cool and gray

cool and gray

sky the shade
of splintered concrete
half a world away
in the dark, families
fight for freedom
their homes shattered
a similar gray—
where I live,
there’s war too
a quieter kind
—for now

overlaying that
an atypical spring
gray and cool
occasional mist
drapes the trees
now late spring,
jasmine kisses my nose
hummers sip aloe
their iridescent green
against deep orange
lavender swells
so does my unease

I can’t turn away
befriend it instead
this curious bouquet
of fair and fear

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.

so much broken

so much broken

bones here and there
my heart, many times
spirit, at least
one, two, three

is this the path of love?
this way
of brokenness
we greet each day?

life rent me
so I see the shape—
the disorder required
reveals the whole

an onyx crow picks
squirrel from the road
Cooper’s hawk nabs
crow—life’s wheel

the rabbit-gray dawn
signals rain,
branches bow
then break in rising wind

perfect symmetry—
be born from knowing
live out our lives
die into knowing

the gift that’s given—
we are shattered
in a hundred ways
and remade again

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

because

because

because dawn has opened
whether I want it or not
and I’m anxious,
a tight braid of worry

I sit still, take a breath
and sigh
this too, this life
broken open by love

I can love even me,
locked into rebuffing
what is here now
I’m a friction, a shield

because I can see this
my posture softens
I shake loose my limbs
and walk into the day

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

the tube

the tube

September, 1974, five weeks old

deep in the hospital
an x-ray room
bone-cold
the intern straps
my tiny son
stripped to his diaper
into a plastic tube,
velcros it tight
around his chest
his skinny arms
forced high—
his screaming begins
leave now, I’m told

forty minutes alone
on a bench in the hall,
skewered
by his wailing, his howls
that pierced the door
I shiver, tears streaming—
I didn’t keep him safe
a revelation of mothering
I need to protect him
from doctors

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

why not?

why not?
Nothing can make our life, or the lives of other people,
more beautiful than perpetual kindness—Leo Tolstoy

why not be kind?
gentle words,
the lightest touch,
wisdom shared
on a distressing day,
a smile for a passerby
or the mother of
a screaming child—
the simple acts
some call cliché

what can warrant
meanness?
how does that ever help?
broken on their path,
the hurtful ones
are hurting

move closer
make kind words
commonplace—
dust them
sprinkles of grace
soft as spring rain

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

this is how it is

this is how it is

how strange to think
I’ve reached an age
of dying—
I would like it
to be different,
but this is how it is
friends, family
ill or failing,
taken, one by one—
since I don’t know
and can’t imagine
what is right or best
I hold for highest good

I wonder when
my time will come?
no chance to choose
I’d like to have a vast
and orchestrated plan
but as I age,
the more I see
there is no plan at all
each enigmatic moment
an opulent banquet—
I put my thoughts away
choose willingness
and dine on this—
unknown’s lavish spread

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

wither without

wither without

the forests droop,
drought saps resilience—
close to home, bone-hard
ground bucks the shovel

I too, could wilt, cannot
thrive or survive without
a stream of gratitude
to water the heart
nourish my spirit
I awake before dawn
snug under covers
and thankful—
elder body still works
our sheltering home
my husband’s
bedrock kindness—
I send gratitude
outward, a cloudburst
of goodwill, prayers
and good wishes
for people I know

then wider still—hungry
children, depleted planet—
all will wither without
a torrent of gratitude

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

shake loose

shake loose

when I feel
weighed down,
regretting the past,
asking what’s next,
filled with if onlys
and what ifs
I’ve fallen out
of the present
and back into time
with its missteps
and worries

eventually I notice
the burdens—
suffering’s swamp
and my drowning—
it wakes me,
shakes loose
the mirage
I slip out of time
and land with
kerplunk!
right back here

breeze dusts my skin,
plum clouds
waft their scent,
hard rain
pelts my face—
these rinse my mind
of what’s done
and what’s looming—
then I start fresh
in this amaranthine
now

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

time chastens

time chastens

ninety-four
a little stooped
yet I never heard
my mom complain
not once
no talk
of painful hands
or aching back
not in her lexicon—
buck up instead
no church
no faith
nor gratitude—
she shouldered on

I can’t deny
time’s humbling,
nor bear it all alone
instead, rely
on thankfulness
and friends
we share our woes
discomforts
and our joys
buck up be gone
solace and care
instead—
if only I could
have offered Mom
permission

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