it’s hard

it’s hard

He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy.
But he who kisses the joy as it flies, lives in eternity’s sunrise.
—William Blake

it’s hard
not to grab hold
of joy

beg her to stay
an honored guest
I’ll feed her tidbits
croon lullabies
wash her feet

but she only remains
when allowed
to wing in
and perch
for a flash or a day

if you let her be,
she may loiter nearby
delighted she’s free
fluffing her feathers
flitting in the light
sharing her joy

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

heating pad kindness

heating pad kindness

late birthday present
his eyes smiled,
decades of steady love

I feel the package’s weight
check for rattles
none I can hear

a heating pad
to use at my desk
pre-dawn, it’s on

pressed against
the small of my back
that aching place

compressed, overstressed
since my teenage years—
landed on my tail

landed on my head
jammed the delicate
bone stack between

as I follow word threads
the spreading warmth
tenderly wraps me

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

a little tenderness

a little tenderness

Learning to practice tenderness is the sacred in the everyday —Koshin Paley Ellison

it’s the only way through
certainly for me

when tenderness was missing
my yearning unbearable
I was shut down and afraid
soft words might gather speed
a sharp sheet of ice
sliding off a roof,
threatening my frozen life

then I met the sunshine,
openhearted friends
who allowed the melting to begin
it’s painful to thaw
but when warmth
has worked its spell

there’s a heartedness
to share—an overflow
of gratitude,
a sacred prayer

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

multitasking

multitasking

doesn’t exist, not for me
one task at a time,
or flipping
between
focused on neither—
this current first-world
mania showed up
mid-twentieth century,
coined for computers

the flow of hot water
over a dinner plate
watching light play
on soap bubbles,
sponging until clean
settling it in the drainer
reaching for the next
washing off smudges
fitting it beside its sister

at the Abbey, assigned
to cleanup
scraping rice from a pan
to save for tomorrow’s lunch
I left a few grains
look—she smiled,
her robe swishing,
shining shaved head
as she turned to face me
let’s not leave them behind
a statement, no shame
she pointed
there, still a few more
twenty years
and I hear her soft voice
each time I put
leftovers away

one task at a time
the common, everyday
sacred
with attention and touch

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

ransacked heart

ransacked heart

plundered by grief,
dread and foreboding
stalk

the anti-venom—
seasonal leaves drifting
blazing reds, carnelian,
mango
beauty’s medicine
carried on a snappy breeze
and settling at my feet

Chinese pistache berries
slate-blue and rose
cluster in full bunches
on our neighbor’s tree
Jasmine sniffs below
I juggle iPhone
and active pup on leash
to snap this remedy,
ease my ransacked heart

find and soak
in life’s urge revealed
abundance reproducing
I feel my heart sigh
the burden lifts a little
Jazz and I head home
my affect lighter
refilled with joy

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

float a prayer

float a prayer

watch it coast
on the autumn breeze
the lightest leaf
stripped of green
now a dancing flame
carried where
late beauty is required

let it drift
play the wind
not a tease, oh no
find the right being
my sister, your brother
two or many-legged
let it drop at their feet
a talisman
to light them up inside

now, float another
watch it sail

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

indulgence

indulgence

dark hides the trees
but dawn hovers near
encouraging resolve
a gift
hint of new morning

I brew my mocha
as owls cozy down
nodding toward sleep
and skunk waddles off
toward her den

infinitesimal first blush
the delicate shift
a foretaste
anticipation rises
light will grace again

this slow change
watching dark turn to day
necessary indulgence
provender
for my heart

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

late evening light

late evening light

the way it limns
eucalyptus trees
their peeling bark
glowing
in the soft late light

my heart pauses
or is it my breath?
I stop still
dog sits at my side
good dog

but the light has me—
swept into awe
I am rooted in place
bathed in sweet
ephemeral now

I resist
pulling out my phone
snapping a photo
won’t capture
what caught me

and then
just like that
the light is gone
can’t call it back
we turn for home

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

a turning

a turning

I turn
toward gratitude
leave those anxious
thoughts
that do not serve

instead, I cherish
the warming rays—
finch splashes, shaking
drops into sunlight
field cat watching

just this
songbird, light and cat
backdrop of jasmine
sweet pea
their fragrance

drifting my way
then sun strokes me
I lift my face
and drink at its well
enlivened to meet the day

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

jitters

jitters

I wake before dawn
with that chasm of dread
my guts quivering
I don’t know the cause

I call up tonglen
breathe in world distresses
sail clear light their way
to shield children
who are hungry, sick
or wail for dead parents,
mothers and fathers
overworked and exhausted
or tangled in heartbreak
over their ailing children,
elders in their leaving
who long for a friend

send love to the critters
and then to the forests—
how do I stop when
the needs are ongoing?

but my day is calling
jitters no longer

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