Tag Archives: poet

A Giving Value

Posted by thom amundsen on

Its been awhile

since a recommended analysis

would take me,

move me,

ask me to respond to life

and resonate.

 

While the world

continues to cycle

a round

a mechanical need

to survive

the crossing winds,

seems logical

we might all

seek the same

peace and solace.

 

Yet, it’s been awhile

since peace of mind

seemed relevant

to my own thoughts …

rewind,

the constant

pouring truth

having to comprehend,

what it might be

our own personality

subjects actions,

always a challenge.

 

Stand on the precipice

see the miles of opportuinity

if in flight

we fall rapidly,

but the observation,

distant eternity.

 

Step away and enjoy the view

that part of you, gives value too.

© Scott F Savage 3/2020

Twilight Conscience

Posted by thom amundsen on

Swift breeze is nonchalant to a unique settings.

Silent hour forever in the mind of an observer,

a starry horizon will stretch a furthest minute

to give benefit to psychic appraisal of reason.

 

Stand awake in time a twilight enhanced howl

whereby our lives will in natural light return.

For the moment we might meditate the night

with sudden revelation – planetary alignment.

 

I would if may suggest my life in the balance

would hold truth grateful such wires insomnia

extends my intellectual prowess that imagines

in a delusion. A realist, perhaps only questions.

 

In the quiet of my home, would change a season

As the wind screams my name in idyllic reason

© Thom Amundsen 2019

Are We All The Same

Posted by thom amundsen on

Do we feel pain

rather simple agony

stepping upon cracks

forgetting  what is civility.

 

Sitting in another quiet

century

last one

got away from me.

 

Wandering in my mind

his heart became

a wonder

just how far our lives –

 

Could we see

the light of day

when the birds own

the world with melody.

 

Might we all see the truth

in love

rather than the pain

in inherent  with difference?

 

Walk away from deceit,

rather knowing life is a feat.

 

The Skeptical Administrator

Posted by thom amundsen on

Ever do we wonder,

if the joy really is about,

playing the game,

getting the right answers,

or at least providing a speculative

reason.

 

I rode a bicycle home the other day,

and each thread of pavement,

let me realize

exactly how far I needed to travel,

just by the sound it made,

in that region of my neighborhood.

 

They all look the same,

when we travel at high speed,

but it is when we slow down,

ease into things,

we begin to see the real nature

of every human being

standing nearby,

wondering why.

 

So what is it about taking the lead,

makes us all want to be

powerful

unrelenting and undermining

even at our own expense

because it feels good

feels good,

feels so very likely we are

on top of the world,

while everyone else

seems to listen

less and less,

they are cringing at the notion of making any decision on their own,

haven’t gotten very used to,

listening,

over and over and beyond the realm,

the fall guy,

the one who always answered,

whether we wish them to or not,

seems a rather skeptical outcome,

don’t you think,

or do you rather choose

a different response.

 

 

Fallen Shadows Still Rise

Posted by thom amundsen on

We might think of them as a memory,

the pain of losing them,

the loss of heartfelt passions and laughs,

we might imagine them a memory.

 

Yet, their shadows can still rise,

it is where we left them,

forced to say good-bye,

we remembered how they stood against the wall.

 

Oh to have the fortitude,

of those quiet souls,

the bodies left behind,

and yet still, the strength they show beyond.

 

We wondered out loud,

why should I be left alive,

who’s the lucky one,

who’s the recorder of their sweet mystique.

 

I wander sometimes quite a distance,

before I land,

I recognize my shadow always remains,

it is a spectacular sunlight.

 

Oh, to hold the sweet caress of yesterday,

to know the beauty we have all a reveal,

to touch the universe in one short life,

is to know the serenity of time …

 

It is inside the mystery of time,

when our shadows rise again.

Breathing Slow Dreams

Posted by thom amundsen on

It is when we want to cry,

the sound will not come,

its expanse,

fills our lungs to capacity,

short breaths,

quiet realities,

keeps us moving through a storm,

taking a moment,

a gasp,

yet still there is a desire to find more,

know a place we might settle in,

get perspective,

develop a plan,

learn to let go,

let go, let go, let go

of my infernal panic drawn by circumstance,

mixed with pride,

lost in ego,

until someone decides they might listen.

Only, we can never know,

when the right time is,

when the chance to breathe,

becomes the right idea of purpose,

compassion,

righteous knowledge,

entitlement.

Then again,

and again and again and again,

breathe deep the …

another lyric away from

recognizing the purity of our own sweet

sanity.