Tag Archives: poet

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.

Sometimes I Stop

Posted by thom amundsen on

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.

Synaptic Delights

Posted by thom amundsen on

Vibrant

God's Clock

flash a mystery

we haven’t the ordeal

ahead of us, behind, around us

only memory

something spectacular occurred

from a distance we noticed

perhaps a falling star,

might be a meteor.

Walk inside my dream

see me come alive,

my brain a functioning factory

synapse heaven in every regard.

I will explode with a fever

its alright

we all have the possibility

of proving to the world around us,

we can lose it regularly,

like anyone else

sparkles, a mind’s challenge

Public Outburst

Posted by thom amundsen on

When once we try, we seem to always want to …

In the grip of our mentor’s eye we flail

veritable while the moment at hand,

suddenly turns reactive, perhaps passive.

~

I’m tired these days I would certain say why

if anyone were to ask, yet the shadows

remain rampant reeling ideals,

settled by a common thread of decency.

~

To cause the curtain to fall on a prophecy

one might suggest a travesty of the kind

whose scrutiny become the laughing tide

welcomes the opportunity to wonder aloud.

~

When faced by a fear to recognize truth

we would certain fall upon ground scathed.