Grief In Funk

A steady beat

thump thump thought

Ever listen

only to lose yourself

this cadence constant

rhythm to ride.

~

Society has a blend

a sorted

compartmentalized need

to play a funk,

sense of liberty with our pace,

a silent reminder.

~

Then stands grief

alone and symbolic in its

quiet interlude,

a decision to make,

shall we go,

take the ride.

~

For we are a speculative herd

a cattle draw

similar virtues

lost in the crowd

yet

the same.

~

Grief has a funk

grief funky grief

funk funk funk

grief, forgets a reason

simply plays the music

plays the muse


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

On Being Scared

Stepping within the shadows of our curiosity

one man might settle

world around him suggest a normalcy

only this man without conscious

effort

cannot really untangle from his mind,

caught up in the doings

of his rotational reality.

~

Like a circus we might imagine our world

in a constant thrust of

soft display,

the reality is elsewhere

for now live upon the fiction,

I applaud you,

and appreciate you,

I’m grateful to be caught up in

nothing,

nothing, at all

rather.

~

Isn’t that it then,

are we so secluded in our lives

we haven’t taken the time

to know

anyone,

any one at all,

outside our own circle of deceit,

that quiet melody of a mundane existence

allows us to never have to think about ..

never think about …

think

never think.

~

Oh for lack of ever being afraid

would we laugh, oh the fuss we made.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

Saying Anything

In a moment alone

we in the present

widen our scope of judgment

lacking a dialogue

a helpful manner of speaking.

~

If heard on the other side of the room

having little direction

a construable offense

would be the second another

guest

spoke from the heart without any filter

none at all.

~

To undermine each other

would be in some circles

meant as a challenge

to better oneself,

to out duel the most tedious

exercise in humility,

little restraint would be necessary

to make an ass of the luxury

of having peace of mind.

~

When words become a monument

we need visualize

the climb,

each stone and rock and slide and flounder

would then reciprocate

some turnabout way

we might let our lives intermingle

meandering down some path

to a settling ground.

~

With only words the night would heavy

wait for opportunity to find silence.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

What Vibe is This

There in the moment again,

I felt free,

a sweet elixir of hope dripped from my lips

the very place my demons

would speak

unnatural terrors of their desire for harm.

Oh my mind would carry,

a lesson of time so under wrapped with worry

a fuselage of disdain.

It is YOU I would say

and no one remained in the room,

but over there,

remember then just where

beyond the moment

we’d already begun to encounter,

though some, well one

would wait out the eventuality

of life unresolved and driven

by the pity

of voice.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

This Little Man

He exists only in some plan

a diversion of mine and hers

we are lost in our own hearts

one simple flare of the Man.

~

Seems there can be a truth,

we listen, bear our hearts

without worry of wrath, imparts

a cycle of hurt so very uncouth.

~

If in God’s eyes he train the mind

to live on its own accord, afford

our lives to bury the sword.

Live with love is our humankind.

~

How do we know to forget

or is a stored energy we play

for the autumn is nearer today

fears that stubborn scorn let.

~

Let them lift their bodies cold

find a sweet warmth spoken

a slow and harmonic plan

will lives to share love so bold.

~

Once while observe the moon a crescent

without the whole she could not be present.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

In This Quiet Space

Though patterns seem to exist

the idea of recreating the wheel

pops into mind

every breaking day.

How would lives become independent

with working the reality

of our dreams

aspirations.

How do we step away from routine,

the quiet horror of being

caught up in the mundane

the same old,

the victory just beyond our reach

sometimes unattainable.

In this our quiet space

can we speak to the place,

the origins of a value

that carries our hearts beyond

the simple pursuit we live.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

All These Voices

Thoughtful serenades fill an empty room

no one looking just the me and mine.

He wonders if it is always such gloom

or are we left without our favorite wine.

~

Seems the cadence of our party restrained

by motive, by aspiration, by silent neglect.

When race horses begin, know what is gained

yet miss a step and it is a horror so perfect.

~

Want to tell all the voices to leave my head alone

I can’t stand to hear the constant berated tone

I can’t stand to hear the constant berated tone

can’t stand the berated tone.

~

The next time he stood alone at the precipice

He wished some sort of respite from his world.

Everything he had seemed suddenly at risk

He thought again and then his mind he twirled.

~

can’t stand the berated tone

out of my head haunting clone

out of my head haunting clone


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

A Simpler Life

If life begins here the now is today

well there has to be another way

said the disgruntled fellow

standing in the gallows.

We choose to live the way we do

based upon values, me and you,

not that far away from everyone

seems somehow often over done.

Once in a midnight sky not so far

away, I felt my body to be at war.

With sudden gasp I exhaled my life

only to know a sedentary world is rife

with unpleasantries and negativity

all of the symptoms of inadequacy.

Speaking to a friend of mine tonight

I came to terms with just how I might

live out the rest of my days

in some more comfortable ways.

There isn’t a lot gained in crying

when reaching out without trying.


© Thom Amundsen  9/2021