carved in devotion

carved in devotion
note from self

it pours out of her—
delight in the tiny birds
brave and filled with
anthem to greet
this blemished world
they cheer and
entice her courage—
to be so small, mere
snack for hawks
and yet…
they warble bold
pipe joy
croon beauty
trill wonder until
she, too is engraved
with reverence
carved in devotion

unspool yourself

unspool yourself
note to self

the world doesn’t care
it rolls on and on
and on and on
attend the gap and
the pause, affirm
what’s beneath, the
bedrock of knowing

cast the spindle
unspool yourself
watch the thread
unfurl on the path—
go wide, a geyser
of light—be brave
and shine large

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

give something precious

give something precious
note to self

give your attention
spread kindness wide
save the wee bird
that spilled from the nest
be bountiful in this
wounded world
share a smile, a soft
word—phone your ill
friend, warm her sphere
giving will fill you to
overflow
crack yourself open, be
a torrent of tenderness
use yourself up—
your well is replenished
again, again, and again

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

one breath at a time

one breath at a time
note to self

if you pay attention to
your one dear breath—
the gift of lungs filling
with no conscious effort
how even when you’re
busy and thoughtless
of your breathing—still
only one precious
breath at a time
in and out, in and out
nourishing and sustaining

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

bone house

bone house

some days I think
about all the bones in
this batty bone house
called earth—my calculator
coughs counting bones
near 8,000,000,000 souls
living now, 206 bones
in each one, much less
bat and bird bones
the trillions of fish bones—
an invention of consciousness
that apparently serves
but where do they go?
they dissolve into
love and dust and
nourish the ground
for what comes next

Thank you to Elias Amidon for the phrase “love and dust.”

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

be humble as soil

be humble as soil
note to self

you’ll return to soil sooner
than you think, so why
not be humble now?
soil’s a marvel—holds
moisture and sustenance
feeds plants that nourish
doesn’t deserve the
dismissive name “dirt”
it’s fertile with minerals
and microscopic biome
that break you down
reduce you to fare for
what’s next—redwood or
oak, carrots or quinoa
you are no more nor less
than the miracle of soil

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

every seed must shed its coat

every seed must shed its coat
note to self

in order to take root
each seed faces
the unknown
must shed its coat
to meet the environs
required to grow—is
fertile ground missing?
what then? wait?

it’s the same for her—
dissolve contention
a cloak of protection
and meet what comes
if conditions are hostile
wait—
pausing is prudent

for worse or for better
the setting will change
gushing rain may come
to soften that seed
allow it to delve in
the soil and embed

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

edgewalking

edgewalking
note to self

you walk the edge
along paradox
negotiating the rim
with care—watch out!
you can stumble—
canyon on one side
crevasse on the other

you might go adrift in
the dark side of a story
or the bright—
can they both be true?
try this—embrace them

oh yes, it’s uncomfortable
sometimes agonizing
also boundless and free
balance on that

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

hymn of wonder and grief

hymn of wonder and grief

a close friend
is struck by a
brain-stem
stroke—a
fir half-broken
still stretching
toward light
her daughters
have traveled to
be by her bed
it’s bad, they said
will she live?
can she write?
change is the given
I know this and yet
the echo in my chest
is a hymn of both
wonder and grief

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