Tag: confusion

Finding One Door

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This matter of doors,

talked about in quiet rooms,

where two people, maybe four, three

could openly speak

closing doors, reasons why,

open doors, easily cry

for there is some certain avenue

allows us all to find our way,

if we choose to be

the person we might

want to

speak someday.

 

I remember a year ago,

saying I wished I might not live another day,

exhausted,

it was a similar hour of night,

this seemingly special occasion,

where I

the leader or the exhibit on display,

wanted nothing more

than to go away.

 

Yet here I am today,

celebrating some reason to explain

how it might I came to be,

this life,

this scrutiny

that only I control.

 

Oh I may allow others

have a hand

in my own dismay,

but it is in those darker

moments,

I can begin to

explain away,

the tragedy of my own

today.

 

I met someone once,

she touched my heart,

we spent hours into the twilight

talking about who or what our psychic meanings were.

I remember wanting only to

kiss her,

and yet so compelling was her ability

to sway the judgment of my play,

I listened,

and the hours flew by,

suddenly sunlight peeking through

her apartment drawn shades,

the two of us laying comfortably apart

together,

opened our eyes,

smiled,

suggested

what a day this will be

today.

 

So tonight,

just after midnight,

I look again into that open door, a space

just kind of waits,

and yet there are so many stories about

that man in the chair,

who looks like yesterday,

or maybe a little like his mom

whom as he weeps in

a sweet silence,

he imagines or hopes,

dreams on occasion,

if he did stand up,

and walk through,

there would be she,

and all of the questions

that have rocked his mind for over

half a century

might suddenly

come to life,

what some could easily pin upon

the afterlife

 

Yet why is that even as we try to blend

the pallet of our fantasy,

why do the same entrances tease our mind,

the darkness will always prevail

until that moment,

when trying to be,

might only become

the aftermath of

we in the some triggered response

to ending all of the confusion

that inherent blend of

mystery

the human condition.

 

Safe in my distance, I do imagine the other side,

and just wonder if a  picture will ever help me decide.

 

A Working Man

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I am a working man,

with a verve, passion, a concept

of what I feel is right

in the vocation that I am.

 

I need to see the might

of quickly drawn out ideals

that give me inspiration,

capture a full moon at night.

 

I watched her drive away

her smile was something to hold

wondering then what happened

to the silence of today.

 

This isn’t who we imagine,

the working man in his day,

has thoughts of some reaction

speak to personal, my chagrin

 

I am a steadfast human being,

drawn by a mechanical means

I cannot step away from love,

a sordid state of wooing.

 

She walked away from a life we knew,

and then ironic, so did she.

© Thom Amundsen 3/2020

Always An Urgency

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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

Fearing The Worst

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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

A Terrible Week

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I found myself crying a lot this week. I don’t mind a good cry, it can be rather cleansing. However, this emotion I experienced had layers. It had begun early in the weekend, the truth of a sudden turn in my life had reckoned itself to such a degree I felt for the first time I was unable to turn back. I realized pain, and sought some way to reduce the impact of my fears. But I couldn’t, the foundation had been laid down, and I was now faced with never being given another chance to redeem myself. I think the most difficult aspect of that reality was that I was confused with what was real and what now is illusion in my life.

Never is illusion an easy outlet to define. The term suggest we are ill in our own state of mind, to such a degree, we are compelled to create something out of nothing. In doing so, I remained stuck in my own quandary over how I lost someone I really loved. Everything in my life became one-sided, and I had no recourse. I was no longer connected to the security of our passage of time, and I was forced to imagine life without her.

And then it happened. Something bigger than any of us could ever predict. I lost two people in my community that recognized a certain culture buried in backlash and discrimination. Two people died under unusual circumstances. I watched someone I was very close to unravel, and it was difficult to experience. At the same time, I kept wanting some explanation in another part of my life that leaves me today, extremely alone.

I didn’t find relief, and tonight as I write these passage, there is still no peace.

