In the quiet of morning
a glance
perchance
some catharsis looming.
We know the quiet
in silence
in chance
something in a silent
reckoning
happening
to each of us alone
though there would be
chance is only tone
the manner
a solitude
beyond an awkward
resonance with time
and shadows forward
acting upon this rhyme
in our lives
we feel the alives
of heart and soul
though we wish a fool
be our last venture
in fact, step in
the misty adventure.
© Thom Amundsen 10/2021
Sitting by the shoreline,
the water fairly calm,
a sharp breeze enough to
suggest only the time of year.
watching seagulls swift past
the eery history of the mast
wondering just when waters
would ever tell me a secret.
I could listen for hours
while the sun began to dance
along soft waves of yesterday
sounds around me airily fast.
the birds, their legacy staid
by waning summer’s crying lead
in the autumn of these days,
the ones reminding time away.
I listen to Bob Dylan, a surreal croon
speaking of wanting ways
wishing time would forever sway,
‘Blood on the Tracks’ seems to say …
Inside this visual macabre
Our surreal horizon rob.
life breathe free
I stand inside a melody
sweet steamy me
~
where is energy
from the ground in symphony
water bathes harmony
~
she said hold rocks
feel nature is an energy
will hold peace
~
inside our Earth
we recognize a new delight
bathe alone in fog
~
a human being
a gift of the land I may feel
delight in hot waters
~
A certain peace
a shallow view
misty rain waits
under a cloud of misconception
Unless of course we walk right through.
The bold imagination
a stark contrast to indecision
truly a wonder it might be
to wallow in the atmospheric velvet
of a morning sunlight
just beyond our reach.
~
Play in the mud,
feel the earth seeping,
wet, grainy, aftermath
that cling,
soft mettled reaction
to what just occurred,
what reminders we might have,
to walk away with soiled
naked toes.
~
On a clear day,
an energy pulls upon
our inner soul,
asking us, begging to be free
inside the sunlight’s wondrous
brilliance,
the heat that eats away any
foreboden aftermath
of conscious gravy.
The light only shines
enough to offer a solace.
~
On a journey in the morning,
wetlands teeming with nature’s truth
a slow cloudy mist,
a photographer’s dream
like a droplet of poured paint
on virtual canvas.
~
I did wonder of the isolation,
and hoped the truth might lie
in only the recognition
rather than my disappearing dreams
Shrouds veil our rise within the morning’s mist,
like pure raindrops suspended in cool air
we are reminded certain moments missed
will walk our day, must we believe it fair?
The mind, a wandering vessel of hope
battles sea worthy giants of despair
with each walk, we tangle a fierce strung rope
that clings to every fiber; hanging there.
We want to believe our hearts are so true
to love, to have compassion, a spirit
in happiness can achieve such sky blue
authority upon our angst’s regret.
With human dignity we walk in shrouds
of mediocrity whilst He sweeps clouds
~~~
These places exist if we open their doors,
too busy, so afraid, of letting go.
‘My anxiety is nothing like yours;’
sweeping strands become my complacent throes
like winds scream, thunders a prejudice grasp –
Our minds are often sinewy chasms.
When eyes behold our sweet real lives a hasp,
held out hands, breezy thrills, soft orgasms
of heart felt love in the kindness of dreams.
Crawl, explore … a constant lonely surface
of fear persists, always alive it seems.
Shine in torrential rains, alive we face
soft music sharp awaits with beckoned cry:
sooth, glide, strive for love, forget about why.
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