the call
I yield myself and am borrowed —D. H. Lawrence
this, the gift
to give over until
willingly taken
I wait
stars winking
plenitude inside
creation, a joining
thee and me
source and means
a seeming two yet
one in play
a labyrinth
this web of words
shivers rush
my back
the unknown calls
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
perplexed
this worldly life
abuzz and busy
so puzzling
where’s the quiet?
instead of dominion
I need
listening, watching
for how we fit
the worm does its part
aerates soil
birds and squirrels
spread seeds—
greens feed animals
then their bodies
nourish ground
mutuality in cycle
dear me,
look around
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
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.
the age of loss
every day a new reminder
an ache a twinge
minuscule shift,
but there—
harbinger
marking a different time
new signposts
come grow go
a friend reported
my brother died
I’m the last one standing
her gaze hummed grief
and comprehension
before, a distant veil
floating our way
now here
raw
obdurate
inevitable
the clouds pile
look—
how majestic they are
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
lightkeeper
to tend the flame
feed it twigs
then forage boughs,
my homage—
to kindle warmth
in my small sphere
sometimes it sputters
amidst hard rain
I shield it
with my hands
my heart breathe
embers awake again
this, the work
it calls my name
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
seasons
growing body gaining skill
first steps, attempts
putting it together
new loves
untried adventures
the middle span
assessments
reviews, confessions
now, taking away—
from friend, beloved
or myself
small or large
twitch, twang, or sorrow
every day a leaving
sobering,
this season of losses
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
starstruck
split open by stars
filled with their light
from faraway
and eons old
forces at play
so colossal
I quail
yet welcome
their light
and alien touch
gracing my skin
engraving
the word imagine
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
harvesting
in a star’s wink
change comes
it could be small
first gray hair
or huge—
accident or loss
we name big shifts
life-changing
but change is all we have
to walk this life
without resisting—
suffering’s end?
now’s the time of harvest
I shape a bowl
to hold the good
and blow the chaff away
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
what if
The heart is the center of the mind —Sufi Inayat Khan
this is why
I’m broken—
was taught my heart
is in the center
of the chest
and I believed it
the mind
left on its own
a mosquito
busy deadly
transmitting malaise
needing supervision
call in the heart
plant it
strengthen it
in the fertile marrow
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
readiness
I wander the chasm
of not-knowing
waiting
like testing mango
a slight give
implies ripeness
if not
no letdown or regret
just not ready
a gate’s like that
when it clicks
the way opens
no idea where it goes
I follow
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 