What would we be
if we stayed the same,
if our lives didn’t change,
we would certainly wonder
what might be different
what may lay ahead
that we would be
leaving to challenge.
Yet do you ever embrace
what could be a lovely outcome?
What is the looking glass
across the room seeing,
will you know the same
if you step outside,
crystals and glass
follow you.
Or are you creating
new imagery
with your shiny eyes
glancing along a path?
Perhaps we all need to
trust our Looking Glass.
She would look at him
see through him
see the blind before his eyes.
Summer day,
people’s way,
and here would arrive
the name of his common place.
He could watch a sunrise in your eyes.
I remember now,
always laughing, bumming,
tobacco in hand
a gesture in kind,
and yet
one afternoon I could not pin down
the look seemed
well like that crucifying moment of
understanding.
I watched this man, this him,
walk through society
with a grin,
and yet something deeper inside
was he watching me or
I, him.
© Thom Amundsen 10/2021
A fire in winter
catching ice in arms
snowbound landscapes
will tell a story.
Eyes
we might wish to search
further inside.
Simple stories.
We know them
no filter moments
side swept rains tease snow
feel moisture on naked socks
walking the dog
a midnight rendezvous
perhaps routine to some
yet
tonight, today, last year
that calendar date
might, may, will, has, did,
does always, wants forever a return.
Remember once quiet
impassioned plea.
I will always be here, nearby
holding your hand, crossing paths,
nostalgic eyes.
©️ Thom Amundsen 12/2020
By the way, look in her eyes,
you will see my own,
a distant wonder denies
the presence of passion sown.
We are all traveling alone,
despite seconds away
we would tell you what we have known,
if only allowed this one day.
The lives of her own discovery
seem rather telling, weeping
personality with little ceremony
yet sweet harmony still is telling.
For there is a silence in all of ur lives
accentuate beauty when love thrives
© Thom Amundsen 12/3/2020
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
Try to imagine
where it was,
the moment
inside a memory,
what did the breeze feel like,
certainly there was one,
the glen inside a cove
surrounded in maples and pine,
and short shrifts of sumac
pine needles all across the forest wood
where we as children climbed
only the same tree,
familiar branches,
I sat there last year
he said to her,
as she wondered if or when he might
try to
kiss her
under the oak,
the childhood symbol of growing up,
at least,
understanding that
decades later,
the memory of which
might be less profound
than the immediacy of a heart racing
illusion
of
love,
in the eyes of two thirteen year old children,
holding hands on a public street,
smiles and backpacks and
acne and eyes that searched only for
each other
because
that is what we had been told
that is what we had been told,
is the meaning of love,
in a quiet midwestern town,
where concrete
could easily confuse
the very natural ground
we laid upon years later
with a lover
and smitten eyes.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
We did
in quiet observation,
attend of course
the eyes
windows that speak
well beyond the notice
of a fashion,
of a trend,
of an expectation.
Instead, just a glance
where both pain and joy
can reside,
can wait for the next opportunity
to speak aloud
in the framework
of sweet silence.
We are that coincidence
when two people
encounter one another
on a summer’s day,
in the heat,
the passionate embrace
of a spectacular
sunrise.
We look for the eyes
accentuate the why
© Thom Amundsen 2019
An idea,
a visual reminder
to help find footing
rather than wallow
in what might feel lost,
our lives precious,
imagine only
nature is a cycle
eternal while forever.
Once while in wonder
reminded by favor
a slow descent in time
while all around
lives experience
a monotony of time
wishing purpose
witness a warming
allows our lives
to know change
always a measure
the melting horizon
might we seek
a cleansing challenge.
When the dial
shall evolve
daylight turns to
a mysterious shroud
where our eyes
opaque shadows
awaits our return
only to discover
with the rising sun
earth has begun
a new journey
again, spectacular
beyond occasion
this is our next day,
a blossoming spring.
Purposeful vistas
do slip away,
only to offer
sweet reminders
how along the way
our lives interact
in as magical way
might the landscape
of this mortality
give reason we
can know
the familiar
as well
as confusion
in a continuum
we have not
lost our way.
I was pissed today,
they didn’t get it,
instead, they threw it away,
opportunity,
look around the room,
everyone has a set of eyes,
focus on the corneas, nothing else,
notice the tear ducts,
they exist,
Everything else is added baggage,
meant to confuse and display,
every wonder why?
The eyes?
I stood outside in the rain,
a natural cleanse,
when I opened my windows later in the day,
I could see clearly again, another setting sun.
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