tincture
Let me bathe my soul in colors; let me swallow the sunset
and drink the rainbow. —Khalil Gibran
when I can’t find
my footing
and my spirits are low
sunrise’s bloom
or sunset’s blaze
slides down my throat
the tincture of grandeur
buoying
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
misunderstanding
I don’t think the common thread that runs through humanity is greed or power….
It is this binding agent of loss. —Nick Cave
when one country
swallows another
fracturing families
crushing spirits—
I assume our nature
is greed
disgusted, think only,
failed species
but what if I’m wrong
maybe this lust
is grounded in fear—
we know we lose all
so lash out
outcome, unchanged
but I soften
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
today, an old friend
for James
we’ve never met
not face to face
yet reading your poems
sending you mine
my heart swept wide
paths finally entwine
you’re here where I live
and we’ll meet today
what’s the cadence
of your breath
the depth of your gaze
is your walk quick
or attentively slow?
so much we don’t know
and yet, an old friend
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
surprise
at the beginning
of the dry season
I wake to steady
rumbling on the roof
lulled, body softens
wants to sink back
into sleep
but Jazz is up
on her feet
cold nose nudging
before rising
I send prayers
for the war torn
and unhoused
how is it my sisters
my brothers
bed down in cold rain
and I have the gift
of husband, warm dog
and snug dwelling?
I am not better
not special
and so grateful
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
when all is cold,
I’m cuddled up in furry
orchid fleece
dog warming my feet
her recognition
of my need
and wet, chilly toes
that closeness
when loss hovers
invites willingness
I raise my gaze
the sparrow singing
chest puffed out,
impervious to cold—
I am not
but I am warmed
by our home
and the love
that supports me
I think of many
in bedraggled tents
on the streets
in earthquake-
crushed buildings,
or washed out by flood
could I be courageous,
share
my fleece or dog?
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
seasons
growing body gaining skill
first steps, attempts
putting it together
new loves
untried adventures
the middle span
assessments
reviews, confessions
now, taking away—
from friend, beloved
or myself
small or large
twitch, twang, or sorrow
every day a leaving
sobering,
this season of losses
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
I wish
my mother sighed
wishing doesn’t
make it so
desperate,
deep inside
I wanted yearnings
to come true
she stole
enchantment—
where I wish it,
tap it with my wand
and lo!
it comes to pass
although she was right,
the means
were heavy handed
permit the child her fancy
filled with beating wings
and potions where poof!
problems vanish
and dreams come true
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
nerves
old woman
still I shake
when put in front
I want to say
girl, get over it
whose voice is that?
but here’s the thing…
the one in front
looks old, yet inside
is young and shy
terrified
of whispers, spite—
steady her
wrap an arm
around murmur
I’ve got your back
take my hand
we’ll face the fear
together
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
waking up
some days I awaken
lie and wonder
let mind slide around
feeling for edges
no bad dreams
or point of origin
no smoke to locate flame
just alarm and agitation
I rise
quaff the chilly pre-dawn air
early hour’s silence
soothes and settles
dog and husband both asleep
this dismay is mine alone
I can’t buy a ticket
to the future
or travel to the past
so I wash the mind’s vexation
with slow and even breaths—
now is all I have
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
multiplicities
communities inside—
the scared, the crank
wise elder and protectors
a whole town
struggling to agree
one wants to be bold
another seeks freedom
this one needs safety
at any cost to the whole
security wins
she’s young and drowning
in fear iced with anguish—
the structure takes shape
to protect her
some hide in the undergrowth
others strike a brash pose
unruly, uneven peace
invite them to speak
encourage one at a time
ask this one to come forward
that one to step back
offer respect be clear
that you love them
they’re you, after all
tangled
doing their best
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 