when all is cold,

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.

steam rising

steam rising

in the chill,
a full moon
sets as I soak—
rooster calls for dawn

old muscles soften
become the sweep
of prayers
for you, for those
I do not know
but recognize—
regardless of country
color
or similar dreams
for plentiful food
curious children who
question in school,
know harmony at home
and peace spreading

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

multiplicities

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.

planting

nectaplum in bloom

planting

The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago.
The second-best time is now.
—old Chinese proverb

I wonder, is
it just too late?
why bother
to seed new ways
it takes so much—
rhythms required
to change
and not just mine
but those I love

and yet
I survey this land
we moved here
a decade ago
mended the shabby
and raked white rock
now the yard
a mini farm
rosemary cascade
apple, Comice pear
and fig—
the most arcane,
nectaplum
July sweet feast

so I clear
new inner ground
set intention
bear discomfort
knowing change
will bear good fruit

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

shelter

shelter

the dark March night
rain pelting the roof
and wind gusts whistling
through tiny spaces
shuddering the house

it’s time to snuggle
in the shrine of here
pull the fleece
around my neck
and listen

thought falls away
bands of rain
first hard, demand
then slow to steady
I praise the roof
grateful for its refuge

eyelids lull to heavy
I float my thanks
send out
prayers and questions
are the songbirds
sheltering deep in shrubs
have worms inched
off the pavement
slipped into softened soil

what about the war zones
may parents find safekeeping
shield their children
from the battering

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

power

power

The day the power of love overrules the love of power,
the world will know peace.
—Gandhi

look around—history
rife with bullets and bullies

leaders
who put love first
rare as white rhinos
and as hard to find

like my wisest friend
who could lead us well
but says
let me live out my years
in a cottage right
at the edge of the world

no pull to rule
no need for limelight
there, the way

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

today

today

opening the door
I step outside
hear the holy hush
of five a.m. dark
no wind   no birds
earth’s pause

anticipating first light’s
early rustle
I imagine
our resident squirrel
rubbing his eyes
sparrows drawing
their beaks from
beneath wings, blinking
then just beyond trees
dove tinge   the promise

not wanting to hear
a car door close
or the choir
of tires on the road
I slip back
inside

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

thread of all sorrows

thread of all sorrows

feeling separate
that thread pulls us down
first wound
prime loss that plaits
our hearts to suffering

we perform our part
abandoned, betrayed
cut off from source
the cause of war
harm of all kinds

the call—
a voice so soft
come
at first, can’t
parse the words
but feel the pull
like gravity   like song
after years or eons
we make the turn
for home

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

wordless

wordless

walking meditation
August 6, 1987

I stroll the path
the lake is calm
and eases
my unruly mind

sleep evaded
last night—
this man I met
whose presence
collided with mine

I sense him now
walking behind
and then
he’s by my side

and I’m trembling
interlacing,
my finger stub
finds home
in his gentle hand

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

one become two

one become two

in this corporeal world
of knowing revealed
the sweep between us
a most sacred ground

I prop the door open
breathe air washed clean
by a day of hard rain
even daffodils bow

as I walk my locale
I greet neighbors
as friends—smiles
and warm wishes
for a marvelous day

they may think
we’re separate
I don’t mind at all
for I know the truth
we are one become two

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.