Spoke to him the idle man
now sits alone a bar stool
seems becomes his friend.
All the others know the fool.
~
Once inside were a sweet dream,
a violin concerto plays his memory
soft her smile, serene did seem
a minute, together a forever melody.
~
If only then had he known today
might she have weathered the storm
ahead sensing his unraveling way.
Without explanation he lost form.
~
With no one looking the fool might cry
For then more simply it is a time to die.
©️ Thom Amundsen 8/2021
Someone might remind kindness,
our soul may arise from the depths
of a shadowed past, preventing present
its opportunity to thrive
inside the worrisome reality of this pandemic,
our Covid moments, turn months into years,
stopping our normalcy,
creating a new reality,
one so often overlooked until suddenly today,
we do stand alone,
looking through our own shuttered windows,
a silent in the winds of a night with crisp winter
looming upon decency,
the ability to see through the forest
the quiet meadow where all of our lives,
were once spent holding one another,
and then there is today,
I watched the sunset tonight,
dog at my side
dog at my side
dog at my beck and call,
please stay by my side.
˙© Thom Amundsen 11/2020
He walked alongside,
non-descript,
hoping to be noticed
in order to quell
such is the pain inside
of an insecure mind.
Started as a child,
one day he lost all hope
in the manifest of
life over death,
or the cruel hand of God
in what we call a miracle,
yet absurd,
inside the fear
is simple departure
of the one we love.
That internal flame,
became ignited
virtue of a confusion,
the wonder of why,
the angry response
to losing someone we love
at the hands of innocence,
where that person,
that wonderful being,
is cut short.
A woman recently,
suggested I take the knife out of my back,
its is a long line to
understanding
why we carry the demons we do,
when in reality,
if we could just live our lives,
we might
discover
a certain peace,
the one we see
in the eyes of those
we may never know.
© Thom Amundsen 3/2020
We talked about the human condition,
how certain tendency
would remain years later,
the same,
decades of programmed imagination,
falling into the same pattern
some unforgotten imprinting of our soul.
Yet tonight as I stand here
on the same ledge of forty years ago,
I wonder what really has changed,
oh there is the picture that I once did create
together not alone,
altered forever now
with only speculate conclusion.
Tonight I wonder of deception,
the loss of meaning,
the further resounding defeat of purpose,
when two people no matter
still become lost in their own travel,
having let go of the other
until just a glance inside the wake
of every cresting wave,
when then they do disappear
no longer seeing …
© Thom Amundsen 2/2020
I walked outside and screamed at the bottom of my driveway,
only because I knew no one would notice,
well, they did, and their doors shut,
I stood in my neighborhood and felt completely alone.
The manicured lawns,
similarly styled rose gardens,
the roof repair and invisible fences,
street signs that suggested we all slow down.
I glanced around and decided to scream outloud again,
more doors shut,
the street seemed to empty in a silence
more apparent than I’d noticed before my unravel.
I stood there for a long time
watched kids on their bicycles take the corner before
having to coast past the man at the end of the driveway,
I realized for the first time I might have been noticed.
I walked back up to my garage,
played some music while drilling some wood,
the sweat on my brow, I wiped with my forearm,
I glanced at the street, a squad rode by … I waved.
If
while
barren
hallways
become invitations
are we lost
inside
our
own
fearful
conceptual
absolute reality.
Sitting alone
today
I ws forced
to imagine
where everyone
might choose to be
rather than with me,
yet instead crossed my mind,
the notion,
what compels me to hide
in empty spaces.
When there it seems
compelling
lately,
just recently,
really,
that I am the only one,
when another walks in the space
I occupy
solo.
Her voice,
for years my guiding melody,
such sweet surreal
knowledge.
When I was a kid,
I remember wondering if
always unsure,
was she walking or going away,
the tears wouldn’t stop,
I waited,
that’s when I learned the true meaning
of abandon …
When I can sit and write these words,
how might I define the rivers in my eyes?
somewhere out there,
the sky so longing,
somehow I do know there is a reckoning,
yet my only wish as I
imagine
is that she might tell me how to get there.
For now I remain in the quiet of her memory.
I remember eyes wandering,
hiding behind cedar posts,
paying more attention to the tiles,
until common footsteps
might begin again.
My bench in the center of two seas
swaying toward and moving away
ascending and crossing paths
smiles and scorns
tired looks, and glaring fear.
I remember
hiding in plain sight
hiding in plain sight
hiding in pain’s flight
while all of you kept your lives in check.
I remember wondering
if the waves of human condition
might ever stop
might slow down only for a minute
a second or two of time,
always remember wandering,
or wondering,
where the lives belong,
where the time had gone.
One moment smiling and the next staring
Interactions in a public setting
That quiet notice, affect disappears
While worlds revolve alone surely glaring
Upon each other, likened blood-letting.
Vulnerable, practices masking fears,
Each time we step outside our remedy
There waits another, sordid malady.
If ever we might laugh a genuine
Note of honesty certain, seems serene.
Delightful realities, open minds
Live freedoms without the constant rewind,
The subjective nature holds a release,
Leveled obstacles scrutinize our peace.
