Its Quiet Routine

Its

deafening balance is one to be reckoned,

the quiet inside a sallowed severance,

the act of dismissal,

the purity within timely terror

on life

on reason

on separation

on courage on and on and on and on

we go the circus of our lives.

 

Its

measure of circumstance

erupts in a vision,

perhaps it is a dream

the waking sun explodes upon

a memory,

washing away the moments

the solitude

the granted harmony

the swift

welcome left now to fester

a lost melody.

 

Its

cruel hysteric necessitates

a reminder why,

this slow eventuality,

years upon years,

giving days their own causal

sacrifice inside the solemn

nature of

a discord

a grief

a denial

a disbelief

a convincing declarative

demise.

 

When routine begins its own culture,

the words in mind could discern as tears.


© Thom Amundsen 3/2020

 

Always An Urgency

We talked about the human condition,

how certain tendency

would remain years later,

the same,

decades of programmed imagination,

falling into the same pattern

some unforgotten imprinting of our soul.

 

Yet tonight as I stand here

on the same ledge of forty years ago,

I wonder what really has changed,

oh there is the picture that I once did create

together not alone,

altered forever now

with only speculate conclusion.

 

Tonight I wonder of deception,

the loss of meaning,

the further resounding defeat of purpose,

when two people no matter

still become lost in their own travel,

having let go of the other

until just a glance inside the wake

of every cresting wave,

when then they do disappear

no longer seeing …


© Thom Amundsen 2/2020

Having A Cry

Just now,

in the quiet atmosphere,

where no one

might hear my sigh.

A silent recall

today a different time,

conversation and laughs,

and then a glance, a pause

when eyes purposely

met one another

again.

Quite evident is the changing focus,

something

exciting to us both.

 

I will remember you

a saying just out of the blue.

I will remember you

a vision, a different view.

 

Sometime we wonder,

what if,

when did,

no answers coming yet.

There will be those moments

when our lives

do recall the humor

held our lives together,

and then today in the sweet

reckoning of our reality,

we did glance,

we did look for

some solace

in a spectacular time.

 

I will remember you

a saying just out of the blue.

I will remember you

a vision, a different view.

 

Look at love said the obscure seer

who believed in harmony

look before a discord shook the enemy.

So it looks the way

we might imagine,

some purpose,

a reliance

on know

we will live upon our dreams,

share our fortunes

without any monetary

illusion.

 

I will remember you

a saying just out of the blue.

I will remember you

a vision, a different view.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Fearing The Worst

I remember the dreams, the constant reminders

a continual tease, a surreal world of sidewinders

 

Each one with a story, a parallel universe

would try to shake me, send me in reverse.

 

I could never tell if a person real or imagined,

it was a nightmare the bottom was assigned.

 

Otherwise the lofty airs of fascination

always relied waking realization

 

Just a dream, perhaps a reminder

only the illusion of the constant sidewinder

 

drawing imagined color scheme on the surface,

so the internal player would always save face.

 

Walking slow inside a familiar nearby memory,

I might choose to leap, try to escape this quandary.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

The Edge of Reason

What stake have we in righteous turbulence,

perhaps is reason to submit, suggest,

offer and consider, compassion

might allow a progressive response

yet allowance of circumstance,

that told responsibility

a valuable lesson.

 

In night air came a perpetual fire

taunted by winds, a breeze

so is a prevalent sky,

leading our lives into the storm

central to our being.

We spoke upon the a rail rise,

the L train, C, the longest nights

where time is not allowed

a sleeping giant

long after the last stop.

 

Yet further on

in the return home

spoke an entanglement,

on the threshold of a dream,

this reality

knock incessant patterns,

this discord

reveal a fantasy

rather beyond the norm.

 

When all else does bury logic

this value will settle cryptic.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Two Would Pass Together

(dedicated to the goodness of time, a friend and his family)

When in a moment we might reflect

upon the reason,

we could together share a memory,

the fleeting laughter,

we would do this together,

wouldn’t we create a scene,

a wonderful attribute,

of the years,

oh the many years,

the travels we knew

without ever having to leave our home.

 

In a sort of magical day dream,

we crossed so many paths as one,

and now today,

they celebrate a journey

oh for the love of our children

we do,

we will always,

we did for the span of a lifetime

hope and pray,

we might somehow find His way,

some way decide upon a natural course

of our lives

we would find

sweet serenity,

a mysterious energy,

one with love,

a compassion

we might give freely …

cherish the beauty of time.

 

For it is today,

we now togeteher

cross the sky

with a specacular

sunrise,

a setting moon,

in each adventure,

I might in the arctic

winter

share love as a soul mate

might find again,

discover the truth

was always within our dreams.

 

Peace be with the onlookers

for their journey just begun.

Love – for my wife

love

jim dine – love

 

Follow me

to everywhere

for my experience is

alone

lacking substance

if I could share all that is good

in your eyes

with every new horizon

setting sun

distant moon that shines upon

our natural being

then

we might continue as

together

share love’s bounty

spiritual Grace belongs

to hear-felt surreal

beauty

that is you

love