Our Spectacular Being

I can feel you,

crossing a path,

planting my feet in

the morning mud,

last night’s rainfall,

making apparent

the day ahead would

not carry the same weight

in a sunny afternoon.

 

I think about aging sometimes,

more than some would like,

I imagine those days,

suggesting,

if I could …

all over again.

 

I wonder what might happen,

would there be other

faults

to replace the ones

having beckoned

my mind for

a half century.

 

Would awareness allow me

to feel right in my dreams,

or how long might it be

that I come to terms,

with this new life,

no longer carrying

the reminder of the old.

 

I read a book today

about ‘letting go’

a scary reality

when there are those matters

we wish to hang onto

all of our lonely lives.

 

Yet, the takeaway

today,

was not that we could never

look back,

instead we might

find a way,

always

love the reality

of our time.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

I Cry, Sometimes

Sharing a story,

recalling a significant

rite of passage

in my childhood,

Not one I chose

I might be so

reminded.

 

One day,

her glance

a twelve year old mind,

frightened by tragedy,

submission to God’s plan,

a confusion,

yet her eyes,

would tell me a story.

 

I then

and forever

touched

would struggle my means

would understand

only a criticism

I would believe

in my own heart,

only to find,

years upon years,

I would recognize

her heart to be pure

holding firm

a supportive glance

in a time of sadness.

 

Oh, today,

I did cry,

I felt a passion

to share, to allow

a soul

might know

my own choices

in a life

where all of my instincts

tested

at a very young age,

one OI would choose

to live again,

a parallel life perhaps

touched by

happiness.



© Thom Amundsen 2019

Humanity Pleads Perfection

If while our lives compete

silence stands beyond our wares.

 

Pre-disposed to finding value

in a fragile state of mind.

 

We dig humanity, its pitfalls

suggested to be given advocacy.

 

Wanting to forge forward in valor

a calculated appraisal of possibility.

 

When suggestion speaks necessarily

give allowance no matter scrutiny.

 

Find your peace in the beauty of time,

for this or ever complication subside.

 

We are resilient in a time driven desire

to find peace among masses the same.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

the ‘august’ of my childhood

for I remember when only as a child

I would on a hilltop nearby

cry out my fears alone at the edge of gravel

a pathway held my dreams

and my sanity

for alone I could scream

without being known,

only I might be the wiser

in a world so overthrown

as some confusion,

the medley

of a young boy

nearing his own insanity.

 

for I would then depart that hilltop,

walk the gravel trail,

return to my world,

this sea of humanity,

claiming to know the truth,

by their actions,

those of which I watched

intently,

wishing to find some avenue

a comfort level

would give allowance

to teenage angst rather than a

labeled disorder.

 

for now might be all the decades of time

the traveling monologues

starlit nights,

and golden sunrises,

clouds might give some detailed reminder

of life as it is

meant only to be lived

rather than caught in some constant

scrutiny of why that determines

well-being.

 

My struggles well documented

in the porous fabric of my mind,

tales of which I might

redefine,

in order that some peace of mind,

peace of mind,

peace of mind,

would that I could piece together

this static fame of mind.

 

I am in the ‘august’ of my childhood,

oh such is life that took us

on a roller coaster of emotion,

the different degrees of temptation,

obliteration of dreams,

the calming sea of

finding solace

in the truth

that speaks to that

lonesome road

so often felt

yet clearly denied

for sake of some

sweet symbolic stability.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

There Are These Days

When the right reach

seems just beyond

Instead of knowing

we’d rather

capture

ourselves

in a previous

state of mind.

 

We know the truth

is somewhere

we might call it fond

a memory,

climactic,

some experience

a tangible travail

when once we knew.

 

Seeking sunset splendor

the waiting game

a day of hours

where in the quiet

mindset might

falter upon old witness

the travesty of

human frailty.

 

So now we breathe

the dry air

of  some distant

distraction

creeped in upon our  own

reality,

to suggest

listen to your instincts.

 

Remember when

we could sit for hours

talk about this sixth sense

of knowing,

how long ago,

did that skill,

step into the twilight.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Quiet Resolve on a City Bus

I watched him

passing by,

a figure in the street,

a personality,

silence is resolute,

his posture apparent,

resolve clearly unknown

though imagined,

a stillness

suggestive of peace,

or perhaps concern

from a distance

it is always difficult to know

what passes in the mind

of a person,

an individual

a figure to be recognized

in the middle of the afternoon,

a pause in their day,

a city bus,

enough to reflect

quiet observation,

the beauty of

our own imagination

makes allowance

a tidy history

gives credence

to a wonderful

persona, a personality

we can appreciate

city bus.

A Circular Rhythm

We draw circles around a mask, our lives.

Each path we give another sweet facade

however might surmise such actions odd.

For we do covet a straight line that thrives.

 

Such is a world built as linear lines

meant for a passage without a defense.

acrid is a shelter by those who whence

internal facade sooner discard vines.

 

We stand inside the realm when given time

see such are the eyes of judgment are held

accountable of course our lives do weld

shapes and forms would eyes accept on a dime.

 

Oh strike us down in fraught shallow schism

It is such absurdity upsets rhythm