Tag: fields


Sky fleeting

opens eyes to sweep

tilling fields of the planting season.

The spring might tease the mind.


watching the snows unwind.

Bicycles wish melt rubber on the asphalt,

smells of pollen, fresh release

puddles and rain tapped sills

the songs return,

we advocate

a challenging season.


watching tree limbs come to life again

buds waiting for a mist, a shower,

the nitrogen of a lightning storm,

long hard winter behind.

Imagine a hot horizon ahead

where skin will choose a bronze

beyond the pale shadows of a chilly memory.


while we wander in grand scheme our mind.

© Thom Amundsen 3/2022

People Plowing Fields


There were these conversations

I tried to be a part of

One might think of them as argument

When you listened closely

I would often wonder about outcomes

How the voices might corroborate

Given the angst shared in dialogue

Certainly lacks some collaboration

One afternoon later in the summer

I saw two or three participants

Laugh together in unison

React to witty banter, sardonic notions

I wondered about their interaction

Given previous streams of conversation


There were these situations

I could recall in my life

One might think of them as absurd

If you watched closely

Grown men argue aloud an ‘expert’ theory

Each one eliminates the other

Their point of view would create a stir

Society would ready arms of rule

Suggest one side cancel the fool’s

Insight that seemed to weigh out well

When all was settled into tyranny

The two might sit for hours in theory

Yet one could offer praise to the other

Given previous a perilous situation


There were these interactions

I have heard of in distant paths

One might imagine their painful truths

If anyone pays attention

A little boy was taunted at school

Children joined, aggravated words

He cried alone to avoid any judgment

Knew the elders were simply nearsighted

The reality became evidence of abuse

Now a grown man became another

Victim of theories that asked for nothing

Beyond a cry to ignore the world around

-Go with the flow and call it status quo-

Their single solitary lacking interaction


We seem to relish our own personal validation

While we willing ignore the changing seasons