An Autumn Sky

Oh we do see the autumn of our lives

each season holds promise to the wise,

ah, to breathe sordid remnants of summer

where twilight body bathed in hot slumber

 

Now to wander in the mind inside a travel

on sunsets and rises we felt could unravel.

That perseverance such is humanity fierce

that will always sing its harmony in verse.

 

When does love on this earth become sweet

how silence in the rain may venture in sleet,

yet still do our eyes have wells, a dignified cry

would we let a mist cleanse face in gray sky.

 

An ashen wind in the west a foreboding scenery

while our sacrifice weep, sweet is aging silvery.


© Thom Amundsen 9/12/2020

Inspiration in a Quote

“No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible.”
— George Chakiris

 

I watched as autumn sun began to rise

a day in the life of a man so wise

he would punish himself, lay upon ground

rather than expand upon love he found.

For many years thereafter could we want

a would, a possibility, a taunt.

Such is the value of a peace of mind

when in throes we choose an only rewind.

In times of sorrow we grieve compassion,

the beauty of the human condition

must we shun all adversity favored

shallow sentiment in sorrow wavered.

Our lives touched by the grace of God we weep

we hope and dream our joy will we keep.


© Thom Amundsen 7/2020

A Week Later

I wonder about perception,

how well it matches up inside,

the image we carry of ourselves,

the identity screaming always for balance

against the odds,

despite our own misgivings.

 

Last week I was high,

a natural phenomena

that took me places,

I didn’t have to anticipate,

just lived inside

this possibility.

 

This morning I stared out the window

barely able to move,

I wanted to question whether I should

with the many voices

clamoring in the back of mind,

yes, well, in any rate, you could.

 

I did,

here now begins a day,

a bit overcast,

accentuating a sort of morose

atmosphere

to balance the mood.

 

Sometimes I wonder

to myself

where this all began.

I know I shared it with you

one time,

so many peaks and valleys ago.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2020

Silence is a Forest

Listen to the birds singing in spring
Hear the cello at home in between

Each memory
Each moment

A song we could create in melody
If only the world not live parody
Such is the mendacity of our time
When still is beauty yet sublime

Each moment
Each memory

If in the midst of a traveled rhyme
We shut out a neighbor is a crime,
Only preserve that moment, oh 9/11
Restoration, is love in sweet Heaven

Each memory
Each moment

Now in wood, in silence find our Zen
A patch of forest heart and soul then
Speaks fond of a once nostalgic liberty
We would may always grasp this reality

Oh to know the sound a certain bird will
Sweet a peace of mind, distant cello still


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2020

Moments in a Blizzard

Windswept sky designs landmark,

the world is being blanketed by that force

greater than our own,

a magical parade of Nature’s wrath,

in the simplest manner of beauty.

 

Oh her strength apparent

inside the wonder of it all,

the winter storm,

a blizzard upon our discontent,

perhaps we might fly away.

 

Lost inside this forever cycle

our lives are equally drawn

by a static probability

of scant survival in the throes

of a woeful condition.

 

Step inside the winds,

that bury this frozen memory,

covering up our sorrows

so there might be a new desire,

a passion to understand.

 

A realization,

recognizing there is an after-life

to the sparkle – once

no longer remains

inside a youthful dream.

 

There inside the wealth of our

humanity

exists a welcome change,

that ever resilient testimony,

suggests we are all ready,

 

already walking again,

this might provocative winds allow.

 


© Thom Amundsen 1/2020

Foliage Hidden

For they do sing in suggestive breeze,

still discreet in foliage

their lives depend on a travel,

readying swift reply to the wind.

 

Watch out your windows such

is preparation of a Creator,

grace upon our planted wilderness.

An imagined love in autumn

 

Sweater in hand time for a walk

In the quiet air of an arid migration.



© Thom Amundsen 2019

Autumn Sunrise

Picture silent beauty of the fallen

cascades over night in morning’s fresh dew

Would we lives would suspend among such few

swept in a seasonal breeze unspoken

 

While lives do merit certain ambience

having understood time in element

sweet farewell of arid temperament

with knowledge shelter a vortex of chance

 

In morning humanity know each day

means a spiritual guide wills a solace

swift is the timing of fortunate Grace

will soon a blossoming might lead our way

 

Demands seek urgency’s mortality

Cycle of life bestow such is beauty

Sunday Night Moon

IMG_1270

If I could, how my body winds

down

inside a cavernous

dream

I might truly admit to feeling

down,

rather wish to imagine my life a

dream.

 

A Sunday night and here I go,

winding down

like the moisture in a culvert

draining toward

a bitter end,

and yet in a moment,

I glanced outside.

 

A moon, in its spectacular

Autumn rise,

A Hunter’s Moon,

to light the forest

so precious

is the moment

when the human condition,

might find life beyond

our own.

 

I watch the moon,

imagine

the world around us

we are all glancing in the same

direction,

hoping to find our eyes

have similar ideals,

sweet remains

our favorite

sky.

A Question of Authenticity

All my life,

a struggle has ensued,

when papering my walls with legal pad writings,

one after another after hours, after years,

until years later,

the wallpaper came down,

storage boxes collecting dust and shadows.

 

Someone said once,

who do you see,

what might you feel,

in a glance in the mirror

when the moment before,

you felt a single tear.

I wonder if we ever realize

when that day is near.

 

I glanced at the moon tonight,

it was profound in its full bounty,

the Hunter’s moon it is known,

to light our forests,

cause our hearts to gasp.

I wonder about this august,

seems to follow me,

on nights when

minds might

rather,

than

bay at the night sky,

feel a gasp in the wonder of

Nature.

 

I wonder about the moon and a clear night sky.

Walk In The Woods

Shelter immediate a quiet reaction in a forest,

knowing only the carved humanity

gave passage inside a wood,

a seasonal fascination with nature.

 

Such is the beauty of a wilderness

a recognition of some humility

the animal life, vegetation and looming

trees that spoke to an ancient history.

 

Wonderful is the breeze circulating air

a quiet walk turns to some melody

stand now listen, start again and feel

the woods a passion, glance, a glimpse

 

When maneuvering the crags and rocky

exterior of lives  comfort habit

the bounding slams of a bear feet away

our own humanity with their territory.

 

Pick up rocks we might recognize truths

We the humans are children of their home.