Fearing The Worst

I remember the dreams, the constant reminders

a continual tease, a surreal world of sidewinders

 

Each one with a story, a parallel universe

would try to shake me, send me in reverse.

 

I could never tell if a person real or imagined,

it was a nightmare the bottom was assigned.

 

Otherwise the lofty airs of fascination

always relied waking realization

 

Just a dream, perhaps a reminder

only the illusion of the constant sidewinder

 

drawing imagined color scheme on the surface,

so the internal player would always save face.

 

Walking slow inside a familiar nearby memory,

I might choose to leap, try to escape this quandary.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

The Edge of Reason

What stake have we in righteous turbulence,

perhaps is reason to submit, suggest,

offer and consider, compassion

might allow a progressive response

yet allowance of circumstance,

that told responsibility

a valuable lesson.

 

In night air came a perpetual fire

taunted by winds, a breeze

so is a prevalent sky,

leading our lives into the storm

central to our being.

We spoke upon the a rail rise,

the L train, C, the longest nights

where time is not allowed

a sleeping giant

long after the last stop.

 

Yet further on

in the return home

spoke an entanglement,

on the threshold of a dream,

this reality

knock incessant patterns,

this discord

reveal a fantasy

rather beyond the norm.

 

When all else does bury logic

this value will settle cryptic.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

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

Walking Upon Time

A reflection spoke prophetic synapse unwind

while the world in mechanical fashion

carried on, carried on inside the mind

sweet redemption await for years of burden.

 

If we could match our inside with the now

would it be easier in a balance

could  heart remind background

our vision, sad eyes, might forever shine.

 

The institution of a societal trial expectation

would the human condition consider

within a framed reference a spiritual

Mecca will always await sendentary soul

 

Wake now to her wondrous a natural task

for all entitlement is a waste

rather a commitment to peace

inside the stranger element of response

 

Our lives, create reawakened possibilities

would that every symbiotic paths beyond

 

 

Impeached

Trying to wrap my head around meaning,

listening to the pundits,

saying the same thing,

the same thing

same, again,

the words are reimagined,

and yet,

this really did happen,

the talk became the action,

yet,

wait for it,

I don’t see the moving trucks

lining the White House rotunda

with Mara Lago plates

aligning their next destination.

 

The only thing I see tonight,

is a blowhard repudiation,

suggesting,

everything we are listening to is,

certainly will,

sell a newspaper,

get a channel change,

allow some office banter,

about the events of the day.

 

What does it mean today,

any different from over two decades ago,

the person in office,

on both accounts,

stayed in the oval office,

didn’t hide away,

people with varying views

began their own analysis,

and the news went on and on and on …

 

and the beat goes on.


© Thom Amundsen 2019