slipstream
dogged and resolute
she was on the hunt—
not sure for what
but insistent in the search
she sought for spirit’s slipstream
like a cyclist seeks the wake
peddling behind a rider
to propel herself along
relieved to find her rhythm
with companions by her side
she rode into that vacuum
for something she called home
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
cup of oneness
imbibing the cup
cast some friends out,
called new ones in—
this, a necessary
purge
it bulldozed
old beliefs,
flipped my view
upside down
and rearranged
my very core—
in the rubble
of myself,
I dusted
off remains
reclaimed a skeleton
of kindness, found
bones of gratitude—
now, drink
some more
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
Note: WordPress will no longer allow me to schedule posts. I’ve apparently
gone over their limit of 400. So instead of my poems being sent out automatically
at 12:15 a.m., I’m going to have to manually post them just before I go to bed,
between 9:30–10 p.m.
the price
are you willing
to pay the price?
the big field asks
it takes
the personal,
dark or private,
unwinds what is
crooked or mistaken—
your sorry thoughts
misplaced longings
and desires
the big field
is incandescent
it burns clean,
like cautery, all
that’s labeled
mine
and kindles wonder
in its place
do not be afraid
there is nothing
to lose—
the first narcissus
opens in the chill
tiny, bold and bright
a touch of sunshine
in the gulf of winter
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
I went out to hear
the lull at dawn
a moment of pause,
earth waiting to exhale
the affairs of day
then hummers whir
poke at the feeder
they chitter and bicker
pushing for domain
daffodils unfold
yesterday a few, now
over sixty, proclaiming
winter’s thin warmth
might become spring
the rumble of tires
on pavement, strident
humans headed to work
the exhalation has begun
all of it,
held in primal silence
all of it,
sacred ground
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
how do I live?
Live with skillful nonchalance and ceaseless concern.
— Prajnaparamita Sutra
I awaken each morning
avoid the news
it ignites incessant concern
I’ll bear it later in the day
quiet, I sit with my latte
breathe
remind myself of the truth
we are one body perceived
as eight trillion things
the I that I am holds it all
and is also a mere pinprick
of light—oh, the mystery!
my assignment—
live with skillful nonchalance
to balance ceaseless concern
both are needed
both required
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
drink from the river
this river of light
pours
river of knowing
it pours in us
of
through
and around us
we’re made of this
that isn’t an it
prior to mind
outside
and inside space
outside
and inside time
this holds both
clear light
love
washes us clean
evermore
fresh as
now
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
beacon
all my life
driven toward
an unknown
unseen goal—
refined, but
I was still seeking
so destined
for suffering
I called it
True North
knew its
inexorable pull
it framed my days
offered dimension
and shading
until
I noticed
stillness within
unchanging
reliable
no shape
no color
the silence
bright and alive
waving hello
nothing to find
nowhere to go
closer than close
already here
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
doorway home
in this spiral of samsara
there is one doorway
through to freedom—
its summons to clearly see
requires a sparkling lens
she polishes with cloth,
intention, and love—
alert to wipe away
the smudge that blurs
she listens for the call
this is her lifework
most essential of all
the unveiling of
ever-present truth
liberty’s portal home
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.
thirst—a pantoum
be thirsty, it’s primary
a thirst that insists
it requires quenching
your spirit is hungry
a thirst that insists
that points the direction
your spirit is pining
to find your true home
it points the direction
with love and persistence
you’ll find your true home
even closer than breathing
be persistent and loving
and direct your attention
even prior to breathing
observe and you’ll find it
direct your attention
turn inward each time
observe and you’ll find it
your near and dear home
be thirsty, it’s primary
it requires quenching
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
taproot
where have you
rooted deep
in the ground?
it may not be
where you live—
long, long ago
I sank my tap in
the Scottish highlands
land of bedrock
moors, firths and
unrelenting wind
overgrazed
over-hunted
wrenched from
her tartan people
the land still
bears the scars
my root is there
my bones know
yet it is not
my home
there’s a different
kind of taproot
more essential
than the quiver
when my feet
touch that land—
the root of
what we are,
each of us,
root deeper
and prior
before galaxies
before things
that is our home
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 