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.

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.

Fasciation

Fasciation
(not fascination)

when branches abrade
bark into cambium
twine imperfectly
meld and grow
into one—
the urge for union is
inscribed on the forest

just so
cats cozy together
dogs sneak onto our bed—
in 10,000 ways
we long for the other
all seeking to merge
in home ground

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

the sixth extinction

the sixth extinction
note from self

what will survive?
maybe not humans
we don’t deserve to—
fouled our own home
harmed our relations
the owl and the oak
the rhino the sea bear
the pollinating bee
the list just gets longer

but consciousness
survives outside of time
bright and alive
open and unseen
prior to survival
prior to extinction
before all we can name
awareness abides

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

beyond

beyond
note from self

to ken what she is
beyond name and form
this is sweet ruin

no choice in the matter
she came in this way and
was set on a little-known path

to be out of step with
most other people
feels peculiar and strange

it can be lonely but she
meets it with joy and
takes solace in knowing

oh, sweet ruin
name of an anthem—
see home come home be home

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

branded

branded
note from self

she received an order
from destiny—was
branded by love and
the name of her God
right on her chest
over her heart
she remembers the
scent of the searing
the throb of the burn
and the crater it left
others can’t see it
but she knows it’s there
it requires submission
to all that was asked
give it up let it go
and be free

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