This Little Experiment

He’s not sure it’s working

this little experiment

still caught off guard,

mis-steps, concrete

a burden

immediate consequence

the weight of which,

one can never

‘tell me how much more can I handle.’


a slowing down


when everything else

seems miles away,

that solution based mind

suddenly took vacation,

stepped away from the grind.

He wondered

if this trip he wanted to take

meant any impact

finding words

what exactly would be right.


I’ve always asked, yet

not been completely told.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

Thoughts In Night

2 o’clock in his pjs

thoughts of her cross his mind

What value is the past,

when sad events present.


If for a reason

might she respond

the gathering emotion

ducks in a pond.


They would migrate

together he would land

she smiles her elegant state

together, no remand.


If friend might know

what hammer of just

would reckon its row

no time to adjust.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

Agile Posture

I’m 49

writing stories with the kids

poetry and long sermons,

soliloquy and rants,

starting late it seem.

The fall nights begin earlier

chilly dawns and sweaters

the cooling season with brisk winds

They do change you see

Fall winds, glistening rain sweat

the leaves of summer

drifting with the changed winds,

fall winds.

A Banished Soul

It’s been banished

deep inside his own soul,

a non-believer

a decider.


While begging


all seems a regretting



Like this is supposed to happen

common rants

hopeful outcomes that then

deliberately trip on ramps.


An all extolling soul

would already,

having seen the cast in whole

stay at the ready.


Far inside the mind

a torn facade of truth

speculations unwind

– the way back to her youth.


Simply have to be who – they

nothing faulty

lots of convoluting slam.

leaves the soul less guilty.


a wisp of sweet summer fall

and the heart is clean

the soul swindling infidel

long set sail, peaceful scene.


Perhaps a clue, any idea

what we are talking about

who they are in the media,

instances dreamt afloat.


Commonality is our swoon

like life, living in a festoon.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

A Sunny Day

Rays of light peek through shuttered windows

shall the slats be opened or assure privacy,

a morning of which one surely glows

the energy blocked would be a travesty.


At my desk I look for inspiration

seems the night put aside

for the moment is more solution

to dredging horrors inside.


If present means a slow journey

then this my day would tell

a starting point with no hurry

only desire deep in the well.


I would climb if love awaits me

or choose to find what must be.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

What Just Happened?

Easy plots are created at the bequest of our own lives.

Feels like a line someone wrote in a book.

How simple it might be to draw a circle across the Earth.

When in one interaction, then dominos begin to play.

I would like to go somewhere far away right now.

The Barrister might suggest, a spot of tea, in the sea.

When is it ever else about otherwise?


for it,

not as much, not quite it.



© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

A Cloudy Retreat

Seems a bit of a run,

this quiet solitude is a rant

waiting to echo the chambers

yet now,

secluded, off camera if you will,

the focus being

deep dark and hollow

some ill-forgotten travel,

where would rather

the flim-flam freedom of stuff.


Would seem a somber scrutiny

lays out upon

best-laid plans and failures,

all together now,

they chant a familiar line,

and the world stretches itself further

with a buzz,

something I cannot seem to grasp,

though apparent.


Instead a retreat

a shelter in confusion

with tenuous angles and reach

those outside seemingly in a mechanical line

march on.


Will I remain here in some sedentary plot

of soil

wanting only to find water.

© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

What Matters Anyway

What is it really

steps ahead,

is it ego or some


a decree of everything vital,

to keep course

with natural phenomenon.


What if there really is a parallel universe

and no-one told me,

I just always had to be this

odd one out

until one day and yes there it was when it happened,

an aura,

I find my first one



Life began to change

after that. I decided such a long journey

this was enough to ask for a change,

speaking only to



Next table please,


© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

Thinking in Frames

If distraction were meant to heal

then how in the world could we feel.

We seem to believe we must move forward.

How do we prevent not being so toward?


Wish we some peace when hell seems to thrive

when each moment our pains echo our lives.

Speak upon the courtesy of a fear

even when that risk is losing someone dear.


Aren’t we told to navigate our word,

contemplate thresholds without the absurd

actions of that disparate contrived, bellow.

Would that life could live a moment mellow.


A frame of reference certainly the goal

to avoid at all cost that spiraling hole.

Where gifts of nature quietly disappear

life seems different, reminds one to appear.



© Thom Amundsen 10/2021

Common Fears

I have fears, they are frequent

I have moments I wish I could cry

I have fears, and they are frequent

Wonder how many years, will I sigh


Wonder how many years, will I try


I can’t stand to storm the thinking

When I weep I still feel connected

Times like this I wish life were blinding

Moments will pass, seconds undetected


Wonder how many years, will I try


I want to hang on to this forever

Was a light I might have seen in retrospect

Don’t want to let go, don’t want to ever

I wish only that she know my – this respect.


Wonder how many years, will I try


As bones and veins and heart might decline

I wonder about the truth of roses and wine

I know that life contains only time

Only facets of lives important to rhyme


Wonder how many years, will I try

Wonder how many years, will I try


© Thom Amundsen 10/2021