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

3 AM

lights low,

what’s happening in here

no one might ever know.

The cast of a dozen stories

one day to the next,

perhaps a romance again.

Seems easy to dream

when the lover is alone

hopeful she might understand.

Its 3 am blues are alive

waiting alone to feel

some fatigue beyond the daily drain.

A couple of movies later

sleep still stays in seclusion

his mind a travel beyond the real.

Play some blues he asked

and let the melody

take his reacting mind away again.

It’s 3 am and he really doesn’t

care about the morning,

as long as the words speak

as I am.


© Thom Amundsen 4/2021

Confinement

Wish to reveal innermost details

when caught outside a comfort zone.

A simple pleasure perhaps spiritual

becomes less gregarious when alone.

Each time we try suggested walks close,

we know the circumstance of pain

wandering rogue outside common holes,

while the nature of our being refrain.

Once I felt the world beyond the crest,

insignificant inside this nature of man

Where could a good man feel blessed

Only less provocation survives this omen.

I wound up tight without apparent release

though time does plead a quiet peace.


©️Thom Amundsen 3/3021

If I Might Be This

I am slowly beginning to age,

a sort of catching up

where my youth did seem resilient

to a process of slowing down.

~

And yet am I ready

would be the question we might all wish

an answer

to find some distant resolution.

~

See the life of the average man,

always pining for more,

or perhaps never in a hurry

to help define their meaning.

~

I have a wonder in my life

a spirit being whose truth I rather

thrive upon to be near,

to every sunrise lets a setting moon.

~

If once I might have known peace

to feel in every fiber of my being,

would then I have found any relief,

to accommodate the peril of my mind.

~

Some might suggest the deepest chasm

of our psyche

is found a natural path to exile,

yet further away would be such a loss.

~

So words do land upon a state of mind,

a rational being might suggest

otherwise

to remain a fixture in their silent time.

~

I wonder about now in my forever quest

to know only ahead the hours before.


© Thom Amundsen 3/2021

Finding Solitude

When do I recognize I’ve had enough

after years of never really knowing how to decide,

what makes it worthwhile,

this it, this piece of our lives,

this need to demonstrate always

while this hollow reality aches inside.

~

When only the quaking fear of my psyche

takes over anything else,

whether it matters or whether it isn’t even real,

my mind will play with the moment,

and let me wallow in the shame

of never really understanding how easy life might be.

~

I chose to take a difficult route the day I became alone

within a crowd of thousands,

there I stood in the center of everything feeling

the wrath of my society bend its will,

in order to pummel my own confusion

with diatribe after diatribe of nonsensical air.

~

I wonder if I might ever really fathom

hours of lost time,

considerations that might leave others blind

with fury or madness or ill met resolve,

the burden of the human condition

never really being realized, floating askance.

~

It was in the dawn of my 25th year

when reality spoke only of its burden

and the charmed life,

the one just on the other side of the fence

would only chuckle the nearer I stood

knowing forever I would struggle to find me.


© Thom Amundsen 3/2021

Traveler Bags

Is this sacred wisdom

we carry its mystery

a naked history

remains impossible along the road.

Step aside and watch time

steady wheels

weighed down in two ton

reminder.

The bags become a target

ready to be pummeled

first sighted

a driver today might aim

tomorrow disregard.

Hide in the fields of shame

distant traveler

no longer

First Moments

When doubt begins to wonder

and all the souls that gather around

suddenly want to splinter off,

an edgy sort of raw scrape upon our

own fragile sanity.

~

We might think we know,

protest the moment,

rather respond with a reaction

that only suggests we are

as fucked up as we believe ourselves.

~

What happens when we really cannot

our bodies, our selves

an old adage we once called a title

seems now so profound only wants

to speak to the here and now.

~

I remember one time,

I could clearly see the grain of a wall,

having looked so long

a blank slate of never ending worry

just across the room, just there.

~

Have we ever wondered why

each of us operates by our own set of rules,

despite knowing otherwise

fall on my sword

before I ever imagine something wise.

~

Seems a song playing on the radio

helped me know who I was,

know what pain felt like,

when a strung out heroine addict

was found dead in a seedy restroom.

~

Somebody cared about that moment,

they came and rescued his soul,

there was some reason to know why

yet the questions would always

far outweigh that sad reality.

~

Those moments when we suddenly

find our way,

when through the quiet of a morose

state of mind,

we ride the crest of that initial pain.

~

Those first moments we’d rather never explain.


© Thom Amundsen 2/2021

When A Feeling

If sometimes I cannot complete a sentence

it doesn’t mean I won’t understand

if you are hurting

if your state of mind isn’t feeling wise,

instead driven down by whatever the wave

of a moment,

a passing fancy,

a time when all of our lives

become wrapped into that one moment,

all others depart and we are left in a sort of dream

trying desperately to define whatever it means.


© Thom Amundsen 2/2021

Quiet Roads

The crunch of gravel

kicking up dust

from a distance looks like

Urgency

some need to get away

keeps driving me further.

Wanting to know

yet feeling the distance,

her just out of reach

Philosophy.

Just one more chance

the embodiment

of truth

may lay only ahead

never to be realized

yet likely it is

already known.


©️ Thom Amundsen 1/2021