A Week Later

I wonder about perception,

how well it matches up inside,

the image we carry of ourselves,

the identity screaming always for balance

against the odds,

despite our own misgivings.

 

Last week I was high,

a natural phenomena

that took me places,

I didn’t have to anticipate,

just lived inside

this possibility.

 

This morning I stared out the window

barely able to move,

I wanted to question whether I should

with the many voices

clamoring in the back of mind,

yes, well, in any rate, you could.

 

I did,

here now begins a day,

a bit overcast,

accentuating a sort of morose

atmosphere

to balance the mood.

 

Sometimes I wonder

to myself

where this all began.

I know I shared it with you

one time,

so many peaks and valleys ago.


© Thom Amundsen 5/2020

Finding One Door

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This matter of doors,

talked about in quiet rooms,

where two people, maybe four, three

could openly speak

closing doors, reasons why,

open doors, easily cry

for there is some certain avenue

allows us all to find our way,

if we choose to be

the person we might

want to

speak someday.

 

I remember a year ago,

saying I wished I might not live another day,

exhausted,

it was a similar hour of night,

this seemingly special occasion,

where I

the leader or the exhibit on display,

wanted nothing more

than to go away.

 

Yet here I am today,

celebrating some reason to explain

how it might I came to be,

this life,

this scrutiny

that only I control.

 

Oh I may allow others

have a hand

in my own dismay,

but it is in those darker

moments,

I can begin to

explain away,

the tragedy of my own

today.

 

I met someone once,

she touched my heart,

we spent hours into the twilight

talking about who or what our psychic meanings were.

I remember wanting only to

kiss her,

and yet so compelling was her ability

to sway the judgment of my play,

I listened,

and the hours flew by,

suddenly sunlight peeking through

her apartment drawn shades,

the two of us laying comfortably apart

together,

opened our eyes,

smiled,

suggested

what a day this will be

today.

 

So tonight,

just after midnight,

I look again into that open door, a space

just kind of waits,

and yet there are so many stories about

that man in the chair,

who looks like yesterday,

or maybe a little like his mom

whom as he weeps in

a sweet silence,

he imagines or hopes,

dreams on occasion,

if he did stand up,

and walk through,

there would be she,

and all of the questions

that have rocked his mind for over

half a century

might suddenly

come to life,

what some could easily pin upon

the afterlife

 

Yet why is that even as we try to blend

the pallet of our fantasy,

why do the same entrances tease our mind,

the darkness will always prevail

until that moment,

when trying to be,

might only become

the aftermath of

we in the some triggered response

to ending all of the confusion

that inherent blend of

mystery

the human condition.

 

Safe in my distance, I do imagine the other side,

and just wonder if a  picture will ever help me decide.

 

Wanting Relief

Last night I listened to the winds howl in melody

seems they were speaking, warning of a parody.

So quickly our lives, my own, grooves self importance

wanting only to observe, less patience more chance.

 

I speak in my head a constant life of simple romance

that sort that would suggest our lives live in a trance.

The famous writers who could travel in love’s pain

a prowess with words, retelling always the reader’s gain.

 

I wondered how long it might be in this state I remain

whereby my actions would prevent me feeling the rain.

Where simply do we go when the winds to pull us under

An impossibility, our minds will not be want of wander.

 

Last night I listened to the winds howl their melody,

A certain peace is Her vibrant reminder the ready.


© Thom Amundsen 4/2020

The Words That Speak

I read a poem today,

talked about saving a life,

that words could

in such a remarkable way,

cause someone to

rethink their moment,

that impulse,

the frightened reality

the edge.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

We might easily write about death,

oh the beauty of their lives,

the regret of time,

the nature of loneliness

how simple it is

when described

yet complicated when

lost.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

How does someone decide

to listen

what is the correct cadence

of wanting a wandering soul

to find their way

inside the mystique of

questioning

the human condition.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

I stood along the railroad tracks

watched the lights brighten

the clicking of the clack,

the deafening horn,

I watched the light of tomorrow

suddenly set in the western sky,

and then I stepped away …

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word.

