A Quiet Run

I took a jog recently,

you know the kind with all the right gear

and the temperature

seemed ready to suggest

this human being is part of the machine.

~

From inside my mind, decidedly

I picked a route far too familiar, that place, that region

where everyone wants to land

and no one takes the time to question why,

we just let ourselves step forward again.

~

It isn’t until later on a quiet side road

everything is familiar,

the aches in our joints,

the sweaty brow we cannot seem to hide,

we are all the same again inside.

~

Tonight I heard words that would suggest a different path,

one that appreciates my steps alone, my words, my world.


© Thom Amundsen 6/2021

Three Lives

If we could shape our world

those lives we

learned we might,

imagined we could,

promised we would

all three blends of a sensuality

cascading our mind like a summer rain

sweet, scented, soaking serendipity.

Three lives

if we could shape desire and promise

might we all understand

we can overwhelm

the mystique … our human mind.


©️ Thom Amundsen 6/2021

Two Soul

We did when once

held eyes

then spoke of feeling blessed.

We asked each other

if that held inside

matched each other.

Would wits in unison

strike gold or a stricken fever

would be the natural course of love

when fraught with fear

the flip-side will

prevail.

We spoke of time in a sudden fantasy

turn only foreign sentiment

to realize today,

hearts aligned would still wander

in some vacant stereo of emotion.

Within the truth of love

two souls find one.


©️ Thom Amundsen 6/2021

Sitting Around In Summertime

I was thinking about the other night

when the sun shined in my apartment,

slats creating patterns across the woodwork.

I thought I might rather watch them fade across the walls

then close the shudders when in the evening

I no longer wondered about the outside

only that happening in here tonight.

~

Seems there are changes ahead I can see

only recently have the words begun to make any sense

thinking about what might be out there

along with figuring out who I might be.

I see the warmer temperatures start to surround our days,

attractive in their symbolic nature of settling our soul

letting life fill our hearts as is love in her manner.

~

I know that you can see … everyone in their own lives

going about the business of being who we might be,

perhaps that we wanted all along and only later,

later in life when we had to know, then we began.

See it is that quiet fountain of life we seek

sometimes seeing it in the shadows

always nervous of being exposed in stark light of day.

~

I think I will try to take a walk today, maybe a bicycle ride,

perhaps just breathe a little differently than the other night.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2021

~

Wanting to Listen

Standing alone damp concrete

was like my ear finding center if only

could I hear a word

a sweet memory a recall

somehow now some way

buried in that sea of indecision.

~

If when I close my eyes I see her standing

there in the shadows of a booth

miles away

close enough to feel her eyes

watching me wonder her

years later

standing alone together we might hear

that soothing melody.

~

I know a woman wants

to be

alone

just you and me return again

in dreams

we haven’t quite found

we understand just you and me.

~

I am still working on listening

just takes a while longer … this we.


©️ Thom Amundsen 5/2021

Quiet Stream

Water ripples upon sun baked rocks

glints of morning light play music

the eyes of summertime.

~

If my line can land just beyond

above the current a soft settle

might then I borrow from the pools

a master swimmer lights my reel.

~

A fisherman’s catch not a single appeal,

those small boulders like fat circles

tease the walker stepping shallow

toward some distant pool.

~

The silence in the mind

serene is a sweet mystique

while River water flows past

shielded calves.

~

I will imagine the beauty of

a soft sensuality a spiritual

moment where lives are set free.


©️Thom Amundsen 5/2021

Changes We Remember

We would sit nearby with a smile

‘yours or mine’

I might add, yours now a grimace

once we made endearing,

tonight I am only alone.

~

Days ahead we did not think

only knew the now

if I could reach and touch your hair

and feel you move

nothing mattered anywhere.

~

Tonight while a favorite melody

helps emanate sweet solace

his sorrowful glance

would hide well again

in shadows of time.

~

For it is the change we remember

will gather always an eternal following.


