News, Again

We were walking down the street,

noticed a sunrise,

realized a beautiful woman was walking directly,

into the sun,

changed my state of mind,

not sure about his,

but for me, I forgot about the news for the day,

and realized the simple beauty of her way.


And then the news became a circus

something about this woman, something, a woman,

some response from the crowd that looked at her,

a similar walk, a familiar tone, a beautiful resonance,

that today we could appreciate,

yet instead of loving the elegance of beauty in its most natural form …

We do become the heathen,

feeling threatened by her own reason.


I watched the news tonight,

seemed the same trivial matters,

that in eleven days will no longer matter,

and suddenly

we’ll wake up on the 9th,

and everything will matter,

yet, if we look closely the next day,

and the day after that,

when we find a sunny morning,

we can walk toward the sunrise …

she’ll still be there, she’ll still be



This Hatred Is Still Real

There in the quiet, when we all settle in to our own reality,

a memorial stands free, meant to celebrate a young boy,

there is a mindset exists in the world around us,

we sometimes allow ourselves to forget about morality.

I’m not talking about you, not speaking about me,

I haven’t any idea really, who they really might be.

I cannot see them, I cannot call anyone by a name,

who’d rather wear a white hood than celebrate with me.


When I was a younger child there were men spoke of being free,

a movement seemed to gather strength, a few men held fists high,

a man named Dr. King celebrated the life of his own upbringing,

and I listened, my folks listened, my siblings listened. We all believed

in the concept of love.

I read the news, well a news story, well it kept being brought up,

and I discovered there was a little boy like me, who as a child

living in innocence, crossed a line apparently.


We live in a world of constant facade and hypocritical smiles

One that buries the truth behind circumstance and a false pride,

we live in a world that is losing its concept of democracy,

where the people today can take liberty with the struggles of our past.

We live in a forest of deceit where a young boy named Emmitt Till died

for the color of his skin, and no one cared to honor his quiet humanity.

Nearly seventy years ago he lost his life for the color of his skin, just a boy,

and today, those same followers have been woken up and allowed to believe.


His memorial is riddled with bullet holes and angry symbolism,

and like 1955, this young boy, could be living today, in the hatred of 2016.


Because She Is a Woman

It is because she is a woman

we decide to focus upon emotions,

It is because she is a woman

we look beyond the idea of serious intent,

It is because she is a woman

we feel threatened by patriarchal fallacy.


Because she’s a woman,

we forget her efforts are to serve

Because she’s a woman

we’d rather deny her the privilege

Because she’s a woman

we can hide beyond the reality of our prejudice

Because she’s a woman

we’ll pass off her efforts as ballsy


She is a woman, and she is deserving

She is a woman, and her efforts are real

She is a woman, and men do indeed cower

She is a woman, and we must have faith

in her desire, in her ideals, in her intellect,

in her intelligence, in her prowess,

in her ability to recognize a semblance of goodness.


Because she is a woman.

Watching Headlights

When I was a child,

I could let them pass me by,

For hours I stood,

In my doorway, didn’t know why.


The streaming flood

A zipper of light,

Seemed to want to

Scream right by my window.


I didn’t know anyone,

Just recognized reflections,

Meant another surge,

A new assortment of stranger.


If maybe life could be

Less busy then the traffic

Of our lives,

Might we freedom see.


For there is an ever pouring

Steady side to that surreal

Nature of understanding why,

We let them all go swiftly by.


And yet, it is the quiet nigh,

When that flowing circus

Of humanity screams alone

Until the amber signal’s cry.

Words Sing Pure


For we do walk on this solo path,

and wherever the ideal takes us,

when we do,

we choose,

and today more than ever,

we need to understand, no matter our motive,

we must always allow ourselves to return,

to recognize



A modern day slogan,

with words would matter to the classics,

they wouldn’t rather understand,

nor could there be a need,

for inside their world,

no labels existed,

there was little to define,

by slander, or an unkempt dignity.

They the masters,

the women who along with labels,

created worlds beyond our own comprehension,

they were the time shifters,

the shape makers,

the mystique

spoke a loud chant without ever glancing directly in our eyes.

While We Do Recall the Sunrise

Let’s not forget the reality of our lives,

in paying attention,

in understated judgment

as simple as a recognition of the other side,

that place we are forbidden in our own language,

to ever let intercede with personal disposition.

Let’s not forget there are places we have gone,

little to be recognized, or remembered, or …


we become the antecedent of our own demise,

we are that shallow figure in the bleak fog.

Yet we can remember there is beauty in time,

when all of our sins can be forgiven,

at least by those we love or the few that do love our

own ability to understand the basis of our humanity.

I mean,


I can only be thankful for these quiet recalls,

that I do not have to relive the burden of my falls,

that only I can replace the demons with my dreams,

I am the seeker,

so in justice might I find prayer in the beauty of time.

We Are Fortunate

We have our lives,

our times,

our moments we might recall.

We have our loves,

our eyes,

our desire to be understood.

We have our time,

some may respond destiny,

another might suggest a plan,

in every aspect of our being,

we do design our world

without knowledge of a span.

I knew a man, I know a man,

I know a grandfather, a beautiful father,

a friend, a laughter,

a certain genuine kindness in Man.

He gave his heart to all of us,

in reflection will we think of him,

in a manner without all the fuss,

his peace is now in the hands of Him.

-in dedication to the life of Jimmy Gullickson, our friend

© Thom Amundsen – October 2016