Tag: poet

Things We Bring Up

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It’s all a part of us,

how we navigate through our lives,

some would say,

too much information,

and yet it is how we breathe,

rest our shoulders,

pause our eyes.

The world we live in,

how we, ourselves

find room some path,

to identify our soul,

know our heart,

at least we wish we might,

by the things we bring up.

What is it in my mind,

causes me to reflect

upon something she let go of

years ago,

What has me now imagining

if life were different

my focus would be so changed.

It’s the things we bring up

guides our constant energy.

Christmas With My Coffee

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I have music playing,

the kind reminds me of my childhood,

sitting around the tree,

listening to my dad,

make Christmas morning bacon.

I’m holding my coffee in my hand

I have a smile on my face,

listening to the past,

feeling a bit of life’s Grace.

It’s Christmas morning,

I know I have my kids,

my life is pretty sweet,

there’s a good layer of snow outside,

I’ll shovel a little later on.

Tonight I’ll be with family,

my heart will certain be full.

I’m holding onto my coffee

this lovely Christmas morning.

I Cried

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Like a baby I did,

many nights alone,

I no longer knew

who I was anymore.

I would wake in the morning

and sob over my coffee,

my eyes swollen from

just the night before.

Before that

and every day in between.

I no longer knew

who I was anymore.

People I would ask

would suggest I quiet,

breathe,

think about anything else,

and yet to myself,

I no longer mattered.

I was afraid,

so the tears would give me peace,

a feeling so genuine,

I couldn’t deny it was real

in my fabricated world.

I stand more clear eyed today,

but the tears want to return,

I think when pain is real,

then to cry can be surreal.

Let it go,

the floods of a release

the human condition

as we are all familiar,

contains just so many layers.

This Silence

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Feel the wind against the pane

a song, a following

a giving greeting

in a storm.

Then gone, it disappears,

left in quiet

taking in a gray day outside.

A time to reflect

let memory share a moment

when all that matters

lay before me,

such is beauty when to breathe

is another utterance of fresh air

heard in the breeze,

silent in mind.

©️ Thom Amundsen 12/2021

On Being Scared

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Stepping within the shadows of our curiosity

one man might settle

world around him suggest a normalcy

only this man without conscious

effort

cannot really untangle from his mind,

caught up in the doings

of his rotational reality.

~

Like a circus we might imagine our world

in a constant thrust of

soft display,

the reality is elsewhere

for now live upon the fiction,

I applaud you,

and appreciate you,

I’m grateful to be caught up in

nothing,

nothing, at all

rather.

~

Isn’t that it then,

are we so secluded in our lives

we haven’t taken the time

to know

anyone,

any one at all,

outside our own circle of deceit,

that quiet melody of a mundane existence

allows us to never have to think about ..

never think about …

think

never think.

~

Oh for lack of ever being afraid

would we laugh, oh the fuss we made.

© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

Waterfall Wishes

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If finding a manageable route

standing nearby without doubt.

If might a speculate shower

whereby he inside might cower,

step into the stream

feel its powerful dream

the thought of all of our wishes

where nearby one man’s misses

for resolve

to solve

all of his climbing desire

rather than soak in the mire

of our spiritual reckoning

this is my solo beckoning.

I would wish to find some release

from a current, inside poised peace.

© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

Traveler Bags

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Is this sacred wisdom

we carry its mystery

a naked history

remains impossible along the road.

Step aside and watch time

steady wheels

weighed down in two ton

reminder.

The bags become a target

ready to be pummeled

first sighted

a driver today might aim

tomorrow disregard.

Hide in the fields of shame

distant traveler

no longer

Quiet Roads

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The crunch of gravel

kicking up dust

from a distance looks like

Urgency

some need to get away

keeps driving me further.

Wanting to know

yet feeling the distance,

her just out of reach

Philosophy.

Just one more chance

the embodiment

of truth

may lay only ahead

never to be realized

yet likely it is

already known.

©️ Thom Amundsen 1/2021

Hearing Voices

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They are not loud,

in fact,

whispers that catch me,

wondering where.

They are in my head,

reminders

of why it is that way I am

will be my forever.

I sometimes in the silence

can imagine window sills tremble,

the sky is falling

inside my mind.

I wonder if you might know,

this feeling

is more powerful than

anything I will ever know.

Know it is true,

Know it can never go away.

No, no, know.