A Theatre Website

  • Shadows And Dreams

    There are places we remember they hold promise to our dreams Faces we remember, constant in our dreams. If only all the shadows might speak might come alive when then when how could we forget the shadows and the faces. We might feel pain yet there is always the afterward when given pause when thoughts…

  • A Theatre Life

    Theatre is a life. We all reach different levels. Some would reference a stage and characters and roles. Then step away and find the same in our own quiet lives. We walk across a stage every day, in any action we choose. It only seems right then that we all want to play out our…

  • Mechanics and Being Human

  • deep seeded versions

    I want to know how you are, and not the gift wrapped version. I’d like the truth not the ‘suck it up buttercup’ trend. I wish one day you might listen to me rather than just what you want to hear. I hope I might see you again someday and not just simply who you…

  • Sweet Chaos

    When a tear lands Silence relieves Chaotic demands. Our head breathes ©️ Thom Amundsen 8/2021

  • How Do We Measure Love

    When so many songs on the airwaves speak of love lost found in the quietest regions of our mind, shared love remember love let only our silence remind us all what love might be. ~ Tonight I would think about her in the softest light to see the gleam in her eyes evening stars would…

  • Love is a Feeling

    Matching wits with the intellect Oh so shallow the exhilaration In all it’s wonder That might be a solution If all in our wander Meaningful in its explanation Sweet emotion Such would encompass time Let’s our intellect behind ©️ Thom Amundsen 5/2021

  • Taking Walks

    When once I chose to ruminate today I will stroll, a will to know to see to wonder. In winter and in summer we might spring forward with a passion rather than fall upon our sword. There is a certain beauty in that, to know suddenly the benefit of a spatial fascination. Might be the…

  • Last Night In Shadows

    I waited outside criss crossed windows anticipating her, our lives together like always, we were meant to be here. She rounded the banister, bedtime linens flowing in the darkness a light behind would shine her soul such is the beauty of a woman in love in a twilight. Her smile lit up the night, this…

  • This Thing We Call Love

    I remember a long time ago, I wrote a little piece about John Lennon, the day he was killed and the newspaper printed it. I was 20 at the time, and it was simple, ‘Guns don’t kill people, people do’ and I couldn’t really take credit for something the world was repeating to itself over…

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