their song

their song

five-thirty a.m. birds
chirping full-throated,
greeting first light
in amiable harmony
beyond them
town’s rumble
rubber on pavement
jetliners lumber
into flight

what was their tiny
songbird reaction
when their loud-mouthed
cousins lifted off ground
and first took to the air—
did they feel invaded?
for millions of years
it had been their space
now shared
with metal-slick bullies

they did what birds do—
against a background
of thundering diesel,
feed and mate
build their nests
care for young
and watch them fledge
greet every dawn
unperturbed

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

resistance

resistance

sometimes the mind
resists dropping
into the heart
defiance?
fear?
I push back my chair
step outside as dawn
brightens the sky
the morning chill
kisses my ears
sparrows chirp
squirrels stuff seeds
into their cheeks—
inexorable,
day has come again

this simple act
out of my chair
into fresh air
sniffing lemon flowers
pungent sweetness
fingering pea pods
my heart settles
and pluck returns
I can meet this day

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

his fuzzy self

his fuzzy self

he darted
around the oak
then up,
swiveled and stared—
he, upside down
as though the easiest feat
we eyeballed each other
a squirrel in a suave black suit,
an old woman in motion,
we eyeballed each other—
tugged from thought,
captivated right here
by his sleek, shiny self
my mouth made an O
I’ve never seen his kind
decked out in charcoal
his tail flicked and danced
he started and stopped
paw poised,
as though ready to flee
then settled in for
proper consideration—
his thoughtful eyes
did he see
menace or friend?
I saw friend

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

the key

the key

slow to learn
I searched in things
and those I knew
for this crux, this clue
until one day
I turned around
and found
the code inside
the key matched
a slot in my heart,
and when I slipped it in
like an arrow nocked
to its bow, it fit—
my task remained
allow trust
the turn
to open me

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

the tryst

the tryst

with a nod to Robert Frost

a promise I made
while still in the ethers,
before the glint
in my parents’ eyes,
an agreement—

no matter where
I birthed or who
my people turned out
to be, I pledged
to hunt for truth

plopped in a family
of rabid unbelievers
pushed me to probe
for like-hearted friends
with a similar promise—
I longed to grow up
and leave home

once on my own
it took a long time
but I found them—
a tribe where my tryst
was commonplace,
they all understood
we longed for epiphany
and the groundwork
for heart opening began

mine had snapped shut
so it took a long time
but at least I had
friends on the journey—
and that has made
all the difference

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

dialect of silence

dialect of silence

this field of quiet,
the ground beneath
the language of stillness
few understand
and some even dread—
why fear what holds us?
available to all
this gift, this gold

the standing nation
knows it best
giants stood
for two-thousand years
I believe they listen
which is why
the forest is sanctuary—
as I stand among them
I feel their attending

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

missed it

missed it

I missed first light
stubbed off the watch
that rumbles me awake
nodded back asleep—
this day’s dawn
is gone
a minuscule thing
but a loss

a chiding whisper
lazybones
whose voice is that?
gone forty-five years
my father come to visit—
and this, his first dispatch?
then I remember
sticks and stones
can break your bones
but words
can never hurt you

useful, but not true
unless you construct
a fortress—
I whisper back
with the warmth
my heart holds,
I love you, too—
all this
from missing dawn

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

I am

This was a fifteen-minute unedited write in a workshop
with Rosemary Wahtola Trommer

I am

I am brave
I am a cowardly mess

I love the truth
the truth terrifies me
yet I yearn to turn toward it

I am a poet
I have failed poetry
what is a poet, anyway?

I am multitudes
I am very small and alone

I am a student of life
I am a teacher of life
in every moment,
life teaches me

all of these avowals
are true

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

compass

compass

it takes a deeper quiet
essential for my life
to find my inner compass
the one that won’t delude
but it’s not enough to spot it
I must decode its guidance
listen to its wisdom
then respond
there’s the rub
it’s ruthless in its pointing

I was not misled
to think it would be easy
that pledge was never made—
it stripped away defenses
allowed me my mistakes
but there’s a grace
I must concede—
like a border collie
nipping at my heels
it drove me always
toward what’s true

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

entanglement

entanglement

ablaze with gaudy
aloe vera, their
bright sherbet flowers
asking hummingbirds
to sip—over the decade
one plant became ten

behind, an outburst
of iris, delicate and fancy
stand in dawn’s light
begging for bees

we’re all entangled
needing each other
a delicate balance
that calls for repair
none stands alone
independent of others

plants and animals know
without knowing—
it’s coded within
bury an acorn here
another there
squirrels sow forests
without thinking

thinking’s the problem
root cause of the trouble
if I presume myself
separate
then I am—the cosmos
reflects comprehension

instead
let’s celebrate the tangle
that weaves us together
honor the kinship
that binds

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