Working On A Love Story

It’s true I might have one,

I heard about it on the radio,

you know one of that, one

and done love me rodeo.


See these two people can listen

that’s exactly who they are 

nothing more to hide behind when

you know love just can’t get far.


They stood on the street corner

watched those onlookers nearby

not realizing a caring world together

cannot keep this racing in a derby.


I heard that on the radio too, a little woe

much is the difference between this woo.


There’s a love story inside all of us, it’s true

Why else would our lonely nights be blue

Why else would our lonely nights be blue

© Thom Amundsen 11/2021

Oh Waukesha!

I know a person in Waukesha

She is my you

We all in a mirror

See our eyes

Know a tear a sword,

A knowledge

That if we could hear the pain

Her pain, his, they, we all feel

We sow the empathy

Even if rather avoid.

Oh her kindness

She is my you

Our us

A people who will look

Each other in the eye

And love.

Oh Kindness.

Oh, Waukesha!

©️ Thom Amundsen 11/2021

Cautious Interplay

Suddenly cautious


safety risks

climbing stairs that is,

don’t fret upon unnecessary


We all delve

we ask desire

to provide us a passion,

simple. freeing.

Every morning, though we fog it,

our memory reinstates

the necessity to replay,

re-stay in that state of mind,

the one, we know we don’t know.

Well, we know, we don’t want.

One doesn’t truly desire anxiety,

waking to sunshine we flaunt

a beautiful day, focus upon insecurity.

And then, well, its gone,

until another morning, some way

we wake inside a dream we faun

we hadn’t imagined this today.

That’s when we know, this front

needs to find a narrow corridor,

to keep space is limited and secure.

Sounds like a spy novel in order,

filled with carousel and an uncertain future.

© Thom Amundsen 11/2021

At What Cost

When does society step in

a personal plea

to live our lives within

a desire to be free.

We all feel this burden

one day to the next

depends upon the stairs ahead and

whether we climb in context.

We all suspend our actions

when faced with a confusion

how possible is traction

when lost without a solution.

Stand on the edge

feel the fresh air

a certain metaphorical ledge

holds pattern with our flair.

We’re all the same you and me,

though some are seemingly free.

© Thom Amundsen 11/2021

Fighting Demons

We all know them,

some a first name salutation,

waiting under our bed,

hiding in closets,

appearing as a shadow in the middle of the night.

Ever see a moment

when the flash of an eye

we wonder,

did that or is it

what is my imagination

if not

a real experience I can tell you about.

Or is it,

that conspiracy to make everything we believe,

seem sort of an outstretched hand,

waiting upon us to grasp

the reality of our own disdain.

Easy to call them demons,

those moments we disagree.

© ThomAmundsen. 11/2021

Wired Remarks

Ever we wonder a unique mindset

a manner of living we might prefer

though wander a scheme to get

out of a contemplative measure.


Don’t we all scream out loud

when wishing for a sanity

Aren’t we always allowed

to be human with levity.


I walked inside a dream today

wanted to figure out my road

to understand there is one way

to find travelers of similar mode.


We console each other find the core

for our lives will ask us for more.

© Thom Amundsen 11/2021

Learning To Live

Each morning I wake, to sunlight or a soft gray

I wonder what will now become of this day.

Choosing to live, I must ready myself

for anything less remains on a shelf.

A place where forgotten lives will live

those abandoned, without chance to give

back to the world around them a release,

a passing of the torch, a bit of peace.

© Thom Amundsen 11/2021

Forever Knocking

I walked outside and the parking lot was full.

I couldn’t get away, couldn’t walk back inside

I felt the cold night air, outside were a handful

of past experiences, only adolescents concede.


Why it is at this very moment I cannot speak

if only then hundreds of onlookers at bay

Remembering then, when once I should seek

out life, and next week will become today.


For this we find a present moment

without backing or sense of foreground

only immediacy will have meant

a measure of this new muse we found.


I’ve never spoken to anyone about it.

He winced in pain and stepped above it.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021