Watched him today
many eyes
would notice
a downcast security
my body my own my mind
thrown to the wolves
with one glance
back.
Watched her today
some certainty
might allow
a surrounding hypocrisy
unleash ugliness
for is it not he, she once,
he will wish
they might he know
she lives, he
…
Lives.
When all they ever wanted
a glance a love none flaunted.
©️ Thom Amundsen 2019
In a quiet state I would recognize the distance
Between the now of experience toward childhood
We might wish to have a redo on pain if we could
Seems a simple prospect to imagine all is chance.
When returning to some original memory in life
Oh to know the patterns that drove our own fight
Or flight, the summer weather such intrigue in light
Of finding ourselves amongst the massive strife
Inside a dream we could walk for miles in the sand
Feeling only the beauty of the sea carrying away our
Imagination, our intrigue with stepping beyond power
That illusion of knowing we could withstand demand
Live your life she said, he said the world in silent release
Would rather only our sanity to discover our own peace.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
Try to imagine
where it was,
the moment
inside a memory,
what did the breeze feel like,
certainly there was one,
the glen inside a cove
surrounded in maples and pine,
and short shrifts of sumac
pine needles all across the forest wood
where we as children climbed
only the same tree,
familiar branches,
I sat there last year
he said to her,
as she wondered if or when he might
try to
kiss her
under the oak,
the childhood symbol of growing up,
at least,
understanding that
decades later,
the memory of which
might be less profound
than the immediacy of a heart racing
illusion
of
love,
in the eyes of two thirteen year old children,
holding hands on a public street,
smiles and backpacks and
acne and eyes that searched only for
each other
because
that is what we had been told
that is what we had been told,
is the meaning of love,
in a quiet midwestern town,
where concrete
could easily confuse
the very natural ground
we laid upon years later
with a lover
and smitten eyes.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
It’s okay, he said.
The snow began to fall,
and he wondered about the natural course of things.
While tucked away in the corner,
reflections of life
carried on,
a conversation between two lovers,
innocent to the eyes around,
simply enthralled
she said with a smile,
and he
sort of moved in.
They hadn’t really experienced life yet,
thought the onlooker,
his coffee now calling
a lovely segue into creating a moment
for himself.
Little boy walks right up to his knee
stares with doe eyes,
and the writer has to
make a choice,
usher him away or smile,
and a voice beckons and the little boy
retreats to dad,
letting peace again consume
the quiet man behind the eyes,
waiting for the storm,
waiting to watch the snow fall,
like a memory may not remind
the immediacy of Winter
a nearing charm.
In the middle of the night
he might wake to find
his heart beating
at a rapid rate,
a telling reminder of another time,
when snow fell from branches
like angelic boughs,
a plop to the sunlit morning,
the cars drifting along the avenue,
in some remarkable ceremony,
his time to say good-by,
his time to wonder why.
Sitting now, the snow has begun to fall,
so many moments like tonight … a gentle breeze.
I wonder about what might remain,
the pieces of me throughout a memory,
is it my own, someone I knew,
I know,
a circumstance I cannot return.
If I were to wander far enough into the forest,
might I be sure to follow
some path
a traveling analogy
holding promise for tomorrow.
Forever is the time we remember,
when everything else we know
falls victim to promise,
our lives amidst the mix
of the masses.
Who might ever recall a sadness,
when a happy moment awaits,
shoring up the energy
to celebrate
the human condition.
Cast away the doubt of recall,
for there might be some journey
ahead
we could never predict,
yet plod on forward with a smile.
If asked what it is I might be listening
now in the twilight of winter
beckon the cool winds of a sky
waiting to descend
sweet air of a crystal midnight.
Oh if I might seek such is time,
would discovery ease a life strain.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
Starting over, again
sounds familiar
the time of day
we wonder, weigh
difference we may
initiate a plan
and yet
another day
we may not ever quite
land.
Yet today I did.
©️ Thom Amundsen 2019
It’s 2 am
a little Brubeck
echoing in the silence
some distant harmony
making allowance
for a mind
unable to shut down,
just quiet,
listening to various clocks
set their own time,
ticking reminders of the seconds,
tearing about the fabric
of our own sanity.
There are pictures on the wall,
each holding court
with years,
reason,
time stamps
our own personal library,
not for public showing,
just, reasonable
reasons to wonder why,
when we do
struggle to answer
a few remaining questions,
we pause,
then realize
then forget again,
these wonders,
the questions in our mind,
stay with us
forever.
Simple jazz brought me
here tonight,
letting the hours slip by,
knowing I will have some
absence in my mind
tomorrow when reasoning
how to
catch up with the loss,
where some might argue,
time is not simply defined
by the hours in the day,
or others might suggest
time is really beyond the scope
of what’s inside our mind.
Another might just say you are
full of shit,
just go to bed.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
