throw overboard
the mess of your mind
hose out the chamber
leave it empty and clean
I say this to myself
then suck in moist air
freshened by downpour
feel tension wash out as
hawk screech and finch call
bring me here, right now
I take in the daffodil riot,
past prime but still vivid
in dusk’s slanted glow
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
free fall
free fall into life
such a surprise
to arrive here
naked and wet
the shock of cold air
in new lungs
no longer one
with your mother
in salty, warm soup
but pushed out
cast out
into two—what
can we do but cry?
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
anam cara
soul friend
the one
who phones
in the moment
you think of them
the one
who arrives
at your door
with love
in their gaze
the one
who offers
true silence
when your heart
aches
the one
who swings
you around
sharing
your joy
the one
who is present
when you weep
unstoppable
the one
who helps you
rise again
in peace
that one
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
comfort
go to your friend
your presence an offering
words, not so much
invite her dog in
his nose points at the door
try a soft hand
tidy up, maybe tea—
warm body with warm body
dog curled nearby
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
deep snarls
a weaver will know
that snarls in yarn
beg for slow hands—
our task, to untangle
the clump at the root
finger the knot, roll it
to soften, ease it loose
then stop.
go stand in the garden
smell the moist soil
watch a house finch
snag seed
let your heart rest
now,
return to the work
look closely—can
you tease out an end,
does it go under
or over or around?
don’t touch, not yet
then act with care
be kind to yourself
thread by thread, pick
it out, see it through
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
as forever
life is spacious
when young—
once sixty,
years become
months, then
rush into pure,
lively moments
each day, I think
about death,
mostly the how
and the when—
will there be pain?
can I sip the awe
of not knowing?
dawn lightens,
for a breath,
all is hushed—
then the squirrel
flicks his tail
as forever
moves closer
than ever
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
light’s mystery
space is dark,
deep dark—yet light
is dancing through—
somehow concealed,
we cannot see its rays
our blazing sun,
but when it shines
through void, no sign—
then touches air
and blasts alive
like ice and steam
are states of water,
are these two
states of light—
unseen and seen?
perhaps an explanation,
but that not enough—
let me be struck still
by those depths
of mystery
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
baptism
just like us
a bulb takes root
in an unforeseen world
the bud learns to unfold
has coded instructions
buried deep in its cells
to open, make pollen
let its scent go free
we, too, are brand new,
show up unexpected
with a purpose to play—
can we mimic flowers
in how we give back?
unfurl like a daffodil
offer love like pollen,
particles baptizing
the planet, dusting
it everywhere
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
whatever comes to visit
a dream, a grace,
or catastrophic thought
I do my best
to respond to the guest
sometimes patron
off-and-on lodger
even an inmate
in the crazy house
I call my mind—
there is no control
but once it shows up
my job is to notice,
to work with the caller
calamitous thoughts
are noted, considered,
then with respect
I ask them to leave—
prompts for a poem
flash in and then out
I rush to jot them down
when gratefulness comes
I cinch up to the dock
and stay a while
a welcome anchorage—
what better place to rest?
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
that kind
I don’t want to be
that kind of old—
querulous, afraid,
and downed by loss
instead, I want to try
new ways,
be curious
with a rich heart
and ready smile
that’s another way
to imbibe this life,
all of it, full tilt—
make peace with pain
its knife bite,
advancing aches,
and griefs that rend
two role models,
both mid-nineties
teach me how to be—
their lifelong friends
are gone, and yet
they greet each day
with interest and relief
to find themselves alive—
I’d like to add in joy
I pray to be that way
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 