simply be nobody

simply be nobody

you were tutored from
birth to be somebody
—somebody special
a ponderous weight

be content with unique
you are, after all—
having to be someone
divides this-that-is
into 10,000 things
adds the burden of
“mine” and “yours”—
no other creature
does this

simply be nobody
the world will spin on
with less suffering
buy a home, but don’t
claim you own it—
what does “owning”
mean, anyway?
earn a degree but
don’t claim a persona

instead, rest in this—
the undivided
ineffable wonder
of all that is

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

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.

the leaving times

the leaving times

I’m old
not elderly, not yet
though it’s
over the horizon
now visible
marching toward me
precious friends
in trouble—falls
Parkinson’s, frail
bones, cancers
threats of leaving—
embodiment’s way
of clearing space
some days, acceptance
other days, resistance
as though I could
ward off death
this I must
remember—
love is love
inhale a breath
and feel it
everywhere

repeat

stir up joy

stir up joy

examine the cedar cone
its hard russet flower
adorning the patio—
stop!
watch the grass-green
hummer guzzling
at the feeder, how it
hovers, speedy wings
too fast to see—
the morning hush
lies on the land
how its quiet
stills the mind
and, empty of thought
drink in that joy

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.

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.