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.

bless the angry one

bless the angry one
note from self

bless the angry one
that rises inside—she’s
your very own self
defiant and scared
let your tenderness
land like a gift—
she requires ferocity
to stand up for herself
yet if she remains
outraged for too long
the fangs of her fury will
turn inward and harm
so wrap your heart
snugly around her

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

doom-ridden chatter

doom-ridden chatter
note from self

she watches her mind
fill with doom-ridden
chatter—fascism
climate and fire
what to do?
what to do? is the
patter that plays

drops beneath fright
rests in the field
steady, abiding and safe
no matter what’s done
the story unfurls just as
it is—a rush, a torrent
a flume

from here
finds her north star
grabs an amiable hand
rides the rough wave
the only way through
what to do? what to do?
falls behind

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

wreck the house

wreck the house
note from self

dismantle piece by
piece—thoughts
here, beliefs there—
wreck the house
you call yourself
no separate soul
exists—note how
“your” breath
depends on air
depends on trees
requires water
depends on soil
requires sun
endless relation—
no discrete being
only interbeing

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

heart of sunlight

heart of sunlight
note to self

stand in the brilliance
allow it
drink it in—
now leap out of your mind
let it do what minds do—
rattle on

drop behind or prior
soak in toasty warmth
your animal self
craves this—
simply be

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

the bell

the bell
note to self

first it tolled my heart
thrummed my frame
called me to quiet—

shuffling sandals and
rustle of robes as monks
settle on seiza benches

facing the wall
a sustained silent sit
sound vibrates inside

my sense of me
meddlesome mind
gonging monastery bell

This photo is from the Barnstorming Blog, which I’ve followed for fifteen years.
Thank you, Emily Gibson. https://barnstorming.blog/

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

the helix

the helix
note to self

from spiraling galaxies to
our own strands of DNA
weather formations and
climbing jasmine, mollusk
shells and sunflowers, all
are grounded in helices—

patterns, metaphorical
or physical, that come
then come again but
in a new way, they seem
based on the helix, too

a pleasing shape
strong and soft with
a bit of a twist—
consciousness playing

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

the owls sing

the owls sing

languid in the hot tub
late late at night
the owls sing for me
two mated pairs
high in the neighborhood
oak and redwood
calling to each other

they know I’m there
listening—
companions as I soak and
ponder how things are
their sonorous tones
a haunting music
both intimate and lonely

am I eavesdropping
on a love song?
the state of their world?
are they discussing the hunt?
is it a partnership dance
and I am their witness?
their sentience
sweet company

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

joining point

joining point

note to self

the joining point of
earth and sky
unburdens disquiet
softens worry
tunes my heart
what is it about that line
my eyes can trace?

where the ineffable
meets the seen?
it’s the edges
that fascinate—
mind abuts mind
lip meets lip
hearts collide

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.