Caring We Bridge

Known to stifle affection would task dire,
What shallow ponds could derision aspire.
We, a grateful, compassionate being
So frequently forgetful, less trying.

If empathy a gold mark, imagine
The onslaught, the minion engine
A cavalcade of pure entanglement
Would wither away in sorrow’s lament.

Oh to recognize beauty in caring,
Step inside a giving world so daring,
To conquer all ills, to remain above
Venoms that poison the essence of love.

Eternal happiness where soul may reach
The other side, a caring journey teach.

Advertisements

His March

If by decision we choose then to grow,
Circle of faith becomes our afterglow
When certain the world is a whole state
Might we in spiritual Grace relate.

For though Heaven with Hell may combative
Create constant a choice to ask plaintive,
How shall a martyr seek sweet evidence
While a near quiet heart leaves time to chance.

Each temptation a humanity endure
Allows a skin find mettle we assure
For while skies align all our moving parts
We sometimes wish to land on where to start.

Constant may the soul seek a forgiveness
While certain He casts purposeful duress.

I Traveled Back in Time

forest

It felt good to say hello to all of them,

The flowers were in crisp spring bloom,

The fields swayed with more romance than I recall,

I remember the gravel road,

The swing rope, and the river pool, just for you,

There was a single cow liked to moo.

 

Last night I visited my childhood,

Through John’s steady croons,

I was walking with him in the county library,

I remember I felt emotions, love,

There was a certain peace that went with friends.

It was the 60’s and we all listened,

 

To each other, much less than we did the Man,

That societal icon that disturbed our land.

Whenever I want to dream,

It is the gravel road, forest deep,

My walk is forever, yet it’s serene,

I know there is certain beauty, Grace in tree-lines.

 

When I was only a child, I grew up in sadness,

There were losses and turbulent times,

I really didn’t understand,

But the people around me did,

So I listened, I watched, I imagined,

And later in life I hoped I could remember when.

 

It felt good to say hello to all of them,

I traveled back in time, I remember when.

© Thom Amundsen 2017

“I Read The News Today, Oh Boy” – John Lennon

lennon

He always did have a reason to speak, when his lyrics would wind our mind,

“Watching the wheels turn,” he seemed clearly in command of his time,

While we the listeners would be in a constant trance, a mellow sweet remind

How easily his lyrical mastery could make a dull afternoon be sublime.

 

Often the names and faces of humanity lose their certain authenticity

When this our society continues along a road so designed to fail.

We gather steam to criticize the Man, the friend, the neighbor; duplicity

Becomes an only nostalgic desire, when spinning  our arms flail.

 

Oh to hear it said by a pundit’s Machiavellian tongue, meant to misconstrue

We rest our mind to know we haven’t a need to hear it all, day, long.

Rather everyday a glance in the sky to recognize the world is only as true

As a remarkable miracle, allows our hypocritical lives to finally belong.

 

Yes, “it was 20 years ago today, Sergeant Peppers taught the band to play”

We all took in the moment, singing “all you need is love”- live life this way.

 

Love, Time & Death

Central Park

It’s New York,

of course,

where lives do happen,

cross through Central Park,

onto 7th until we find ourselves,

sitting on a bench,

wondering where everyone is coming from,

hoping that we might find peace.

 

We keep looking in their eyes,

sometimes the notice is true,

others,

they walk by searching themselves

for some resting point,

a place they can call home.

 

He is that man alone in a world,

where everything exists,

and he’ll ride his bicycle all hours of the night,

because he can,

he can maneuver through the masses,

and always,

he can still eat his dinner alone.

 

She might be that woman living different roles,

walking through the park,

with a certain flair,

an attraction to the masses,

yet, in her mind,

no one really notices,

because she has felt alone.

 

I took the day off today

because I needed rest,

seems that has been a necessary event,

while the world continues to glow around me,

I center my eyes upon tears,

for it seems they are always near,

waiting for some answer,

a reason to suggest there is purpose,

even when nothing seems to matter,

only time continues to measure.

 

When that moment called me,

I stood before an audience,

Strangers all of them so cold,

the bitter icy winds of discontentment,

without notice walked away,

while my body wondered about time,

the descent, how far, how chilled, how quickly.

Then she became the moment,

amongst many beyond that walkway …

 

she is love.

Propagandic Despair

I want to watch the news,

want to know, to understand, to speculate,

what is right, what is incomplete, what deceptive story

will lead me astray today, tonight, tomorrow, every way

I look for something new, some situation refreshing,

 

I want to watch the news,

I just can’t find the right ideas to concern myself with,

everything is optional, alternative, filled with a facade

of mainstream idiocy,

a propogandic nightmare,

teach me how to spell,

I can’t even count on the vocabulary being correct anymore.

 

I want to watch the news,

I want to see what’s happening rather than the constant shield

from reality, a spacial shape shifter,

we are all latching on to the movement,

the pendulum is rather static right now,

which way will it move?

 

I want to watch the blues,

because quite frankly that’s all that’s worth the news.

Empty Spaces – The Road Taken – Photo Challenge

The Road Taken

img_6289

And yet there were travelers, all of the eyes,

the minds, the plays, the laughter that contained

an avenue of freedom inside quiet minds, sighs,

while everywhere around a humanity maintained.

 

Where have they all gone, the inspiration, surreal

is the occasional dreamer who steps inside wonder

only toward the stranger that perhaps might feel

questioned, in an accentuated fog of a hereafter.

 

Perhaps if we might contain each story’s beginning

to reach the end, all of the internal warfare being

forgotten while nostalgic, the dreamer again did sing

a sorrowful melody of some melancholy meandering.

 

Oh, now there is a silent road ahead where people muse

we imagine an emptiness filled by travelers we amuse.