ground of certainty

ground of certainty

which first?
bad news or good?
in this garden
of embodiment—
the tiniest vole or
Andean condor
spinning planets
and vast black holes
even they birthe and die—
no certainty, not ever

“oh, if only!”
human hearts cry
“surely we can depend
on something?”
well, yes—but not
on some thing
no things are secure
they must come and go
make space for the new
so what is reliable?
the big field of knowing
the cosmos erupts
within “it”—see that

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

the test

the test
1974

infant son
malformed heart
callous docs
severe surgeries
wailing baby
life, a hard cushion

she was pushed
to notice the good—
so many gratitudes!
hot tub’s warm embrace
hound’s comforting nudge
her little boy’s hug

noting grace became
her way—she learned to
heed life’s finespun
palette—delicate
melding from one
soft hue to another

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

cupbearer

cupbearer

note from self

aren’t we all
cupbearers for
one another?
gentle word
touch on the arm
warm mug of tea
thoughtful hug
most of all
deep listening
without comment
allowing the words
to ring in the air
settle inside—
sometimes a sage
offers the cup of truth—
ignites a turn that
could save a life
if the receiving vessel
is empty and open
be that courier

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.

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.