Something In The Fog

In the quiet of morning

a glance

perchance

some catharsis looming.

We know the quiet

in silence

in chance

something in a silent

reckoning

happening

to each of us alone

though there would be

chance is only tone

the manner

a solitude

beyond an awkward

resonance with time

and shadows forward

acting upon this rhyme

in our lives

we feel the alives

of heart and soul

though we wish a fool

be our last venture

in fact, step in

the misty adventure.


© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

A Wandering Mind

I wonder sometimes where it is I might go,

if given the opportunity

the freedom to walk away from everything

mechanical in my mind.

You see,

there is a kind of volley of emotion

we live by,

we cannot forget or perhaps

we wish we might be the one,

whom always does

need a reminder,

a reminder to live our lives

in the present

without reflection,

no memory

that might bring us down,

for there is the rub,

that down-trodden personality

the one that seemingly

‘makes us stronger’

in the end when it is far too late.

Too late,

you might beg for an option,

and quite simply there is,

but until you decide,

had enough

that fantasy remains strong

as we age,

stronger forever,

an eternal duel with what works

and what unravels in time

for a crisis to engulf …

my state of mind.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

When Last We Imagine

It isn’t until we know,

that we decide

we won’t go down that path again,

we want to,

want to stay there,

watch the leaves turn

see the beauty laid out before us,

when no one need be nearby

to remind us of just what was there

all this while

all this time

energy spent just wondering why,

hoping to trigger some solution,

lays only in our defense

without any real resolve,

until that day,

that singular moment,

a cathartic wind in a naked sky,

where clouds will part

stars come alive at night,

and our mind,

this simple run of thoughts and dreams

becomes like that of a trance,

lost in the horizon stretching toward the galaxy.

~

For a moment we did step away from our reality,

for a time did we realize we didn’t need to decide,

for just a beat, a heart beat, did we,

imagine.


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

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

Fighting Present

The past wants a piece of flesh,

always waiting wondering when

to jump on a moment with fresh

ideas, exploiting our lives again.

~

Seems where we go always here

back to a familiar surrounding

when and if we understand fear

began in our heart this morning.

~

I walked while outside the weep

covered the sidewalks, a soft

repeat of a sound that would deep

remind us all of barbs we loft.

~

For it is a kinder world less naive

leaves our heart with soul to weave.


© Thom Amundsen 8/2021

The Rains

I sat with a desk lamp nearby

listening to the rains,

I knew clearly the reason why

this forest maintains

~

such wonderful animations in the mind,

a forest may the soul in peace unwind.

~

Earlier in the afternoon sunlight

before the setting of dusk,

I watched the clouds in plumes might

settle into a natural melodic busk.

~

I listened to the rains and next the tears

would speak quiet to my mind

wishing only might I ever quell fears

shook her away to rewind

~

Yet I couldn’t help but wish such beauty

might hold promise to love

as would the sound of rains serenely

slicing through the skies above…

~

Such wonderful animations in the mind

a forest may the soul in peace unwind.


© Thom Amundsen 7/2021 

Wanting the fog to lift

His body had grown tired, waking to a daily chore

wanting only to be admired, not this brooding bore.

~

He would bed himself at night soak the linens in tear

wondering if ever she might understand his only fear.

~

Upon waking in the morning, the sunlight at his gaze

wouldn’t be long a yearning, scrambling in a maze

~

For it is when the fog will hold our deepest analogies

only to fashion a reaction bold, our proven fallacies.

~

The deeper he would dive to find the light of day

less again he’d feel alive, wishing only for yesterday.

~

There was a time I could love a foggy morning, the scenery

could create a magical fantasy, settling winds for you and me.


© Thom Amundsen 6/2021

As Rains Might Fall

A quiet solitude, soft patterns of rain,

in a breeze tossed there and about

would I know the sounds would soothe

my soul in any moment of wonderment.

~

I do lay upon a silent morning when steady

the waters of a sweet melody and scents

olfactory carry my mind distant to my nearby

retirement, that seeks some cast upon peace.

~

Outside my porch I listen and watch

the morning birds gather their strength

feed upon such is a seed to bring delight

to the eye of a human yearning for love.

~

Could a tear be reconciled when memory

allow our hearts to feel splendor in song.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2021

Lost Moments

In our lives we have many experiences

travails of innocence no one

has an answer to suggest an outcome

only hitch on,

grab a strand of burlap,

feel the dust build underneath our psyche

and ride on.

~

I’ve always enjoyed the horizon

seeing wheat fields flowing in an autumn breeze,

the fresh blossoms of a rainy morning aftermath,

often my favorite moments

caught in the rain

soaked to the bone

fresh soup and a warm fire

in the evening lull.

~

On occasion I recall that summer afternoon,

we walked in our usual path,

to a sort of ‘city’ glen above John Muir,

where there would be

an eventual opening in the brush,

we would lay there

act like a couple in love

no one’s eyes except our own.

~

This one time,

and this would be my definition of loss,

I would nap in that moment,

and did I in the afternoon sun

wake shortly there after

and she would be gone,

I would then stand only to notice her figure

meandering into the park,

having left this moment

behind.

~

I remember not knowing what to do,

far too distant would a shout of name

turn your head,

either distance or time

would cause her, might, continue forward

regardless.

~

That was the message going through my mind.

I hurried to try to catch up,

to not lose this moment.

~

We do eventually, in time find ourselves to be on course,

yet still could we already know some concept of remorse.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2021