Texting My Death

I have found parallels these days

the manner by which I find

I need to compose myself some way

in the matter of letters that bind.

~

Seems every time I have a thought

triggers in my head will alarm

oh wait screams my mind so frought

with anxiety, now I fuel the storm.

~

If only the keyboard didn’t scream

Get on top of me and dream

If only the keyboard didn’t scream

Life would be simpler it would seem.

~

Since texting has killed my identity

I can’t fight this overwhelming fear,

this strive to lessen my scrutiny

would draw the darker side of me near.

~

If only the keyboard wouldn’t scream,

I might return to life in a sweet dream.


©️ Thom Amundsen 8/2021

He Stood On Memory

Can you sing me a song like they do on the radio?

the kind leaves the kids smiling in their beds.

Can you sing me a song like they do on the radio?

The kind leaves the kids smiling in their beds.

~

I remember when I was only a child in the summertime

listening to the old top 40’s and the detective shows

there still seemed to be some room for the sublime

nature of humanity with compassion for all of those.

~

We listened to the radio, watched mama by our bedside

singing songs, writing love stories, giving kisses

always knowing dad was nearby with cigar as a side

creating novelty in normalcy while society misses.

~

I was asking God one night, late with a full moon outside

could it be real that we have a reason to be in here

this seemingly large crystal ball of wonderment untried

Are we all part of a whole we cannot forever adhere?

~

Can you sing me a song like they do on the radio?

the kind leaves the kids smiling in their beds.

Can you sing me a song like they do on the radio?

The kind leaves the kids smiling in their beds.

~

Well isn’t it memory then screams our name in the twilight

Isn’t a full moon some reminder or a mystique in the night.


© Thom Amundsen 8/2021

Last Spoken

When while every moment of life speaks

with the echo of nature,

some choose a concrete sentiment.

Is it possible to know last words

perhaps spill similar sound.

~

I wanted to say every moment meant

the exact opposite of what remains,

yet, the words, the voice, our own

struggle to be the immediate in

what we might believe,

would not allow any reveal,

we did, I did, squandered away

such is this momentum to relive.

~

Now will be a slow silence,

forever quiet with resolve …

ambling, fading into the summer sky,

when a melody speaks aloud

its strength is less,

like some lost memory we

no longer find to be anything

ever so important as it once

maybe one time held before.

~

I could not be capable of compassion

if meaning were a facade in my mind.


© Thom Amundsen 7/2021

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

How Do We Measure Love

When so many songs on the airwaves speak of love lost

found in the quietest regions of our mind,

shared love

remember love

let only our silence remind us all what love might be.

~

Tonight I would think about her in the softest light

to see the gleam in her eyes

evening stars would be our twilight

sweet love

that passionate tale we told one another.

~

I sometimes will openly crucify myself for letting my heart

steal only the strength of my soul

when pulled together

I haven’t any way to ever relive the magic

once the candle has swallowed its wick.

~

I did love you that part is true and everyone I know

will always see when in a glance, eyes remind us of you.

__________________________________________________________

© Thom Amundsen 6/2021

Once Cried Love

Yes

Inside a dream

Could I tear

Moments flash my eyes

Next morning

Sunlight shatter solace

Imagery would fade slow

Spirit being parting ways

For now

Just, for now

Tomorrow will start again

Well, night sky

When I could seek

Sweet is the moment.


©️ Thom Amundsen 6/2021

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

The Reason We Dream

I used to believe we could go on forever,

that afternoon in the park

when he drew his graphite vision

the first holocraft on a hot sunny day

the three of us

in Memorial park

looking up in the sky with awe,

one of us with the bong in our hands

another – a slow exhale into the summer horizon.

.

We were just kids, snotty, arrogant, naive

to the world around us,

yet as long as we had each other,

the laughs would remain,

though with time,

that original notion in our heads

became Orwellian

while the years did pass,

we do, will I, would I, we wonder

upon each other’s lives.

.

Today the craft does exist

fifty years later of course,

yet our imagination can still

redefine

its own spectacular outtake

on society’s thrills and ills

all of which

we are told over and over again,

’this human condition stuff,

it will set you free.’

.

Next time you are in the woods

take a moment to pause

think a bit on me and my  buddies

we all carry the same weight.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2021