Wanting the fog to lift

His body had grown tired, waking to a daily chore

wanting only to be admired, not this brooding bore.


He would bed himself at night soak the linens in tear

wondering if ever she might understand his only fear.


Upon waking in the morning, the sunlight at his gaze

wouldn’t be long a yearning, scrambling in a maze


For it is when the fog will hold our deepest analogies

only to fashion a reaction bold, our proven fallacies.


The deeper he would dive to find the light of day

less again he’d feel alive, wishing only for yesterday.


There was a time I could love a foggy morning, the scenery

could create a magical fantasy, settling winds for you and me.

© Thom Amundsen 6/2021

I Have These Dreams


That I am suddenly in a different place,

this world of ours so fluid with change

I find I am constantly losing my own face

when everywhere motives we rearrange.


I’m sitting in my own privacy tonight

suddenly I have some flash of memory

I’ve been there before, I remember I might

have known better a circumstance, a story.


I wonder if everyone has that flash of significance

where they feel like if just for that single moment

I could walk back through space and take a chance

would I then feel better about the ills I lament.


When on occasion I do allow my mind to rest

the feeling is remarkable that life is not a test.


Cry Only For Me


‘enter the void’ © jessica larue mccann









Cool morning frost play upon car windows

knowing what lies ahead, wanting something

else that might suit her mood. Always a glance

yet sometimes only the damp wind that blows

across naked skin; trudges unwilling

toward another circumstance. When chance

sweet spiritual grace in peace drawn love

embrace the pained heart quiet, walking soft

only will stir the common soul whose Eyes

keep watch. We may all listen, mourning dove

elegant and resonant we will oft,

skip her coo, delightful tones, eery wise.

When while a world remains our earthly draw

In silent respect may we then know Awe.



Streams In the Cities

We walk

talk a lot

one time our world’s collided

like a fork in the river

suddenly our mood changed

the current came to life

playing the rocks like a treacherous


we were falling too

trying to grasp the moment

catch an inlet and pool up our thoughts.

Silent interactions

the day became sad

clouded by murky, kicked up sand

sidewalk misery seemed

we had no where to go

I remember feeling like our world was reaching the crest, the dam

the locks were tight

without any open water holding our bodies

in limbo

just those rough currents

afraid to look each other in the eye.

We were in our natural gait

self-driven pity

creating streams in the cities.