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



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


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,


with sensitivity,

we began to think before we spoke,

we thought everyone would do that same thing,


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


Evil Laughter

“I read the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to …” – A Day in the Life (Beatles)

Finish my lyrics with torment and greed.

Sickened by the lust of power desecrates

humanity as an intelligence run amok.

Who are we anymore, again, please reply.

I just heard a proclamation of horrific

stance, posture, attitude, built upon

resentment, that fashionable disease.


There is a piece of me remains preserved

for a sunny day, a better way to respond

to Evil’s grasp on our world of ignorance.

I wonder if I stepped outside and screamed

if anyone might really hear me beyond a visual

response to a crazy man in a psychotic state.

Would they listen to my words anymore than

they did when the aftermath of torture ended.


I stood in front of time watchful of my attention,

I sold my soul to the world beyond my own control.

I soiled my own physical reality with the fear of me.

I solved no matter of reasoning, no new influence

I stood stunned solemn – while the healing began.


I wonder sometimes who really gets it, or is that a choice,

knowledge mixed with pity and reasoning seems abrupt

when in a loss of life we are suddenly brought to arms,

we are living in a society of pain and agony,

we are testing freedom’s beauty within a state of



On Purpose

This morning, the sun awakens eyes,


we grow to expect these things,


matters little to the daily routine


when every one deals with their own,


that piece of advice giving hell,


when everything seems beyond our reach,


that piece of love that reminds us all,