When inside a cavern of loneliness
the sense of light
that beacon of direction
seems rather amiss.
The discovery of finding self
always out of reach
lost bathing near a sunrise
yet still tied in
feeling the rocks and dripping stone
maintain a hold
letting only this internal air be a guide.
We can talk ourselves out of
sharp crags, edges, finding security
in good footing
yet words seem to
fall short tossing
an avalanche of self-confidence,
continue to wade in the mire,
we wait upon an out.
Seems we will draw words
with our imagination,
yet diving in is our only recourse.
We need to recognize the possibility,
to search inside of ourselves
find a target
set our course and commit.
Words will only alone
run astray of a seeming peace.
© Thom Amundsen
I remember a time
traveling the highway
short ride to my exit
just off the city ramp,
So many occasions I thought
only of you
soft chords of a melody
when I listen tonight still …
Maybe it is the Beatles,
back then the Fab Four –
‘Back in the USSR’ meant little
beyond a lovely rhyme scheme
Tonight it has its own silent mystique,
a memory like 8th street after sunset.
©️ Thom Amundsen 4/2021
– for Karla
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
I remember the dreams, the constant reminders
a continual tease, a surreal world of sidewinders
Each one with a story, a parallel universe
would try to shake me, send me in reverse.
I could never tell if a person real or imagined,
it was a nightmare the bottom was assigned.
Otherwise the lofty airs of fascination
always relied waking realization
Just a dream, perhaps a reminder
only the illusion of the constant sidewinder
drawing imagined color scheme on the surface,
so the internal player would always save face.
Walking slow inside a familiar nearby memory,
I might choose to leap, try to escape this quandary.
© Thom Amundsen 2019
The answers exist,
wait, not today,
perhaps later in the evening,
some cathartic moment,
praying for an epiphany.
The heart stops and the mind cannot compete
we are a solid lot of indifference
dependent upon the sunlight,
rainbows strike a nerve
coupled by nostalgia or endearment
to a moment,
when in that circle of compelling delight
we did experience,
would resolve the questions in our mind.
simple logic, sweet emotions,
beyond the scope of tearing down our own
I don’t know their names
only a familiar dance
tree limbs come alive
there a ritual serenade
She would give me words
to fill in the quiet pause
a song for every voice
the melody of summertime
Oh to know beauty and grace
serendipity in silence we face
Tonight, I had the opportunity to watch something rather wonderful. I wasn’t alone, we all viewed what represents the identity of who we are, how we represent, what is truly special about our school district.
Tonight, Shakopee High School, held a culture fest, one that celebrated a host of different ethnic groups that as a collective whole did speak to the beauty of our diversity. There were dances, puppetry, singers that modeled cultural mores produced by a student body that exists beyond the classroom. They smiled, they hugged one another, they reached out to a marvelous gathering of people from all walks of life.
Parents came to support their children. There were people that might not walk into a high school because there could be apprehension due to cultural differences that are sometime intimidating because of language barriers and matters of equity and diversity. There were visitors, faculty, administrators who attended and spoke to one another and celebrated students who came up to them and shook hands, gave high fives, smiled and laughed and beamed with pride and courage for what they were accomplishing together as a collective whole.
To be a teacher in this school district is a special blessing in the sense that we get the chance to interact with a student body that teaches us how to recognize and understand culture beyond what is sometime taken for granted. I am so proud of our students and the organizers of our Culture Fest.
A celebration of identity is truly important when realizing the beauty of how we can interact and engage together to showcase talent, passion, and a desire to be accepted in our constantly changing society. We can be extremely proud of our district and who we are and the golden opportunity we have to offer something special to a remarkable and invaluable student body.
This word popped into my lexicon
today, while basking
in the setting sun,
I wondered aloud about
what it is we seem to focus
upon while all around
our familiar ground,
the ignorance of life
seems drawn to
the bliss of our lives
suddenly has feet
begins its walk again,
when a man,
a seeming professional
screams a rant at his own fear
in order to make a point,
that was already denied
fifty years ago,
when the time for
rather than gaining.
We do sometimes choose to ignore
that purveyor of our deepest passion.
A few years ago,
while listening to something.
perhaps the spirited and melodic
voice of a Garfunkel phrase,
she told me about the word passion.
I was all of fourteen years old,
so the thought of a sexual connotation,
freaked me out,
sister speaks of a word,
two of us in tight corners,
Kharmann Ghia traveling down the road,
then she said,
’if you don’t have passion,
you haven’t anything to believe in.’
She followed by assuring me,
it meant more than what my body was telling me,
as we rounded the corner
looking over the city,
I suddenly felt comfort,
in knowing my sister,
could allow me to understand
there’s a world out there
forever holding keys
to my happiness.
On recognizing passion,
I will forever recall the words
my sister shared with me,
that frightening autumn morning,
I can be self-assured,
I’m still looking,
the human condition,
allows me to lead,
a good life,
one that satisfies a need
to show purpose,
to wander free,
to live and breathe,
If I might know passion,
it may forever give me
to breathe free.