you shattered her cage

you shattered her cage
note from self

hands together
she bowed in
a sign of respect—
you shattered
her cage, her terrain
of misunderstanding
with precise, spare
and elegant words
reoriented her to the
big field of knowing
she cannot unsee—
ruined, she smiles

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

down on her knees

down on her knees
note from self

myriad times
catapulted into prayer
she dropped to her knees

yet praying to what?
for what?
what is not already here?

praying needs an “other”
an ailing spouse
or incurable child
the cry for country calm
prayers for rain

she asks again
what is not already here?
and is still called to pray

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

fall into the world

fall into the world
note to self

it’s easy to hold back
be protective and safe
you’ll miss so much

open arms wide
sail with the wind
coast on the eddies

fall into the world
don’t you know you
were made for this?

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.

remember your death

remember your death
note to self

recollect this fact—
every thing returns
home—
no choice

blue whales and the
smallest shrew
all have an allotted
span—you do too

what to make of
this apparent time?
it’s both precious
and doesn’t matter

even stars sputter out
arrivals and leave-taking
can you celebrate
your homecoming?

deep water is safest

deep water is safest
note to self

your sailor friend vowed
deep water is safest—
illogical for a landlocked
midwestern girl who
yearns to cling to shore

all that’s uncharted in
the salty abyss makes you
uneasy—bottom feeders
things with pincers
tails that sting
giants with razor teeth—
you quiver at the thought
of who is gliding under you

but what about trust?

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

the Dervish turn

the Dervish turn
1999
note to self

I settle my sikke
firmly on my head
pray it will not fall off

bow to the Sheikh
raise my wings
one palm skyward
receives grace
one palm earthward
offers mercy to
our mangled world
turn, turn, and turn
until everything vanishes

there is music
I do not hear it
silence settles inside

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

wake into this life

wake into this life
note to self

remaining asleep
is no longer an option
this time on our world
demands that you
wake into this life, meet
every other—daffodil
poisonous adder or your
loud, drunken neighbor—
as your equal
and use your aplomb

they, too, whether finely
expressed or not, are made
of pure lively awareness—
they, like the snake, might have
a quite different role, or like
your neighbor, be profoundly
veiled—still, they were poured
forth from lucid consciousness
just like you—imagine that!

with thanks to David Whyte for the title phrase

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

let your sand settle

let your sand settle
note to self

it’s so easy to be
anxious, frightened
unnerved—you know
this, it’s your first
echo—qualm

let your sand settle
and the lake go still
notice what’s around you
it will slow your breath—
the fox laps from the bird
bath, hummers quarrel
nearby, their rich ruby
throats glinting the light

reframe your fright as
awe—let it reel you into
quiet—the spooked mare
gentles when you smooth
your palm on her neck
you can do this for yourself

—thank you to Rolf Gates for the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
Generic disclaimer: These are drafts—please understand that many will be rewritten.