Tag Archives: love

On The Occasion of Equality

Posted by thom amundsen on

What would happen,

to jealousy,

to envy,

to wanting more,

to wishing that one were less inclined,

understanding the difference

between yours and mine.

 

What would be said,

when questions arose,

about the ludicrous nature,

of those with a nose

for finding fault in their neighbor

rather than

atoning their own yard.

 

Where would we go,

if no one would regard,

we are the same …

oh wait –

that’s where we have been

for so many years,

so how is it we finally find

some avenue to recognize

respect is a word,

not simply a thought,

a word we can listen to,

practice, believe with a buy in,

that settles all trivialities

those incomprehensible

travesties

keep us yards apart

from unity.

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It Is A Beautiful Day

Posted by thom amundsen on
cometogether

Beatles

How so do the moods define our day,

we wake to a sunlit morning to defy the odds,

or perhaps we settle in selective pods

stepped away we did from society’s way.

 

A certain lovely attraction is contained in smile

circus acts and normalcy all find sweet balance,

life becomes less of form, tossed beyond chance

might we interact open heartedly in the while.

 

We speak of a world that exists based upon because

spirited within an altruistic desire toward freedom.

Yet somewhere along the way began a kingdom

begetting perhaps – there begs the question of laws.

 

Sans the trifle, sense the spirited nature of release

We shall find resolute Love internalized in peace.

MLK Jr. – 50 Years Ago His Words Began

Posted by thom amundsen on
MLK Jr.

photo courtesy Bustle

I knew this man,

well, my mother,

she taught me

to know this man.

 

i remember when he spoke,

his voice was beautiful,

a rhapsody of passionate

words to speak to everyone.

 

A scared nation,

completely aware

of what really is hell,

what was this man’s tell.

 

I remember my mother

saying to me one night,

Martin Luther King, Jr.

means love, he speaks love.

 

I remember being fascinated

by this preacher’s voice,

he kept returning,

he wouldn’t go away.

 

Despite bricks being thrown,

a society being scorned,

he basically smiled, stated,

‘I have a dream.’

 

I knew this man,

50 years ago tonight,

right around the evening

hour, we lost his voice.

 

Jesse Jackson, described it

like the clap of his hand,

the bullet was immediate,

and MLK Jr. was gone.

 

I love this beautiful man I never knew

but I believe I do, he did truly love you.

An Easter Sunday Prayer

Posted by thom amundsen on

I would wish we might all love,

if only for the hours of this day,

turn to one another,

the fear we even imagine in doing so,

be put aside,

for we are all wanting to show effort

toward recognizing our own

sense of balance

in knowing

there is a special bond,

a reality,

a certain wanton risk perhaps

answered when

in unison

together,

looking in each other’s eyes,

we might know love.

For I haven’t the foggiest notion

who wrote the book,

beyond the letters, the words,

the sayings, the famous and infamous remarks,

I haven’t any knowledge beyond

my own response,

my reaction,

my longing to understand

when humanity

might let themselves

touch

upon the beauty of each other

without the urgency of reward,

oh then,

there might be grace in the certainty

of celebration,

for we are

one love,

we are

one.

 

Happy Easter everyone! Please, peace!

If They Are Just Kids

Posted by thom amundsen on
emma

photo – Face The Nation

If everyone knew the correct answer,

then why would the children be so annoying.

If the adults might only listen for a reason,

then perhaps they might never again tease.

 

There seems to be a worthy cause on our horizon,

kids are speaking up, and there’s a faction of

human beings,

still want to only talk about guns.

 

They’re saying the kids don’t know enought

about weaponry,

the stuff that killed their best friend,

point blank in the head while studying pre-Calc.

 

Let’s teach them CPR states a diplomatic

asshole,

one that frankly might even know the color

of their own child’s eyes – ask the nany perhaps.

 

A great deal of anger seems to be the agenda

on both sides, tehre are issues and debates,

what’s different this time, says the speaker,

trying to find an inward path toward freedom.

 

Seems there might be a quiet revolution,

it involves the kids and their number are great,

if we decide they’re not worthwhile,

thank perhaps we must ask the question.

 

Why did we choose to raise children to be

the next generation of free thinkers in our society..

Lest We Forget, Again

Posted by thom amundsen on

cards_warisnothealthy_detail

For we do that,

oh so often, we do

decide upon a beautiful sunset,

perhaps the rising moon,

a sweet snowfall,

even the rain of a heated summer day,

lets our mind return to the numbing

nature of a human condition

built upon,

the product of denial.

 

But we cannot,

simply look alive people,

please don’t shut your eyes,

there’s a movement,

and this time,

it is your children,

let their voices be heard.

 

Imagine telling a child

you may not skip class to protest

the death of your peer

by senseless gunfire,

imagine telling your children,

I don’t love you enough

to give a crap

about your well being.

Imagine telling a child

when you leave

I’m not going to imagine

a terrible outcome.

 

If we demand our children

stick to the implementation

of a day of lessons

designed in minutia

and instead

forget the very reason,

we brought our child

into this world,

then we have suggested

the concept of love is a fallacy.

 

We are at war,

and the eyes of a child,

certainly contain the heroic passions

of our every tomorrow.

I Looked In Their Hearts Today

Posted by thom amundsen on

I didn’t tell them as much,

you never can,

well you might,

I might occasionally want to shout,

I want them to know

I love them,

we love them,

there’s a lot of love when each one of them

walks inside my classroom.

 

I wanted to reach them today,

they couldn’t really feel the fear,

their days spent removed, fortunate,

isolated from the fury

that suddenly deadened their peers,

people they’ll never meet

one day they could have

if life had allowed

worlds to continue

beyond a gunshot, a bullet, the pain.

 

I wonder what goes through the mind of a student,

when miles away, sometimes blocks,

when it occurs

again,

and again and again and again,

and then there’s no tomorrow,

I wander through the streets hoping to find

a reason to say

you are completely safe,

but I can’t always say that,

I couldn’t say it today,

and I wanted to

say it to each one of them,

each one walking through my

classroom door.

I want you to know you are safe.

 

I can’t always say it though,

at least not today,

they’d think I was lying,

they read the news,

they know they’re not completely

safe.

They know,

much more than I will ever know.