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.

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.

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.

resistance

resistance

when I feel the noose
of time, when meetings
and appointments loom,
it’s hard to drop in
and down, find the pool
of open unknowing

I have no idea where
to start, the snake
in my belly
coils tight
my mind becomes ice
and words won’t flow

my gaze lifts to the window
first light reveals
the onyx outline of trees,
the doe munching roses
and my world settles down—
shrugging off an outgrown coat
resistance slips to the ground

breath frees up,
snake falls sleep,
I become
tree, air, burgeoning light
deer and fragrant flower
mind melts into poem

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

from darkness

from darkness

as first light skims
the sky, I consider
how we birth
from dark

what a shock light
must be for the infant
as her mother finally
pushes her free

she is caught
by a stranger, then
cut from her source
with a snip of the cord

dark’s comfort vanished
warm sea washed away
where is her refuge now?
no wonder she cries

imagine bewilderment
as new systems begin
lungs fill and empty
for the very first time

she squints and blinks
in this startling world
filled with loud sounds
and smells and sights

as she lies skin to skin
stroked and soothed
by her mother’s first touch
a new passage

from darkness to light
and one into two

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

daylight

daylight

I wake into day
instead of the India ink
that precedes first light
overslept
missed dark’s quiet
missed the first breath
of light dusting the sky
it’s not even seven
the day’s in full swing
where is my quiet?
that still point before
the world awakens
the dark well
waiting for me
to sink down
drench in
its luscious hush

the gift today
asks for welcome
doves cooing
texts dinging
flash of bird wing
and thieving squirrel
no dark well
instead sunshine
kisses the treetops
good morning!

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

stop thinking

stop thinking

I think 99 times and find nothing. I stop thinking, swim in silence,
and the truth comes to me.
—Albert Einstein

I can’t “stop” thinking
the mind just runs
a banal and ceaseless train
yet I can slip beneath,
dive into bracing light
thoughts will play up top
I let them romp

once beneath
viewpoint fades—
such reprieve!
I rest in that light’s sling
sway in solitude and be,
just be
restored, refilled
with streaks of inspiration
I drift back up
accede to thought again

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

breath

breath

some take for granted
this rosary called breath
each inbreath an invocation
every outbreath a prayer
prayer in
prayer out
quiet susurration

I sit in silence with
generous light returning
the robin’s early song
my easy breathing—
no entreaties
no words at all

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

ocean

ocean

floating here
in warm sunshine,
lapping waves rock you—
rest in this safe cradle

inside and out
this ocean surrounds
and supports
so relax and bask

this that isn’t an it
has substance
you can’t touch it
it has depth, but
can’t be measured

yet it’s home
your original home
sense the tether?
see the thin, gold cord?
ever connected

there’s a tug,
mere feather dusting
you can feel it,
this ocean of love
this keepsake of home

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

the lantern

the lantern
questions become the lantern—John O’Donohue

hold the question aloft
it leads the way
keeps my feet
treading the path
I intuit
but cannot see

like tarot’s Hermit
with staff and care
light held high
it illuminates the trail
I trip and stumble
from here to here

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