Quiet Stream

Water ripples upon sun baked rocks

glints of morning light play music

the eyes of summertime.

~

If my line can land just beyond

above the current a soft settle

might then I borrow from the pools

a master swimmer lights my reel.

~

A fisherman’s catch not a single appeal,

those small boulders like fat circles

tease the walker stepping shallow

toward some distant pool.

~

The silence in the mind

serene is a sweet mystique

while River water flows past

shielded calves.

~

I will imagine the beauty of

a soft sensuality a spiritual

moment where lives are set free.


©️Thom Amundsen 5/2021

Changes We Remember

We would sit nearby with a smile

‘yours or mine’

I might add, yours now a grimace

once we made endearing,

tonight I am only alone.

~

Days ahead we did not think

only knew the now

if I could reach and touch your hair

and feel you move

nothing mattered anywhere.

~

Tonight while a favorite melody

helps emanate sweet solace

his sorrowful glance

would hide well again

in shadows of time.

~

For it is the change we remember

will gather always an eternal following.


©️ 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

The Reason We Dream

I used to believe we could go on forever,

that afternoon in the park

when he drew his graphite vision

the first holocraft on a hot sunny day

the three of us

in Memorial park

looking up in the sky with awe,

one of us with the bong in our hands

another – a slow exhale into the summer horizon.

.

We were just kids, snotty, arrogant, naive

to the world around us,

yet as long as we had each other,

the laughs would remain,

though with time,

that original notion in our heads

became Orwellian

while the years did pass,

we do, will I, would I, we wonder

upon each other’s lives.

.

Today the craft does exist

fifty years later of course,

yet our imagination can still

redefine

its own spectacular outtake

on society’s thrills and ills

all of which

we are told over and over again,

’this human condition stuff,

it will set you free.’

.

Next time you are in the woods

take a moment to pause

think a bit on me and my  buddies

we all carry the same weight.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2021

She Gives Me Real

When it happens I can smile,

not a knowing I am right sort of

trivialized agreement,

far more this sanity we all try to live

yet seldom understand

why.

I remember once being told

we ought not ever ask,

only allow

let the circumstance be not our own,

only cast the open freedom

to salvage respect

rather than beg a

forgiveness

leaves us wondering

why

I m grateful

she told me then in simple terms,

her smile.


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021

Wishful Knowledge

Those times told before

when once it happens

comes the sigh.

It’s that wish of only

‘getting it’

knowing we all had it.

Only now a reminder gave us

‘silent scolding’

telling our own selves

we ought know.

The end result

manifest in our own hearts

when asked again and in a long-awaited,

again.

In the beginning …


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021

– to k

A Gentle Breeze

I woke to their singing

like lounging by the river

a fresh morning dew

preparing us a sky as blue.

~

This isn’t just remembering

more holding truth to who we

are when a cloudy mind reflect

upon a gentle swaying we select.

~

Last night heard words ringing

soft reminders why we are now

Inside lovely dreams, a fantasy

in strength settling a symbolic sea.

~

I lay in bed awaiting a morning sun

gray skies gifted me a gentle breeze.


©️Thom Amundsen 4/2021

for k

A Certain Melody

I remember a time

traveling the highway

short ride to my exit

just off the city ramp,

~

So many occasions I thought

only of you

soft chords of a melody

when I listen tonight still …

~

Maybe it is the Beatles,

back then the Fab Four –

‘Back in the USSR’ meant little

beyond a lovely rhyme scheme

~

Tonight it has its own silent mystique,

a memory like 8th street after sunset.


©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021

– for Karla