why not?

why not?
Nothing can make our life, or the lives of other people,
more beautiful than perpetual kindness—Leo Tolstoy

why not be kind?
gentle words,
the lightest touch,
wisdom shared
on a distressing day,
a smile for a passerby
or the mother of
a screaming child—
the simple acts
some call cliché

what can warrant
meanness?
how does that ever help?
broken on their path,
the hurtful ones
are hurting

move closer
make kind words
commonplace—
dust them
sprinkles of grace
soft as spring rain

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

this is how it is

this is how it is

how strange to think
I’ve reached an age
of dying—
I would like it
to be different,
but this is how it is
friends, family
ill or failing,
taken, one by one—
since I don’t know
and can’t imagine
what is right or best
I hold for highest good

I wonder when
my time will come?
no chance to choose
I’d like to have a vast
and orchestrated plan
but as I age,
the more I see
there is no plan at all
each enigmatic moment
an opulent banquet—
I put my thoughts away
choose willingness
and dine on this—
unknown’s lavish spread

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

time chastens

time chastens

ninety-four
a little stooped
yet I never heard
my mom complain
not once
no talk
of painful hands
or aching back
not in her lexicon—
buck up instead
no church
no faith
nor gratitude—
she shouldered on

I can’t deny
time’s humbling,
nor bear it all alone
instead, rely
on thankfulness
and friends
we share our woes
discomforts
and our joys
buck up be gone
solace and care
instead—
if only I could
have offered Mom
permission

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

loan

loan

holding hands,
fingers intertwined
sun warm on
your back

the sweet-tart taste
of fresh-squeezed
orange juice
slaking your thirst

splashing cool
stream water
on your face after
an autumn hike

the first, rich
scent of rain
on parched ground
after a dry spell

your precious body
your one and only
earth suit

all of it
all on loan

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

camaraderie

camaraderie
1976

hunched on a hard chair
in an airless room,
I cupped my head
in my hands and wept

to save his life
they would saw
through his breastbone,
his chest as small
as my open hand—
stop his heart,
rebuild the inside
staple him shut

a presence beside me
her hand a mere moth
dusting my arm
she murmured,
here—for you
offering a fresh-lit
Marlboro bearing
her kiss of lipstick
I accepted the gift

glancing up, four
others—all mothers,
waited
us, too, one said

anam cara

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.

slipstream

slipstream

dogged and resolute
she was on the hunt—
not sure for what
but insistent in the search

she sought for spirit’s slipstream
like a cyclist seeks the wake
peddling behind a rider
to propel herself along

relieved to find her rhythm
with companions by her side
she rode into that vacuum
for something she called home

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

don’t borrow trouble

don’t borrow trouble

it’s an old saying,
don’t borrow trouble
I used to lie awake
and imagine dire
scenes—my son
in bullies’ hands
or worse—as though
the very picturing
could ward them off

it doesn’t save
us or them, this
perseveration,
it never quite happens
as I picture—
so why conjure
fifty ways your child
might come to sorrow
and all the suffering
that brings to you

instead, slip outside
tip your head until,
in the chill, dense dark,
you find the Milky Way—
imagine, just imagine!
how minuscule we are
soak that in until it fills
your bones—then

carry that enormity
back to bed
snuggle in the warmth
and drift to sleep

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

cup of oneness

cup of oneness

imbibing the cup
cast some friends out,
called new ones in—
this, a necessary
purge

it bulldozed
old beliefs,
flipped my view
upside down
and rearranged

my very core—
in the rubble
of myself,
I dusted
off remains

reclaimed a skeleton
of kindness, found
bones of gratitude—
now, drink
some more

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

the dark

the dark

I know the dark—
the anaconda
coils my body
throttles my breath

drowning for air
I tear at the thing
bloody my hands
wear myself out
it could take me

I turn toward
the dark, drink it in
move through it
tune my ear
is that a note?

finally the faintest
gossamer of chant
the coils writhe
and fall away
I gulp air, flee
toward the song

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.