The Fires We Burn

I remember when I was a kid in the city

thought I had somehow stemmed the fire

that sense of an evident outlier mentality

haunted my mind forever life on a wire.


I began to age with a sense of forgiveness

for all those around me I might have hurt.

The person I always managed a swift miss,

my personality, like an old stain on my shirt.


I wanted only to live a life of some perchance

sense of wander that held creative lines

the sort we plead may always carry reliance,

even when times are tough, quiet whines.


I was a walking testament of self-proclaimed grief

I held my own in any audience though always brief

I was a walking testament of self-proclaimed grief


So I took to new travels only never leaving my mind

I could always find a way to survive the night

leaving behind all of the baggage I’d lest remind

if wanting to go forward with a living life I might.


I was a walking testament of self-proclaimed grief

I held my own in any audience though always brief

I was a walking testament of self-proclaimed grief


I wanted to find some new sort of glass of water

the one that didn’t ever contain a needy filter


I held my own in any audience though always brief.

© Thom Amundsen 7/2021

200 Miles

Would we imagine seeing so far in our lives

we could predict or at least know

beauty we perceive eventually arrives

within the miles we might choose to go

to find her heart, hold his smile

we are consumed is a mystique on trial.


I once knew someone in a decade long ago,

where we were children by standard in age

and yet the romantic airs of a time shall go

as a summer breeze will define this adage

as memory in a nostalgic interlude swoon

for do we seek elegance inside our moon.


Could be there might a confusion over come

the wonder of how lives would today become

so lovely, so unimaginably important in eye

those places we go to search our silent sigh.

In his smile there is a rather pleasant curl

of lip that would define his own head a swirl.


Love might be a language we will all desire

if in favor known travels a passionate fire.

© Thom Amundsen 1/2021

When Living Hell Arose


I know you spoke to me the other day,

you felt like this was truly a living Hell,

to endure your pain in such a simple way

left alone without a sympathetic tell.

When everytime another matter claimed

your state of mind would wallow again

yet nowhere could you feel so maimed

as in Baltimore’s expressed raging disdain.


A conversation occurred the other day,

when people took the streets to battle

their wits run amok with mass decay

allows society’s increasing anger rattle

the cages of our living neighborhood,

storefronts with the steel reinforcement

still burn now, will burn, become unglued

our living hell is worse tonight than meant.


I’ll say a prayer to the non-praying soul

whose tears are golden in the fiery glow

I’ll see the fear in a child’s world less whole

when innocence already lost, its goal

slowly by the wayside, their life defines

a common thread, that hope in song

defends the pain exists in a line

of fire, far lethal today with this wrong.


In looting, fire, in bricks rash thrown

our peace of heaven forever unknown

Natural Wood Fire


Imagine only nature

trees, dense forest, crisp sunlight

sounds are melodic;

birds singing, animals stealth

beyond our eyes.

We hear a movement,

then its gone

we are left wondering

just what might visit,

so close to our own lives

yet safely tucked away,

in the dense brush, the ground cover

the natural wood.


We are animals

yet we thrive in concrete dungeons

words are ascerbic.

People yelling, taking leave

outside our comfort zone.

An interaction today,

with little after play,

curious what just happened.

How might their return

impact our bubble,

that space we call our own,

amidst the paperwork that drive our soul;

the workplace.


Often our hearts

are drawn to the beauty of nature

time seems endless.

A brilliant fire licks the night

in a space we call love.

We hike the trails

with great appeal

in wonderment of natural lands.

Later when the relaxing

continues in twilight

we are grateful of all around,

such serenity amidst us helps forget;

the human condition.


The other day

he mentioned a moment

the fires were lit

a smoldering ember

always begins

with oxygen

feeding, breathing, sucking

out the air around to fuel

the next lick of flame

when the smoke suddenly emits

a flash, pretty, magical, light

that reflects our soul

while eyes breathe its glow,

we resonate in what we have created.

The other day

man became the impetus

for a dialogue

that creates a strain

on the fabric that surrounds him.

If fed with controversy

the fabric becomes heated, tense,

nervous at the reckoning

that may very well encompass

everyone around him.

Where do our fires begin

that emit only an energy of warmth

and shelter

rather than destroying what is good

for the sake of self-preservation.