©️ Thom Amundsen 5/2021

The Hippie Girlfriend

She’d always ask him to tell her a story, and he could only come up with one. Her. At first, it would be endearing, how they could stroll and feel each other’s skin graze upon one another, the light air, a spring morning. It didn’t matter when, maybe him sitting at the counter with a fresh cup of coffee, she might walk behind and let her fingertips play with the hair of his ponytail while she found her chair across from him – both carrying morning smiles. The room could gradually fill with laughter as the two shared stories with each other, how remarkable it might be that ‘we are both sitting here right now’ and our lives have traveled so many different directions until this meeting. She might point to his eyes and he would speak to her braids, hers being a part of her life he could remember going back many many years, and as lovely as ever today. He could look into her eyes and think to himself there really is nothing more in my life than I need right now than this moment itself. And he would be afraid to tell her that for fear she might run away. She might reveal the same to him later on that ‘if you knew what I was thinking’ you would run away so quickly. They would smile at each other again and think just how lovely this moment could be, let’s hang onto it forever.

Both would then take a moment to pause and imagine time, look into one another’s eyes for a moment and realize so many decades had gone by, how blessed may we be to see such light in each other’s eyes … effortless, only spontaneity.

Theirs is a happy reunion, decades later when it seemed the planets had aligned in such a way to allow their lives to intermingle in a manner profound, that each day would be spent talking about how magical these times are, and how such a quiz upon our lives seems so confusing, yet simple. The coffee would be shared through the morning, and she would teach him how to cook again, and they would laugh at how easy the process was for both him to put together a meal and her to understand that someone might care for her, and she might care for someone as well.

He would go upstairs to ready himself for a morning walk and brushing past her room notice a sundress hanging in her bedroom, thinking only to himself, I don’t know if anyone could ever look so lovely as she will the day he might be graced with her presence in some outdoor venue in the week’s ahead. He would tell her that story, and then she would return with one of him standing in her doorway with a book bag and strap around his shoulder waiting for her to open the door. Utterances that came out of their mouths were words like charming, and elegant, and real, and now.

They took that first walk together in the snow at a familiar childhood island, where trails of walkers well established took them around the perimeter of the water. She broke the trail for a moment to show him some cut up wood whose faces of circled slice looked like turkeys with their rings and ruffled edges. He thought for a moment whether he should just agree, but then upon further glance he realized she was right, and the markings were a perfect playground for a thanksgiving treat. This walk seemed to hold a special promise having brought two lives together whom hadn’t known one another’s paths for years, yet could remember a name, a time, a memory like it was yesterday. By the time they reached the car, the crisp air of a late winter morning frosting cheeks, he thought to himself, and he wondered. They had been together now for less then a day, and he was about to say good-bye. (Should I kiss her? Should I ask her for a kiss?) His mind was running fast, and he felt like a teenager. He smiled and held her close, and she didn’t resist. He asked if he could and she said yes. That morning, in the parking lot of a childhood memory, the two young lovers embraced and shared a kiss, one that would send shivers through them both not just in that moment, but in decades of time that had been lost with one another and now found again.

We all wish to believe stories like this will go on and time allows chapters to be added, moments to be reminded, and new memories to be created. Thus will begin a retelling of a lovely chapter in the life of ‘the hippie girlfriend.’

© Thom Amundsen – prologue – 5/2021

She Gives Me Real

When it happens I can smile,

not a knowing I am right sort of

trivialized agreement,

far more this sanity we all try to live

yet seldom understand

why.

I remember once being told

we ought not ever ask,

only allow

let the circumstance be not our own,

only cast the open freedom

to salvage respect

rather than beg a

forgiveness

leaves us wondering

why

I m grateful

she told me then in simple terms,

her smile.


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021

A Certain Melody

I remember a time

traveling the highway

short ride to my exit

just off the city ramp,

~

So many occasions I thought

only of you

soft chords of a melody

when I listen tonight still …

~

Maybe it is the Beatles,

back then the Fab Four –

‘Back in the USSR’ meant little

beyond a lovely rhyme scheme

~

Tonight it has its own silent mystique,

a memory like 8th street after sunset.


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021

– for Karla