presence
it is most native
most basic
and yet elusive
right here
but goes unnoticed
the treasure
the pearl
right here
what watches?
what’s aware?
not a mystery
right here
try this:
walk
into the woods
sit
sit for a long time
until the woods,
stilled
on your entrance,
relaxes
the first bird darts
and calls
squirrels bicker
and in the understory
the fox slips by—
this, right here
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
be yourself
you are the gift life wants—
precisely as you are—why
else would you be here?
unpack your role to play
throw open the door
let late afternoon sun
warm polished wood
your feet feel the planks
find your center
wriggle your shoulders
and dance—
waltz or boogie or jive,
your way
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
come home
as I elder into old,
noticing is called back home—
be gentle here, it says
rest in slanted sunshine
close your eyes, eavesdrop
as birds tuck in for night
reflect on what’s involved
in autumn’s harvest
how to put it all to bed
I ask for yields of kindness
and gleans of gratitude
to fruit my shortening days
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
think about:
think about moss
how it knows to cling
on the north side of stones
for moisture and dark
think about songbirds
who bathe away mites
in an icy birdbath and
still pipe joy
or raindrops that hang
translucent in sunlight
in our rock wall’s
rosemary cascade
this week, Daphne
and daffodil—soon,
they’re done, then
plums shower white
how life is changing,
changing, yet flows,
ever an unceasing whole—
I think about that
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
water of life
soothe the whining
hound tied to a pole
outside 7-Eleven,
his limpid eyes
trained on the door,
drop a quarter in
the meter gone red
the simplest act,
greet the man
stacking apples
and smile
spirit streams
an atmospheric river
always here
pouring in, around,
and through
it is us, all of us
abundant and fresh
drink in what we are
open
to its cleansing flood
then share
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
losing
the art of losing isn’t hard to master—Elizabeth Bishop
we are losing,
leaving what we love,
so fundamental to
our being here—
how do we learn
to yield with grace?
we lose our youth
then our childhood dog
our innocence
all will go—
loss of dreams
first love
children grown
parents gone
friends picked off
then slow decline
relentless time
what isn’t hard to master?
dark of the night
lie in the field, allow
the canopy of stars
to soak you in
it all comes down to this—
surrender
beneath the losses
something rests
steady and bright
it can’t be found
cannot be touched
yet holds us all
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
anam cara
soul friend
the one
who phones
in the moment
you think of them
the one
who arrives
at your door
with love
in their gaze
the one
who offers
true silence
when your heart
aches
the one
who swings
you around
sharing
your joy
the one
who is present
when you weep
unstoppable
the one
who helps you
rise again
in peace
that one
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
light’s mystery
space is dark,
deep dark—yet light
is dancing through—
somehow concealed,
we cannot see its rays
our blazing sun,
but when it shines
through void, no sign—
then touches air
and blasts alive
like ice and steam
are states of water,
are these two
states of light—
unseen and seen?
perhaps an explanation,
but that not enough—
let me be struck still
by those depths
of mystery
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
whatever comes to visit
a dream, a grace,
or catastrophic thought
I do my best
to respond to the guest
sometimes patron
off-and-on lodger
even an inmate
in the crazy house
I call my mind—
there is no control
but once it shows up
my job is to notice,
to work with the caller
calamitous thoughts
are noted, considered,
then with respect
I ask them to leave—
prompts for a poem
flash in and then out
I rush to jot them down
when gratefulness comes
I cinch up to the dock
and stay a while
a welcome anchorage—
what better place to rest?
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
that kind
I don’t want to be
that kind of old—
querulous, afraid,
and downed by loss
instead, I want to try
new ways,
be curious
with a rich heart
and ready smile
that’s another way
to imbibe this life,
all of it, full tilt—
make peace with pain
its knife bite,
advancing aches,
and griefs that rend
two role models,
both mid-nineties
teach me how to be—
their lifelong friends
are gone, and yet
they greet each day
with interest and relief
to find themselves alive—
I’d like to add in joy
I pray to be that way
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 