Finding A Ledge

Oh, I remember

standing in a safe distance

watching them play the risk to the edge,

wondering of the five there,

two over near,

a dozen way beyond the fence,

were any one

vulnerable,

wondering just really curious about the edge,

the immediacy of leaving behind

memory and travels.

~

I’ve stood on many a ledge

decades of indecision,

yet somehow the gravel maintained

my grip,

or I got a call for a dinner reservation,

turned around, walked away,

and the thought drifted off the edge.

~

Have you ever had a sort of quiet peace,

knowing there are those ledges

each of us

can share together,

rather than having to imagine

too much fear,

far too much confusion,

might bring us back upon

some lonely ledge.

~

The truth is,

not every ledge has room for

alone.


© Thom Amundsen 12/2020

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 and over in the mass confusion of such a loss. I remember his second album was coming out – he was talking about 40 being his next life, just published ‘Double Fantasy’ and it spoke of saving relationships with one common denominator – that was love.

My mother saw my letter to the editor and cut it out and put it on the refrigerator. To me that was an honor and I felt loved by her actions. To me that has always been what love is, not something expected but just what happens in our lives. I think in my family my children and I would say to each other and their mother, ‘I love you’ to finish conversations on the telephone. I remember one time recalling we did it so often it would glaring if one day we did not, and so I maintained the tradition, we all did, until later on in life it became a question in our minds. Suddenly name value didn’t have as much impact.

One day when I was 20 years old, I worked in an intake office and took phone calls and directed them to the psych units I worked with, and the phone rang, I answered and the voice on the other end said ‘I love you’ and hung up. I remember being so touched it gave me a tear. I had really never felt that kind of love before and here was a young woman whom I was falling in love with just chose the moment, hung up and probably smiled as much as I did the rest of that day.

So how do we define love today? I suppose it doesn’t have to be ritual as much as it needs a genuine appeal. I recently came across something about a friend that caused me some judgment, a place I don’t often like to go because it makes me feel shallow. The truth is though, I wanted to know and the only way I could is if I asked her directly, and then my greatest fear would be her rejection. So how do we define love? We don’t.

We simply allow love to happen in our lives, and then smiles and light in our eyes become real.


© Thom Amundsen 12/5/2020

A Quiet Reality

By the way, look in her eyes,

you will see my own,

a distant wonder denies

the presence of passion sown.

We are all traveling alone,

despite seconds away

we would tell you what we have known,

if only allowed this one day.

The lives of her own discovery

seem rather telling, weeping

personality with little ceremony

yet sweet harmony still is telling.

For there is a silence in all of ur lives

accentuate beauty when love thrives


© Thom Amundsen 12/3/2020

Sunshine and Coffee

I have these moments

this is a paradigm

a realization of some sort to

hang onto with every fiber

of my state of mind.

Life changes and we hitch on

to find wherever

a landing pad

might let us fall back on our feet

again.

We could fall off the ledge

and yet

always there is a rolling hill

to slow us eventually

in soft memory

of fields of play in our childhood.

Maybe nostalgic,

perhaps hopeful

yet everyday there is a chance for sunlight,

and when that occurs,

a smile may emanate,

a radiance …

we all have dreams.


© Thom Amundsen 11/2020

A Reactive Moment

Ever might be the promise of a dream

when in the eyes of a child,

shows prowess is in an archival presence

the nature of what was once, is now

in a jester an unstable posture.

~

Speak with such is our utmost

need to qualify to have a creative

desire to answer an immediate query

pander a certain backlash

we might never defend, yet feel.

~

Would that he might scream until

chords of chaotic frenzy do

truly unravel, split apart,

a bleeding waterfall

asphyxiate dying creativity.

~

There is a solemn melody always plays

when caught in the trappings, our ways.


© Thom Amundsen   11/2020

A Positive Trust

We walked alone inside a dream

there was always the moon in the sky

kept an eye on every internal scream

forever we were we might not deny.

 

I walked outside alone tonight,

looked up and there it was looming

awaiting someone romantic might

wish the beauty of life becoming.

 

The nature of the moon in a cool breeze

just lets us stand in silent appreciation,

she would know the same is in her ease

would she might remember such passion.

 

The human condition, walks a lone evening

always breathe could thrive our beginning.


© Thom Amundsen 10/2020

Stepping Inside

I found this enormous chasm,

walls beyond my reach,

a dank stream of sarcasm

flowing in between broken lives.

I have had a fear of this place,

a very long time,

ever since once in a moment,

I felt a silence in my mind.

Sorting through shuttered windows,

imagining teeming lives outside

while perception stand alone

enabling now the shrinking walls.

A certain tightness in this acrid air

give a visionary a repulsive response

to wondering just why, tell me how

we lost contact our wandering sky.

Discovering there really are limits,

vaporous form sans freedom emits.


© Thom Amundsen 10/2020

Something About A Speaker

Remember standing in the rain

feeling the water dampen your cheeks

nose tickling from soft droplets

then your hand wet wiping it all away.

Suddenly then some literary mirage

asks you might reconsider that moment

was the asphalt wet

did your socks get soaked.

Perhaps instead in your picture window

you watched all the kids rain-soaked

dry inside while they stood at the stop

just watching an afternoon slip by

Puddles were left for later on

damp riders caught the bus home.


©️Thom Amundsen 10/2020

A Fallen Storm

The winds outside

speak with a low tone.

Might circle my mind

bring me inside their own

gale force.

This act of nature

seems necessary to help

all of us to understand

life, lives, our own …

As fragile as the leaves

dead in the fall

tossed randomly through the air

still holding – hoping – to a gentle end.


©️ Thom Amundsen 10/2020

In Autumn

Recent winds begin a turn

symbolic is sudden change

we can feel in our bones

sweet remedy in tones

of rapidly drawing a map,

surely memory we grasp.

~

Would that our lives have

remind of winter’s rasp

so near, the air is a whisper

of another in sudden nature

willingly drawn upon skin

that readies itself a scant

wardrobe would we wonder.

~

So now tonight joints ache

sometimes all we can take

while the world around

seems certain to have found

a new lease on life

that we forgot such advice

might we venture forward

resilient in our own toward.

A strength is what we speak

and yet today winds do peak

upon the settling sun

follow ominous moon.

~

Moving away from a charm

that youthful spirit never harm.


©Thom Amundsen 10/2020