free fall
free fall into life
such a surprise
to arrive here
naked and wet
the shock of cold air
in new lungs
no longer one
with your mother
in salty, warm soup
but pushed out
cast out
into two—what
can we do but cry?
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
reminders
it used to be,
in corners of my home,
little altars everywhere—
Buddhas, polished
stones and crystals,
Ramana Maharishi’s
secret smile, a baby’s
lock of hair—
and on my arm,
olivewood beads
smoothed and oiled
with regular use
the names of God
a prayerful susurration
I recall the day
my mouth went still
crystals rehomed outside
one Buddha sits alone
serene in stone
inward altars now, no
outward signs desired
crystals no more revered
than this thumb drive
or pottery mug of pens
that live on my desk
each thing miraculously
given, each one sacred
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
first light
walk into dawn
allow soft pinks
to wrap your heart
stand by the rhubarb
that just broke ground
hear songbirds
welcome light—
while you await
first crowning rays
the chill air bites
headache washes clean
Daphne wakes your
nose—winter’s gift
the world may be
in chaos, but here,
for now,
peace reigns
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
how do I live?
Live with skillful nonchalance and ceaseless concern.
— Prajnaparamita Sutra
I awaken each morning
avoid the news
it ignites incessant concern
I’ll bear it later in the day
quiet, I sit with my latte
breathe
remind myself of the truth
we are one body perceived
as eight trillion things
the I that I am holds it all
and is also a mere pinprick
of light—oh, the mystery!
my assignment—
live with skillful nonchalance
to balance ceaseless concern
both are needed
both required
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
The pantoum is a poetic form originating in 15th century Malaysia that uses repetition. It’s a poem of any length composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The final stanza is often two lines from the first stanza.
thirst—a pantoum
be thirsty, it’s primary
a thirst that insists
it requires quenching
your spirit is hungry
a thirst that insists
that points the direction
your spirit is pining
to find your true home
it points the direction
with love and persistence
you’ll find your true home
even closer than breathing
be persistent and loving
and direct your attention
even prior to breathing
observe and you’ll find it
direct your attention
turn inward each time
observe and you’ll find it
your near and dear home
be thirsty, it’s primary
it requires quenching
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the sigh
are you aware
of the sigh?
the one
that catches
the back of
your throat?
the sigh that
imbibes beauty—
could be tulips
a line of poetry
landscape
or musical thread
that sigh feels
knowing—
understands where
your true home is
when you ken
this sigh
it’s different
and you know it
pause
stop, even
honor it
the gift
the reminder
that it is
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
widen the lens
note from self
if it’s too hot to touch
if turmoil burns
lower the f/stop
open the aperture
and let in more light
as it floods your field
step back and breathe
see more
see wide
see deep
stars sprinkle there
billions abound
each one a galaxy
unknown and lucent
puts you in your place
here
present for now
dilemmas shrink down
light rises up
and more paths appear
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the teacher
note from self
catapulted onto stone
she can’t speak
and barely breathe
yet there’s an invitation
let pain be pain
the aching, stabbing
lie-still-on-the-ground
wait-to-see-what-happens
or, let the mind get busy
building stories into suffering
pain and torment
the double whammy—
far worse than finding the
thread of breath again
accepting help
and staying only oh! only
in the present moment
here, in the warm sunshine
lying on hard rock
head cradled in her
husband’s precious hands
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
wreck the house
note from self
dismantle piece by
piece—thoughts
here, beliefs there—
wreck the house
you call yourself
no separate soul
exists—note how
“your” breath
depends on air
depends on trees
requires water
depends on soil
requires sun
endless relation—
no discrete being
only interbeing
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
she sees the world
note from self
she sees the world
as it is—a
splendid shambles
a miraculous mess
that seems poised to
shed humanity over
a few hundred years
what will it look like
in half a millennium?
can kudzu re-green
the planet? will it turn
into a moonscape
like Mars?
and accepts that
she will not know
so celebrates today
and what is known
chill morning air
crow’s hoarse caw
sun-dappled leaves and
her breath in and out
—for now
the heart of the matter 