Autumn Sunrise

Picture silent beauty of the fallen

cascades over night in morning’s fresh dew

Would we lives would suspend among such few

swept in a seasonal breeze unspoken

 

While lives do merit certain ambience

having understood time in element

sweet farewell of arid temperament

with knowledge shelter a vortex of chance

 

In morning humanity know each day

means a spiritual guide wills a solace

swift is the timing of fortunate Grace

will soon a blossoming might lead our way

 

Demands seek urgency’s mortality

Cycle of life bestow such is beauty

Once, In Sunlight

We did

in quiet observation,

attend of course

the eyes

windows that speak

well beyond the notice

of a fashion,

of a trend,

of an expectation.

 

Instead, just a glance

where both pain and joy

can reside,

can wait for the next opportunity

to speak aloud

in the framework

of sweet silence.

 

We are that coincidence

when two people

encounter one another

on a summer’s day,

in the heat,

the passionate embrace

of a spectacular

sunrise.

 

We look for the eyes

accentuate the why


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Summer Dreams

Wish for a chance to capture such beauty

As lights our horizon, an accentuate calm.

Satisfy urgency, sweet like the palm

Solace upon heart sought serenity.

 

Silent eyes seeking accessible paths

A walk is meditation in such air

Having found freedom, surreal is where

Let go of resentments, wild wanton wrath.

 

A forest, instill beauty, while fountains pour

Sky streak across a somber universe

Might love break out spectacular verse

While slow is familiar seasonal lore.

 

Yonder the people in casual stroll

Swoon a spiritual familiar knoll

Quiet Resolve on a City Bus

I watched him

passing by,

a figure in the street,

a personality,

silence is resolute,

his posture apparent,

resolve clearly unknown

though imagined,

a stillness

suggestive of peace,

or perhaps concern

from a distance

it is always difficult to know

what passes in the mind

of a person,

an individual

a figure to be recognized

in the middle of the afternoon,

a pause in their day,

a city bus,

enough to reflect

quiet observation,

the beauty of

our own imagination

makes allowance

a tidy history

gives credence

to a wonderful

persona, a personality

we can appreciate

city bus.

youR, a teaCher fer cryin’ outLOUD!

Wait, what, yeah,

you are right,

so correct, me,

cannot argue that.

Its, Its, Its,

stranglehold on my life

is like,

I cannot breathe today

because I woke and realized,

it’s, it’s, it’s,

July.

 

Wait, what?

I mean

the end of July

for crying out loud.

 

Man,

get it together,

you are sitting on a couch

watching birds,

and have not a desire

to do anything else.

Thank God your pup

just appreciates

.laying upon your toes.

 

You’re a teacher, for crying out loud,

and its, it’s, its reflection

of time,

is

well, it’s,

well

it is ok,

(because I saw)

a cardinal perched nearby.

 

What a beautiful day

it is to be alive!


© 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

Feeling The Rains

He didn’t have to look outside today

to feel the sunshine quickly step away.

We sense the energy, a rainy day

would bring our sorrows into light of day.

Soft in a cleansing wash would now the fray

of a conscience in pain, solemn display.

Oh to know the special nature such lay

ahead in sensual burdens love weigh.

Walk with me again, feel water release

sweet remedy will provide treatise.

Might we then our hope to abate increase

while certain inhibition will decrease.

Oh to know the sweet scent of summer day

when rains offer the silence a quiet peace.

when the words don’t matter

IMG_0220.jpg

Sitting by the shoreline,

the water fairly calm,

a sharp breeze enough to

suggest only the time of year.

 

watching seagulls swift past

the eery history of the mast

wondering just when waters

would ever tell me a secret.

 

I could listen for hours

while the sun began to dance

along soft waves of yesterday

sounds around me airily fast.

 

the birds, their legacy staid

by waning summer’s crying lead

in the autumn of these days,

the ones reminding time away.

 

I listen to Bob Dylan, a surreal croon

speaking of wanting ways

wishing time would forever sway,

‘Blood on the Tracks’ seems to say …

 

Inside this visual macabre

Our surreal horizon rob.

Listening, As Bullfrogs Might

Outside my window,

The sky black in twilight,

No breeze to offer an anxious

Tear into a calm evening.

 

Except the bullfrogs near

Must be a dozen at least

A three sound utterance

Shared by another nearby

 

Three times that’s all,

Perhaps the pitch might change,

Another again will chime in,

They’ll all be together in sound

 

I wonder about the simplistic strife

Surrounded alone in a pond of afterlife