Tag Archives: poet

Purpose With Addiction

Posted by thom amundsen on

Oh there are these walls,

you can’t see them.

frankly I can’t either,

we can always feel them,

walking through a crowded market,

and the eyes,

the many faces that seem to know you are there,

and we wonder,

are we as obviously noticing them as they are,

realizing our world isn’t alone,

but rather,

we are all together,

fighting this machine,

goes far beyond who we are in the moment,

that’s when it all began.

 

The moment,

that clarifying incident,

the time our hearts hurt,

and yet,

we hadn’t realized the pain was not ours alone,

the world,

that local planet shit,

that place where we suddenly come to know,

the love and reason for living is suddenly,

questioning,

why,

we don’t know really,

not even now,

only real piece to hang onto,

is goodness,

we come to realize it does exist,

our hearts are capable of love,

the real thing,

the imagination once tested with artificial

stimulants,

has suddenly been taught to feel,

we do visualize beauty again,

the sun rose this morning and remarkable as it seems,

I …

I noticed.

Dealing With Lovely Realities (A Thank You)

Posted by thom amundsen on

In recognizing attitude we might choose a Lovely expression,

the ability to manage the world in words.

We do interact,

settle disputes,

determine outcomes,

creating smiles to combat the disdain.

Oh to have Lovely words suggest positive outcome is always the goal.

In business,

in welfare,

in our present reality,

a certain energy exists bound by internal expression,

emanates an absolute in kindness and empathy,

called doing her job,

yes, we’d call her Lovely.

(this piece inspired by a customer service agent with the very namesake)

When Time Seems Immediate

Posted by thom amundsen on

It is those hours as a child,

as a young romantic,

in the throes of a miscreant’s goal,

when time seems forever, to be still, to not move,

to shadow the moments ahead,

it is in those quiet seconds of reality,

we seem to venture forth to discover our resilient nature.

Is this a valuable tool in defining our

human condition,

or are we simply running our lives by

the second hand of our existence.

For it is a question of time.

Conservative Happiness

Posted by thom amundsen on

I wonder sometimes if they all think,

process, imagine, find futile,

an effort to push a boulder aside.

I feel the clammy stone of a permanence,

both hands taking grip on a monstrous image,

finding the will,

and yet realizing it is not about strength

at all.

 

When forgiveness occurs, we do find a way,

to lean, to count upon, the girth

of our boulders will

hold us up, give us strength,

allow our hearts and mind to know

that though it will never go away,

sometimes the offer

is meant only to be stability.

 

I was walking along the beach the other day,

noticed,

the footprints in the sand,

I could tell by their depth and lift,

a certain happiness in the owner’s gait.

Perhaps a burden lifted

the illusion of the rock,

set aside for now to appreciate another day.

 

Rather than move or alter or deface,

I will continue to cleanse the porous response

the rock reminds us all,

there is a constant reminder,

in our eternity,

to live by a mistake,

is to recognize the beauty of our

humanity.

 

 

To Know The Right Way

Posted by thom amundsen on

Oh, to go beyond the grasp,

the tangles that keep reminders alive,

there is the mystery of the mind,

what to turn off, what to feed, what to settle in,

so that moving forward seems a reliable

resolve to the repudiating repulsion of time.

 

Yes, without speaking in tangible terms,

leave it to the eyes to interpret,

disclose, determine in words,

what shall be thought to reserve judgment.

 

When standing on the street,

look into a man’s eyes,

is he relaxed, skeptical, terrible

in this seeming expression on a hot summer day.

 

While sitting in a local cafe,

she buried her face in paperwork,

a bomb goes off nearby and she doesn’t twitch,

for in our world we don’t feel explosions,

we only create war inside our brain,

that is the place we store the fuse, the powder keg,

the nuclear option to saving grace.

 

Oh, the notions of moving forward,

to know the right words,

to recognize complete action,

beyond simple presumptuous fiction.

How can a world determine,

peace,

when locked into the tenets of this

seemingly societal scrutiny,

makes allowances,

to suggest the human condition,

is flawed.

When We Pause

Posted by thom amundsen on

Step off the line, for if only in a moment,

we can pause and watch time pass,

we might then know we are not ever alone,

for look in the eyes,

the people around us,

scrambling for a position,

sliding past the damp graffiti run concrete,

the long and winding passageways that teem

with life in only short intervals,

until finally,

one day,

we all stop and listen,

the jazz licks nearby,

the passion in his breathing,

the delight in her arms while she winds the band

upon her violin.

 

Stop and listen for a moment,

and realize we are all alone

only if we choose,

to pretend our eyes belong to ourselves.

Watching

Posted by thom amundsen on

Earth

moon

Have you ever wondered,

a crystal night, stars amaze our eyes,

we walk the pavement of our lives,

in contemplation, where next.

 

Oh there are places we might see,

the visionary sense of certainty.

 

She looks upon our world,

amass of humanity,

living on channeled ice,

melting in flooded waters.

 

While everywhere materials

bought and sold and destroyed,

lay the ground speaks humanity,

burning the flesh of our lives.

 

She will watch forever you know,

long beyond the cellophane blues,

before we ever might realize,

how critical is the ground we soil.

 

The simple notion of carbon gases,

evaporating the core, delightful

is the prize of immortality

if while we cry emissions will allow.

 

An emotional plea is Nature’s wrath,

the ice caps change in form by day,

at night while asleep we dream,

She remains aware forever aglow.

 

Oh there are places we might see,

the visionary sense of certainty.