her heart’s need

her heart’s need
note to self

her whole life she
had one singular
potent desire—
it flamed in her
she yearned to
understand
who we are and
what we are made of
prior to lightburst
and stardust

not prior as in
earlier
prior, behind—
not in time, but
in the eternal
before any thing
showed up, before
galaxies or planets—
just plain prior
my beloved words fail

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

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.

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.

the warm pool

the warm pool
note to self

awareness allows and
welcomes, supports
and underpins—we
birth right out of it
and float in the
warmth of its pool

this that isn’t an it
that can’t be seen
or heard or tasted
or touched or
even spoken about
midwifes us—
we can deny or resist
defy or dispute
no matter—bucking
what’s true will only
prompt anguish
is that what you want?

sit by the pond
feel the breeze
dust your arms
admire the swans
how they guzzle
the water of life—
hear the crack
and the thwack as
beavers raise homes
watch otters cavort
and play on their backs
they do not bemoan
or complain

wild grace

wild grace
note to self

it calls her out of bed—
the wild grace of
flooding words akin to
mockingbirds—occasional
mimic, a borrowed phrase
often her own plaintive song

she looks to morning mist
or coming light, the pad of
fox in the next-door field
soft rustle of finch in firethorn
awaiting a place at the feeder

this wild grace foretells
heart and magic, a frolic
in the field of surprise—
reflecting pond, scrying bowl
inviting herself home