think about:

think about:

think about moss
how it knows to cling
on the north side of stones
for moisture and dark

think about songbirds
who bathe away mites
in an icy birdbath and
still pipe joy

or raindrops that hang
translucent in sunlight
in our rock wall’s
rosemary cascade

this week, Daphne
and daffodil—soon,
they’re done, then
plums shower white

how life is changing,
changing, yet flows,
ever an unceasing whole—
I think about that

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

the wild mystery

the wild mystery

legs frail and askew
she lay by the road
a lonely carcass,
white-spotted hide
her unseeing eyes
stared skyward—I,
no bigger than she was,
asked, where’s her mommy?
my voice quavered

my dad shook his head
nothing to be done
it’s dead

I pestered my mom
with puzzling queries
why we are here
and where do we go?
each time she shrugged
sent me to play—again
fear clawed
why won’t she say?

sixty years later,
I slipped into the mystery
embraced the enigma
and still,
I’m afraid

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

little altars

little altars

thresholds are altars
the footfall from
this room into another
maybe a step
that takes me
outside
into glittering sun
or gushing rain
a prayer for each
step into change—

hold me
guide me forward
even if I fear
even as I grieve
leave pebbles of care
for me to follow
and find my way

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

sheltering

sheltering

my husband invited
1,000 house guests
to live with us
—indefinitely—
milling, burrowing,
their home is
in the bathroom,
a tub within a tub—
they have eclectic
preferences
vegetable ends
fruit leavings
even coffee grounds—

hidden away in
a dark, moist world
their hum of
endless chewing,
little rototillers
transforming
dirt into soil
a very precious gift—
eisenia fetida
red wigglers
why is it that
I squirm myself?

friendliness

friendliness

care for
and befriend yourself
that way
you are never alone
life is hard enough

it took me most
of a lifetime
to learn this
and I relearn it
every day
listen to your
inner yammering
a frenzied parade
of thoughts
we’re so used to
that voice rattling on
an endless commentary
fine tune your ear—
is it a kind friend
or harsh judge?

if you find the judge
smile and just say

no.
no more

only goodwill here

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

hard bumps – a pantoum

The pantoum is a poetic form originating in 15th century Malaysia that uses repetition. It’s a poem of any length composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The final stanza is often two lines from the first stanza.

hard bumpsa pantoum

life is a bumpy ride
a rumble strip of tests
we are left with one clear job
to hunt for the good in all

a rumble strip of bumps
can pitch you to the ground
search for opportunity
to soften painful blows

pitched onto the ground
push to standing again
look to soften those blows
with a change in point of view

push to standing again
don’t let blows lay you low
with a change in your mindset
you can reframe the losses

be resilient with blows
look for good inside trials
you can reframe the losses
and build a fresh way forward

poke around those hard trials
there’s lessons to be learned
they’ll show a fresh way forward
and point you toward new doors

life is a bumpy ride
we are left with one clear job

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

like gasoline

like gasoline

thoughts can ignite
like gasoline
caustic and explosive
drowned in thinking
mine used to flare
—no longer

why not gentle
your home
soften the people
you hang with
sit near oaks in
silence—listen
for their breathing

the patter
of chipmunks
the acorn that drops
by your side
their quiet will steal
and heal your heart

so take a breath
then another
slowing your steps
as you head back
toward busyness
that swamps the day

maybe even greet
checkers with a smile
open doors for an oldster
we are one family
this can tenderize
thoughts over time

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

the question

the question

age eleven

dark of the moon
chill air nipped
her bare neck
she lay on
new-mown grass
it’s familiar balm
enveloping her
as she stared at the
black sea of stars
flaming dots of
awakening that
stretched to
the end of time
what made this
intelligent wild
unexpected array?

not where she looked
maybe there were
no answers
which curled her gut
how can a tiny
dot understand
what it lives inside of?
she had to know—
didn’t understand
the search carried her
farther, away—
till an inward
turn and the solitary
walk toward home

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

bloom with laughter

bloom with laughter
note from self

so many bumps
in the road
craters, too—
times she gets
caught, shaken
and rattled—so
what does she do?
soothes a friend’s
blues, mops up
spilled stew, its
gravy leaked wide
walks the dog
who insists, pulls
apart bickering kids
wanders into the
garden throws back
her head and roars
laughing—she feels
eyes are upon her
squirrel hovers nearby
unsure paws folded
as he stares—
giggles
escape her, she
cannot control them
it’s life’s consolation

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

the hot seat

the hot seat

2010-2012

she notes her patterns
most lead to anguish
she must perch on the seat
sit in her stuff and
unwind the past—it’s
daunting and painful
and also the way

when facing what
burns her, her fresh
stare unnerving, she
slips off the seat and
back into her drama
familiar and repeated

her thoughts are not true
they mislead and trip her
committed to face this
she clambers back on
to see through the lie
she so carefully erected

turns over rocks
yanks out the roots
the closer she draws
to her core confusion
like volcanic lava
the hotter it gets

her shame almost
swamps her until
she sees through—
she bows to the seat
knows she’ll return
oh! this being human

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