Waiting Now

If only a lifetime lasted forever

then now could become a yesterday,

a lost moment brings everyone together.

Yet why then must we all act this way.

~

It would seem lives are meant forgotten

rather than holding beauty inside moments,

so quick we are to run away, call it rotten.

We somehow imagine now this our lament

~

Our lives holding only so many truths we hear,

yet time and again we might feel too near.

Our lives holding only so many truths we hear,

yet time and again we will feel that fear.

~

Yet time and again we would feel too near.

 


© Thom Amundsen 10/1

All These Voices

Thoughtful serenades fill an empty room

no one looking just the me and mine.

He wonders if it is always such gloom

or are we left without our favorite wine.

~

Seems the cadence of our party restrained

by motive, by aspiration, by silent neglect.

When race horses begin, know what is gained

yet miss a step and it is a horror so perfect.

~

Want to tell all the voices to leave my head alone

I can’t stand to hear the constant berated tone

I can’t stand to hear the constant berated tone

can’t stand the berated tone.

~

The next time he stood alone at the precipice

He wished some sort of respite from his world.

Everything he had seemed suddenly at risk

He thought again and then his mind he twirled.

~

can’t stand the berated tone

out of my head haunting clone

out of my head haunting clone


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

Wander Away At 60

I wonder sometimes,

the rains outside no different than they ever can be,

paint the ground with symbolic elements

of nature,

if we could all just walk away

hang out in the woods,

stay alone away from carrying on

misinterpretations of what it is we might

have once realized and then,

well the time,

watch on a wrist

following every second,

the minutes go by until the hours

days and weeks, the months,

now years,

still standing here, frozen in the moment,

decades of speculation

without ever really understanding why,

just why, why, what is the why

that keeps me wandering always wishing,

only realizing after the rains have gone away,

the ground is dry without that fresh cleansing air,

the sort you might feel when letting the floodgates

step outside of our own control,

wander away now,

keep going for there isn’t a lot of recall,

once the bricks have been laid,

their heavy landscape a constant reminder,

something the water cannot truly

wash away.


© Thom Amundsen 4/2021

Foliage Hidden

For they do sing in suggestive breeze,

still discreet in foliage

their lives depend on a travel,

readying swift reply to the wind.

 

Watch out your windows such

is preparation of a Creator,

grace upon our planted wilderness.

An imagined love in autumn

 

Sweater in hand time for a walk

In the quiet air of an arid migration.



© Thom Amundsen 2019

Finding Words

They land in different places now, the words

those stories, passages, telling souls

to reinvent our lives

create some simple serenade

lets our heart breathe less of a sign,

certainly not gasping for air,

just a steady rhythm because we come to know

life is far too short

to allow ourselves to slow the direction

of our dreams.

 

I walked outside this afternoon

breathing in the fragrance of a coming rain,

they always do remind us of a soft gentle horizon

when love might be our simplest guide

rather than the fight,

we choose the current

to travel together

in separate worlds

yet still

together

there will be song.

 

Filling the bird feeder

I knew if quiet

the visit would occur

and in the morning

the melody would play, always,

an endless serenade …


Inspired by ‘Burn’ – Hamilton Soundtrack

A Song Begins

I might be in a different place

yet that certain melody

no matter the pace

of my day, where I have landed,

when the notes cross my mind,

I can suddenly be there,

wondering still

while again the world around me,

continues to shift, to sway,

to say,

it is enough to know how our spirit lives,

yet to recall that special day,

is a completely different way

to suggest,

to want to become a mercilous soul

inside a dream.

Crowd Noise

painting by Debra Hurd

painting by Debra Hurd

While saxophone serenade melody,

glance across the room, and the world is alive,

with activity, purpose, longevity,

we all seem to want a similar drive,

waiting for the sunset,

while just realizing the crisp morning of a summer day,

we are living without any regret,

sharing our lives together with coffee and a gentle sway.

The rhapsody of that surreal breeze,

listen, can you hear the emotion of that chord,

the fingertips strum soft the lines,

that music, that interlude, such a marvelous journey.

While the noise of an active hustle creates

a steady rhythm of ‘hello who am I’

the eyes wander the room,

we all have our lives,

if only together, we might sing the words,

that suggest universally we can play the saxophone –

we might listen while the jazz plays our song.