens
full audiobook
on the thumb drive
dictated words
unfold on her screen
she cannot take
these for granted
everywhere she looks
miracles abound
an endless list
bones reknit
the joy of
warm socks and
nourishing soup
rains are here
yet the sparrows sing
brave souls
behold!

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

the thorn

the thorn
note from self

she sucks
on her thumb
the wound
doesn’t bleed
but the rosebud
embedded
its armor

it throbs

she locates a pin
cures it in spirits
bites on her lip
and digs
the whole thorn
needs to come out
or will fester

so it is with
misunderstanding
knife deep
but with care
the full root
must be plucked
or else it regrows
and could claim her

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.