Shaded Tone

FullSizeRender 13

Amid a shelter sun glances my natural setting,

I do imagine only the lightest of notion,

the beauty of the day, the ease in time,

to know our lives were meant to live this way.

 

When the eyes forever see the forest blend,

Is it not a remarkable reality to breathe in,

such beauty in a horizon filled by love,

allows desire, passion, wanton hope evolve.

 

For I am a single soul in the grip of natural light,

expectant only to travel in peace tonight,

watching the world through leaves of July,

knowing the august of my life is near by.

 

Feel the breeze, cool dew lays ground,

coming alive, sweet Nature’s bound.

Advertisements

Isolated Storm Clouds

See them and imagine the future,

an ominous purple haze of opportunity,

for it is the chaos of our lives,

allows change to overcome the static.

 

Seek a society of forgiveness,

the travels of pain sometime hidden,

yet the exposure to the elements

often a truly ominous test resilient.

 

When washed ashore in crude oil,

stains did seem to be eternal,

with each soaking, the mind,

nearly gave up on finding shelter.

 

It is in the addict’s eye

the storm will always remain,

it depends only upon a realization

that life contains sweet horizons.

 

We would only give attention

to the happiness we dwell upon,

a city scape, an ocean view,

a soft breeze in a given milieu.

 

The deep and threatening wall

of circumstance that will prevail

is only Nature’s manner of suggestion

we all would know to typically fall.

Summer’s Wonder

In simple minutes I was drawn to you,

a walk, a stroll – complimentary blue.

If told to find the cloud in this sweet sky,

One might imagine naysayers do cry.

Soak in an energy drives home our soul

Believe in the elegance in a summer whole.

I do dance in the steaming heat of victory,

to know that Grace offers my humanity.

Oh to wonder the how and why of a universal

atmosphere we could stand to embrace all

A Farewell Plea

If the world turn suddenly brilliant with fire,

what would be the response, a natural desire.

if in armageddon we are selectively defined,

what matters the moments where we wined.

 

While we imagine buildings collapse, lives lost

in this magical spectacle of an embryonic frost,

is the notions of survival even an able cause

when with certainty our lives bely natural laws.

 

There is the element of human nature in us all,

we strive to be real, to connect, to stand tall,

in the midst of turmoil, sadness, a chronic display

of gratitude only arrives when it is judgment day.

 

If that be true, perhaps every moment is a lease,

Oh to recognize the greater value of global peace.

The Sitting Hours

I always looked forward to the late hours,

the night flying by with dialogue and absurdities,

everything we could say we believed, and more importantly,

we loved,

We did delight in knowing we could look in each other’s eyes,

well into the twilight,

all of us, whoever might have chosen the time,

or simply allowed ourselves to be drawn in,

that was the key,

we knew always we wanted to be there.

 

These are the holidays we would request

each other’s company,

my sister, brothers, and mom,

our sister’s, children and the occasion of relatives …

so current on everything we knew.

to be important in everyone’s lives.

With dad in the background, an occasional chuckle,

he’d pass out the a beverage with endearing blue eyes,

we all heard his screams inside,

the delight of our lives, he is a beautiful man.

 

We were, are, can be the beautiful people,

the family that smiles, tells jokes, lives lives with uncanny candor.

These are the nights when time would value,

only the shared nostalgia of wanting the laughs

in the history of our lives.

These are the holidays when love does always,

compete well with the nature of our own,

sweet recall, when the essence of everything we believed,

in the realm of the human condition,

could suddenly find the energy

to contribute the next line,

so the stories never found a way to end …

When Yesterday

When we start to think about

our yesterdays,

we get scared, well some, me, suppose

the words need only be self-directed,

if validity

is the goal of my game.

 

I contemplate my day before notions,

those of consequence and reward,

I try to recall the best, when especially drawn

into the abyss of the mess.

 

A hundred years ago, my embellishment

landed me in places I couldn’t defend,

only wished I had found a way to mend

the indifference,

self-righteous patterns of wanting everything,

my way, my game, my gamble, my favorite

addiction.

 

I lost at every step, remembering when leaving

fearing skid row might be my home address

in six weeks or less,

less the confidence, less the support,

lest I drag my ass out of the gutter and realize

there is a life ahead.

 

However, there is always the readiness,

not choice by personal desire,

but the savior whomever that might be in our lives,

the one and only,

Grace,

the epitome of letting go,

realizing we cannot, and will never need to do this on our own,

alone.

 

Yet today, I do think about my yesterdays,

and wonder if I might ever step away,

to enjoy the beauty of this,

namaste.

 

Lost Generation

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