Hang Onto Dreams

Oh how we do experience fallout

letting our safer dreams fade into blue

the light of day soon cast away from view.

Eyes begin to lose life tossed about

 

in the mainstream; an acceleration

of a mechanical nature spans time.

(imagine lives driven only by rhyme).

We saviors within our own affliction

 

must then resort, balance upon virtue.

When in the heat of salvaging mind

would battling truth a constant we find,

recall sweet the elixir – living true.

 

Don’t ever let we might somehow release

sweet imagination, a twilight peace.


© Thom Amundsen 6/2020

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

Wanting Relief

Last night I listened to the winds howl in melody

seems they were speaking, warning of a parody.

So quickly our lives, my own, grooves self importance

wanting only to observe, less patience more chance.

 

I speak in my head a constant life of simple romance

that sort that would suggest our lives live in a trance.

The famous writers who could travel in love’s pain

a prowess with words, retelling always the reader’s gain.

 

I wondered how long it might be in this state I remain

whereby my actions would prevent me feeling the rain.

Where simply do we go when the winds to pull us under

An impossibility, our minds will not be want of wander.

 

Last night I listened to the winds howl their melody,

A certain peace is Her vibrant reminder the ready.


© Thom Amundsen 4/2020

Twilight Conscience

Swift breeze is nonchalant to a unique settings.

Silent hour forever in the mind of an observer,

a starry horizon will stretch a furthest minute

to give benefit to psychic appraisal of reason.

 

Stand awake in time a twilight enhanced howl

whereby our lives will in natural light return.

For the moment we might meditate the night

with sudden revelation – planetary alignment.

 

I would if may suggest my life in the balance

would hold truth grateful such wires insomnia

extends my intellectual prowess that imagines

in a delusion. A realist, perhaps only questions.

 

In the quiet of my home, would change a season

As the wind screams my name in idyllic reason


© Thom Amundsen 2019

A Distant Child

In a quiet state I would recognize the distance

Between the now of experience toward childhood

We might wish to have a redo on pain if we could

Seems a simple prospect to imagine all is chance.

 

When returning to some original memory in life

Oh to know the patterns that drove our own fight

Or flight, the summer weather such intrigue in light

Of finding ourselves amongst the massive strife

 

Inside a dream we could walk for miles in the sand

Feeling only the beauty of the sea carrying away our

Imagination, our intrigue with stepping beyond power

That illusion of knowing we could withstand demand

 

Live your life she said, he said the world in silent release

Would rather only our sanity to discover our own peace.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

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.

In Fields of Memory

Cast eyes upon mellow, a sun streaked sky.

Choose to know a spectacular sunrise

knocking upon lives in a quiet wise

manner speaks to answering only why.

 

Once, while regarding, ponder truth in life

for a people know safety in number

a song, memory, sound to remember

follow the sky, in meaning beyond strife.

 

Walk inside the grains of sand a hot mess

would recognize, altered states of truth.

Lonely participants weakness forsooth

such might be a lifetime enduring stress.

 

A stroll in summer wheat fields may release

Silent nostalgic melody in peace.



© Thom Amundsen 2019

Glance into The Morning Fog

Watching tree limbs bask in the morning fog

Their own shadows hidden from naked eye

We, the observer might question why

Silence in storms, listen a croaking frog.

 

A world exists speak natural balance

Deep in the wood, horrors of life aside

Humanity breathe where watcher reside

A home is habitat for those who chance.

 

While just beyond the gravel road and pond

Live a lifetime in tragic element

Lost souls, lost loves, confusion we lament

Evil is conflict arisen but fond

 

We mourn sweet soul, tragic is sudden death

In the cool dense fog, take solace in breath.



© Thom Amundsen 2019

Summer Dreams

Wish for a chance to capture such beauty

As lights our horizon, an accentuate calm.

Satisfy urgency, sweet like the palm

Solace upon heart sought serenity.

 

Silent eyes seeking accessible paths

A walk is meditation in such air

Having found freedom, surreal is where

Let go of resentments, wild wanton wrath.

 

A forest, instill beauty, while fountains pour

Sky streak across a somber universe

Might love break out spectacular verse

While slow is familiar seasonal lore.

 

Yonder the people in casual stroll

Swoon a spiritual familiar knoll

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