Mother

A heartbeat.

A cradled affection,

a sense of worry is unconditional,

she will always remember that one time.

 

Oh while the years pass,

many judgments, a currency of opportunity,

an aesthetic realization that depends upon her eyes,

she will always remember that one time.

 

We willingly recall,

the time she managed our innocence

with a sweep of her hand, a tender kiss,

she will always remember that one time.

 

I’m on the bus,

her walking nearby she said later,

yours was  a rather contemplative sadness,

she will always remember that one time.

 

There live the fortunes of time,

when we can respond to favored memory,

while, growing we did become showered in smiles,

she will always remember that one time.

 

And I suppose we all will,

that one time,

when in the throes of our own lifetime,

we did look toward the skies and delight in …

 

mother.

Beyond Moments

If in breath, a gasp, an eye glance,
worlds interact with indifferent realities,
only to provide expression,
if only then might we understand.

While a horizon away,
a family struggles to recognize
the wealth of their local dream,
while on the other side, a smile.

If during some compelling summer
we all recognize theirs is an august,
might we in that brief moment,
give certainty to everyone’s value.

While walking toward the sun,
a fellow or perhaps her inclination
might be to know truth is love,
could all possibility turn virtuous.

We listen to the dreams of the others
oft beyond consideration of our own.

Sometimes I Stop

There is that occasion when the world evolves,

and I, for the sake of I, stay static,

I stop,

I don’t smell  the flowers, or even walk in the humidity,

instead,

I am frozen in time, wondering just how many hours

will drift past my eyes before I can

know,

before I might understand,

why the motion of my mind seems to be

in a perpetual state of idle.

 

When these episodic windfalls of clarity,

reach my sub-conscious,

I sometimes wonder about perception,

not about yours or theirs or anyone beyond my world,

but more about them,

those I love, the children, the voices, the people

that all know where I come from,

they all know the

affliction,

the seemingly easy out I have in my lexicon of words

to justify just why I want to cry.

 

It seems though,

in the silence of any room, any vacant space,

it is apparent, that I will stay here, forever.

I Traveled Back in Time

forest

It felt good to say hello to all of them,

The flowers were in crisp spring bloom,

The fields swayed with more romance than I recall,

I remember the gravel road,

The swing rope, and the river pool, just for you,

There was a single cow liked to moo.

 

Last night I visited my childhood,

Through John’s steady croons,

I was walking with him in the county library,

I remember I felt emotions, love,

There was a certain peace that went with friends.

It was the 60’s and we all listened,

 

To each other, much less than we did the Man,

That societal icon that disturbed our land.

Whenever I want to dream,

It is the gravel road, forest deep,

My walk is forever, yet it’s serene,

I know there is certain beauty, Grace in tree-lines.

 

When I was only a child, I grew up in sadness,

There were losses and turbulent times,

I really didn’t understand,

But the people around me did,

So I listened, I watched, I imagined,

And later in life I hoped I could remember when.

 

It felt good to say hello to all of them,

I traveled back in time, I remember when.

© Thom Amundsen 2017

“I Read The News Today, Oh Boy” – John Lennon

lennon

He always did have a reason to speak, when his lyrics would wind our mind,

“Watching the wheels turn,” he seemed clearly in command of his time,

While we the listeners would be in a constant trance, a mellow sweet remind

How easily his lyrical mastery could make a dull afternoon be sublime.

 

Often the names and faces of humanity lose their certain authenticity

When this our society continues along a road so designed to fail.

We gather steam to criticize the Man, the friend, the neighbor; duplicity

Becomes an only nostalgic desire, when spinning  our arms flail.

 

Oh to hear it said by a pundit’s Machiavellian tongue, meant to misconstrue

We rest our mind to know we haven’t a need to hear it all, day, long.

Rather everyday a glance in the sky to recognize the world is only as true

As a remarkable miracle, allows our hypocritical lives to finally belong.

 

Yes, “it was 20 years ago today, Sergeant Peppers taught the band to play”

We all took in the moment, singing “all you need is love”- live life this way.

 

Love, Time & Death

Central Park

It’s New York,

of course,

where lives do happen,

cross through Central Park,

onto 7th until we find ourselves,

sitting on a bench,

wondering where everyone is coming from,

hoping that we might find peace.

 

We keep looking in their eyes,

sometimes the notice is true,

others,

they walk by searching themselves

for some resting point,

a place they can call home.

 

He is that man alone in a world,

where everything exists,

and he’ll ride his bicycle all hours of the night,

because he can,

he can maneuver through the masses,

and always,

he can still eat his dinner alone.

 

She might be that woman living different roles,

walking through the park,

with a certain flair,

an attraction to the masses,

yet, in her mind,

no one really notices,

because she has felt alone.

 

I took the day off today

because I needed rest,

seems that has been a necessary event,

while the world continues to glow around me,

I center my eyes upon tears,

for it seems they are always near,

waiting for some answer,

a reason to suggest there is purpose,

even when nothing seems to matter,

only time continues to measure.

 

When that moment called me,

I stood before an audience,

Strangers all of them so cold,

the bitter icy winds of discontentment,

without notice walked away,

while my body wondered about time,

the descent, how far, how chilled, how quickly.

Then she became the moment,

amongst many beyond that walkway …

 

she is love.

Empty Spaces – The Road Taken – Photo Challenge

The Road Taken

img_6289

And yet there were travelers, all of the eyes,

the minds, the plays, the laughter that contained

an avenue of freedom inside quiet minds, sighs,

while everywhere around a humanity maintained.

 

Where have they all gone, the inspiration, surreal

is the occasional dreamer who steps inside wonder

only toward the stranger that perhaps might feel

questioned, in an accentuated fog of a hereafter.

 

Perhaps if we might contain each story’s beginning

to reach the end, all of the internal warfare being

forgotten while nostalgic, the dreamer again did sing

a sorrowful melody of some melancholy meandering.

 

Oh, now there is a silent road ahead where people muse

we imagine an emptiness filled by travelers we amuse.