Losing My Heart

A free verse moment

~

When I think about where I’ve been,

the miles of deceit my mind has endured

to decide upon some sacrifice

get in line,

they all wait with baited breath

because it’s easy to decline

any idea of fortune

when feeling the pain of surviving

seems to be the only outlet.

~

The fabrication of all of our solution,

we listen, we speak to what we want to hear

especially when those close

are found nowhere near.

~

It’s easy to wrap ourselves in this despair

this convoluted mean-spirited affair,

the woe is me,

the I don’t care,

the sometimes people just really don’t any longer

have the time to wonder where

the years have gone,

the years have gone,

the years have gone and tomorrow seems awfully near,

so wherever we land

doesn’t really matter

anywhere.

~

I was walking down the street one afternoon,

saw some kids playing nearby,

thought of my children when so much younger,

their laughter was rampant without a care,

I shed a tear in memory,

because I can’t go back there,

wish I could

think I should

somehow there has to be an after.

~

I woke up this morning, went to pray for my soul,

I woke up this … my heart had unraveled whole.


© Thom Amundsen.  8/2021

A Week Doesn’t Matter

Tears remain the same,

the task ahead not as daunting as the moment,

yet we haven’t chosen to let go

of the moment.

Perhaps the force of human nature in all of its eventuality

will call our hand

where then we will be asked by being told,

it is time to move on, create another new world,

paint a new landscape, start another chapter.

Seek a new sunrise until our plans

burn to a crisp

and we are suggested to find another path,

step out of this rabbit hole

for today it is worn

and tomorrow there waits another

perhaps it will carry your outlook for years,

maybe weeks,

only hours.

Either way it will be different than today.

Oh, that is always what they say.

The Color Blue

Everyone has a favorite color

tonight I’ll pick blue

for any number of reasons

this seems to resonate

not just the hue,

state of mind or mood or choice

as someone said to me

tonight.

We make a decision within ourselves

to decide upon what it is

we want to focus upon,

sadness?

depression?

do we even know what that means anymore?

I spoke with a friend recently,

she was telling me about something personal,

and the subject of therapy came into

our conversation,

and I discovered after revealing all of my years

of therapy,

she hadn’t ever gone to see anyone.

Ever.

I thought about it myself

and know

times in my life would not allow me to be here

right now,

writing these words if I had not

myself

bought into my life the value

of letting someone hear my problems

and then try to give me

direction afterward.

We live in that world,

one that refuses to allow vulnerability

to encompass our heart and soul,

when truthfully if we don’t reach out,

we stay alone with our thoughts,

and how in the end

has that lent anything to do with the color of

blue.


© Thom Amundsen 12/2020

What Rally Cry

Standing alone,

choosing alone,

no dial tone,

seems the last moments

will bend forever

the opportunity

to glance ahead,

beyond the scrutiny

deeply laid inside the victim’s head.

 

and then …

 

There is the question of whose hurt

is more measurable,

the choice,

or the outcome,

the afterward,

or perhaps it is the originator,

who by virtue of the human condition,

isn’t given any allowance

to return the favor of knowledge.

 

We just know the outcome.

Be A Racist, It’s Ok, It’s 2017

I walked into a nightmare today,

names were dropped, words were tossed,

I couldn’t get past an,

an, an, an,

omission of a hopeful anomaly,

that turned awful, horrific, debatably

ludicrous,

seemed we were all so frivolous,

funny, fanatics.

Seemed we were all lost in the comfort of our

WHITE PRIVILEGE!

White privilege regarded itself,

and no one else really mattered.

All the doors were closed,

we all looked at each other,

nobody cared, nobody cared,

nobody,

anyone within a couple of feet with

the ability to see and hear might have thought,

wait a second,

I thought it was the 21st century,

the 21st century – 2017.

Years beyond the days when civil rights

meant understanding there was a need to change,

a need to understand,

a time to respond to the changing mind,

and realize, realize,

real eyes would be watching now,

more cognizant, more genuine …

Have you noticed all the bi-racial advertising,

I mean there’s nothing wrong with it,

just advertising meeting a market,

nothing wrong with it,

the windows are all closed.

Nobody knows,

‘the trouble I’ve seen’,

the long and winding road …

Old man river,

and its four decades later,

we’re still safe though,

nobody heard the word said out loud,

except,

oh wait,

except, except, except,

accept responsibility,

we all heard it and we need all to

open the doors and try to squeeze through,

because we have suddenly narrowed

nearly a half century of effort.

But its ok,

the doors all remain closed.

Simple, right?

 

Love

Its recognition is all we have,

when we cry, when we want to die, when we sigh,

there is a place that is waiting,

when the wrath is over, while in the midst we remain frantic,

we always question just why,

where is it we were told to ready ourselves to take out,

take out nicely, obliterate, accentuate carnage,

express rage toward the existence of humanity.

 

We are talking about numbers,

four different descriptions,

10, then 20, now 60, finally 59

fucking Tomahawk Missiles …

I’m so enraged I cannot even spell the words.

I know when I was a kid,

I just saw the news I didn’t understand.

Tonight, what they call ‘a slap on the wrist’

is spilling the blood of our humanity,

 

We all are part of this.

We still could, we might try,

hold your loves, we all can feel our hearts tonight.

Love exists.

Last Night’s Anxiety

Real.

Made up will not suffice.

Perfection is a model for memory

when lost in the shadow of fear.

Unstoppable.

Passive.

Remarkable in patterned stealth

tendrils suffocation drawn.

Observation.

Callous.

in every waking moment a trapping,

a formidable locksmith might overlook.

Posture.

Presence.

Quite assured no response to time

could offer solution, satisfaction.

Perhaps.

Solution.

In time a drowsy eye could tear

enough to drown self-pity.

Cope.

These Keys

wolves

In the woods, the wilderness evokes

a sound of rustling, twigs snapping, a breeze through leaves

that whisper a reality we cannot pretend away.

Instead we listen, we joy in the simple nature

of the forest in its pristine state,

always waiting, forever growing,

letting our lives appreciate its pure self.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

When we leave the wood,

we return to today’s world in automation,

in electricity that which turns us on,

turns off when we need to disappear,

the engines whir in the hands of our own guidance

our responsibility,

we live by the sound of our activity,

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

I’m sitting down

I’m near tears without any reason why,

perhaps the music I’ve chosen,

possibly the state of mind I am in.

Been here before, felt it many times,

and on occasion chose a difficult path,

one that would eventually hurt my mind.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

Why is it I can see through the forest,

I can understand how the world exists around me,

I know people adjust to one another,

while deep inside the wood, our nature is to imagine,

the wolves are waiting.

~

*picture found on tumblr

I Cry Sometimes

In the public eye what appears is shadows

Silent images along a wall

Faceless yet moving

The physicality is all that really tells

A story

A moment

A person looking directly cannot realize

The true extent of the shadow’s eyes

For their blank

Unseen crevices in a brick foundation

If for a glimpse

Inside the shadow’s soul

One might discover

A constant pain

A deep seeded memory

That twists around decades

Of child becoming man

That day when everyone laughed

With no one recognizing the truly hurt

Expressions

Reactions

The inner peace shattered

While along the wall the physical movements

Remain the same

Just simple gestures along a blank canvas