Wonder About Wander

I wonder,

a wander,

I wander about in wonder,

the formula of finding purpose,

while walking into forever.

 

I wander,

a wonder,

I wonder about in wander,

the essence of a philosophy,

while settling inside a routine.

 

I wonder about why,

what is it,

causes me to wander,

rather than letting my soul cry,

it is the future of a sweet wonder.

 

I wonder why we wonder,

while the rotation continues nearby.

Learning to Hate

I don’t know where it started,

one day as a child,

I think perhaps when they stole my bicycle,

I hated that it wasn’t locked up,

I hated not having any control,

I hated the embarrassment of being vulnerable.

I was only a child then,

I believed in the impossible,

I knew that anything could happen and I would always be safe.

…  I became a father …

I remember the first time she cried, and told me the reason,

I wanted only to protect her,

she only had certain words she could express,

“I hate it there” she said,

“I hate everything about it” she cried,

“I hate having to go there” she wailed even louder,

I knew that she didn’t mean it,

this was just the easiest word to use at the moment,

we later laughed when the years went by,

we reflected upon what is important today, what became

a priority that when we were children seemed like endless pain.

There appeared to be a constant though,

when our lives paralleled childhood,

we both experienced a part of life we didn’t understand.

We made adjustments over time,

we learned to tolerate, to accept, to better engage in reasoning,

we realized that hate was a far more powerful term than we might imagine

We decided to become conscious of how we chose our words,

carefully,

with sensitivity,

we began to think before we spoke,

we thought everyone would do that same thing,

eventually.

We then discovered the evening news …

These are the people I remember

I listen to a certain melody to bring me somewhere,

need to step out of where I am,

perhaps an escape,

one might call it a sojourn,

only works when I can find my right rhythm,

my beat, my way of departing from my real place,

into that world of imagination.

I use music to get me there,

but it can take a lot of hours,

just like the many days that have passed,

those that I recall when the words and tones of music

help me return to that place,

cold or bitter with the pain of my reality,

I can still find myself there.

I listen to music to bring me home again,

to that place we’re only supposed to go when we are ready to be there,

I suppose it is like a journey to another time,

that imagined pedestal too high to climb.

I have my music as a sort of blanket,

that one to suffice when emotions raw I can’t handle any outcomes

on my own.

I need your music to bring me there, again.

My Moon is Wonder

I noticed as the sky erupted with sole beauty

mystique always at hand, nearby holding court

wide in stride we recognize our humanity

aims high, always illuminations to report.

~

I do recall as a child in my quiet obstinacy

often a long stare, in wonder of a still glance

until one day a friend mentioned inherent lunacy

saddling mind, compelled by retrospective chance

~

Would it happen if by the stroke of time infinite

might my world be stricken by such haunting fear.

A child intrigue turned suddenly by life’s merit

toward inhibition, beyond shedding a sweet tear.

~

Welcome me to a spectacular world where soon

we might all know we may thrive by the moon.

Anxiety’s Breeze

Feel it, when a wave

spooks a present state of mind,

unexpected, often uninvited,

yet enough resilience to freeze a moment.

We walk like this when we wish to show

a safer side, a confident bit of posturing.

We smile when the need does arise;

it surely does speak to our manner.

We question everything in our head,

any notion, however idle, comes alive

We regret that time we hadn’t really thought

about the consequence, we’d forgotten that day.

We choose music, talk show, letters, even newsstand

‘literature’ to appease the moment our mind shifts.

We discover a new distraction in a tender moment,

and suddenly that one time before has left the room.

Anxiety speaks aloud far too often to be ignored,

we know, we weather the storm, we give in

to the long entrails of furious emotion standing

upon an aching heart, an explosive mind, our eyes.

We’d rather dress ourselves to the nines and ignore

any self-taught criticism, rather than play our demise.

Since when we cowered in the corner as a young child

we have discovered safeguards in place, all the time.

Yet, that memory still lingers, still waits to chime

in.