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.

water of life

water of life

soothe the whining
hound tied to a pole
outside 7-Eleven,
his limpid eyes
trained on the door,
drop a quarter in
the meter gone red
the simplest act,
greet the man
stacking apples
and smile

spirit streams
an atmospheric river
always here
pouring in, around,
and through
it is us, all of us
abundant and fresh
drink in what we are
open
to its cleansing flood
then share

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

losing

losing

the art of losing isn’t hard to master—Elizabeth Bishop

we are losing,
leaving what we love,
so fundamental to
our being here—
how do we learn
to yield with grace?

we lose our youth
then our childhood dog
our innocence
all will go—
loss of dreams
first love

children grown
parents gone
friends picked off
then slow decline
relentless time
what isn’t hard to master?

dark of the night
lie in the field, allow
the canopy of stars
to soak you in
it all comes down to this—
surrender

beneath the losses
something rests
steady and bright
it can’t be found
cannot be touched
yet holds us all

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

overboard

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

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

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.

as forever

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

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.

that kind

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.

slipstream

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.