the singing bridge

the singing bridge

as tires sped over
the roadway grate
the bridge opened
into song
my span home
cherished canticle
a psalm
soothing my way

on quiet days
I could hear it
from our house
the rhythmic chant
lub dub
at the start
a singing verse
dub lub
at the end

the city tore it down
progress, they said
the bridge
forever stilled
yet
seventy years on
my heart still rings
with its song

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

fitted in

fitted in

boundless heart
vast mosaic
each of us a tiny tile,
our place revealed—
feel it with your
fingertips—does it
require rasp or saw
to snug a spot,
or does it slip
right in?
be tender here—
this life,
sharp edges,
wants no less

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

beacon

beacon

all my life
driven toward
an unknown
unseen goal—
refined, but
I was still seeking
so destined
for suffering

I called it
True North
knew its
inexorable pull
it framed my days
offered dimension
and shading

until
I noticed
stillness within
unchanging
reliable
no shape
no color

the silence
bright and alive
waving hello
nothing to find
nowhere to go
closer than close
already here

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

ache

ache

so many kinds
of aches—hips
knees—
hearts the most
painful
to be human
is to ache, tugged
by the thread
of all sorrows

love can remake
and uphold us—
an eagle
the uplift
that keeps it afloat
on the eddies
love is like that
it has lift and vista
buoys and
ferries us through
carries us
to the other side

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

companions

companions

first, a fall—
he helps her
with tenderness
next
surgeon’s knife
she aids him
with love

see with fresh eyes
what soft actions
are needed—
carry groceries
for a stranger
or pick up meds
for a friend

now three quarters
of a century old
it seems clear
Ram Dass was right
with love
we are walking
each other home

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

downpour

downpour

a mere glance of rain

the drops start slow
then strike the window
slantwise
sharp and hard

the pinging soothes
steadies and cheers
her mind can let go
muscles relax—she’s
rocked in the hammock
of the raindrop chant

it brings her home
she drops into
the field and rests
in the life-giving song

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

fragrance II

fragrance II

first light alerts—
our part of earth
is waking up
moist, cool
earthworms
burrow, eat
and aerate
the soil
night’s mist
lies on the field
the sweet scent
of being here
refreshed
the squirrel
twitches
songbirds chirp
the land alive

she, too, comes
awake—whispers
a soft prayer
acknowledgment
and wish
that we soften,
listen, and care
for one another
the standing nations
need us
and we, them
they make our air
little creatures
pine for attention
as they plant
seed and acorn
we are more
intertwined
then we can
possibly know—
one fragrance

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.

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 bud

the bud

before she could talk
her heart a tight bud
not like a rose bullet
refusing to bloom
this needed touch
refuge required
to begin to unfurl

two decades went by
until she left home
found a heart tribe
where she could fit in
under kind care
the heartwork began

fifty years later
her heart’s open flower
she shares her abundance
with those nearby
they all grow a garden
awash in warm blossom
and have made a
brilliant bouquet

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