A Reaction of Feeling

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A young boy has been shot,

he’s dead,

a police force became another list,

not the boy,

no list attached,

a living human being,

now dead,

shot to death,

after wielding motive suggests

he was suicidal,

didn’t want a recital,

simply wanted to die,

or at least in the mind of a boy,

thought it might work,

wanted something,

wanted someone

to know,

his hurt,

and now …

nobody knows,

but we all realize

he’s dead.

watching sunrises

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I do wonder about time, as in the morning sun

while nearby the world did bathe in love as one

~

For in just that instant, no matter to any one agenda

we might all recognize residence in love’s hacienda.

~

Could you crucify a neighbor who’d lost all of their hope

if in the morning, suddenly they might suffer to cope.

~

We are all lives battered together in a mix of reality

contained by a social stratus suggests we know clarity.

~

Yet somewhere along the way, some storm cloud special

effect began to take precedent, and we lost a ritual.

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The key to every answer we might ever want pursue

seems just as nearby as a solution without having a clue.

~

I remember parades that lasted hours in the town square

nobody knew to suggest if anyone person might truly dare

~

disrupt the uniformity of the day’s event, says the town crier

we will live together to honor and celebrate our own each other.

~

While just around the corner there lies in a waiting vehicle

a new sort of legacy, a crowning much less stereotypical.

~

Our lives in the balance might beg for the reality of dreams

while then again as fortune calls, our lives will blossom it seems.

Losing Faith

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When unwrapping the sheer plastic skin

surface shield

a film we all seem to carry around

we only release it when the time is right,

we feel safe,

compelled to take the next step toward independence

from that which confines our resilient

human condition

~

How quickly can we rush to the water’s edge,

that place that lays before our security,

runs amok,

takes our heart away to be battered

upon the rocks, crags, undertow of an angry world.

How often do we allow a misstep

to further define the natural wall exists between

beauty and failure.

~

In the church I chose to attend this morning,

I looked at the men and women about me,

coiffed and preened in their ‘Sunday best’

and wondered about what their lives are like,

once the wardrobe is returned to the cleaners.

I thought perhaps the industry

survived upon hypocrisy alone, for without the defeat

of natural thinking, our lives might actually matter,

beyond the orthodoxy bent upon suggesting,

we feel this way

because society says so, not because we believe it to be true.

~

So, today, I’m not losing faith,

I still believe in genuine truth,

I won’t hide behind a facade of protective shield,

that though seemingly transparent will not allow our hands and fingers

to dirty themselves,

to touch the core of that which our humanity has designed itself

to recognize.

I cannot be ever recognized beyond the mask of deceit.

I choose to feel the direct energy of the sunlight.

~

I do truly cherish the radiant charisma of love.

While Morning Awakens

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When in the crisp of a fall morning,

the scent of burning leaves nearby

we might acknowledge own mourning

passage, our yearn of a seasonal sky

~

Our lives in a constant profiled balance

we cannot forget our own human being

exists in realistic terms, not just chance,

that our encounters have little meaning.

~

Much like the rotation of our morning sun

can we establish some new momentum

one that peace and love to speak upon

with little regard for hyppocratic ultimatum

~

Would we be the same today as yesterday

might now we choose to live another way.

Real People

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Those that speak, believe, feel

Those that cry, question, deal

Those that travel deep inside a fear

might discover there’s nothing there.

~

I once knew a friend,

a true compadre

she would tell me when

I was having an odd day.

~

Last year I became resolute

I learned how to play the flute

This seems simple and trivial

much less fake and convivial.

~

When I realized how far gone

my ability to trust anyone

had become in an October day,

I wondered why, I’d felt that way.

~

I came to know there was this

quiet reality we all seem to dismiss.

That is, when life delivers a blow,

we must quickly pack up and go.

~

Seldom will we find satisfaction

in our own mind’s application

of insecurity and hopes decidedly

drawn upon a candid variety

~

of leaps and bounds

fresh new sounds

the quiet moonlight’s mist,

now so easily dismissed.

~

In reality we are people who love

nothing else may be placed above.