Showing posts with label Freud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freud. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 18, 2023

Sleepy

It comes on like a fog
in a sunny sea town.

It hypnotizes like the gold
watch of an old Vienna doctor.

It bargains on behalf of muscles
that work too hard too long.

It soothes you toward darkness,
promising sleep will love you.

When it goes, it leaves the door
open and slumber strides in.

hans ostrom 2023

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Nymphs

Well, that's a gnarled word. Six consonants
invite tongue, teeth, larynx, lips, and roof
of mouth to a pronunciation party. Awkward!

Now, about those wood nymphs. I've invested
much time-capital in the woods, which
are always a going concern. I earned
a nymph-sighting. You'd think so, anyway.
But, no.  Just squirrels, rattlesnakes, deer . . . .

And then: nymphomaniac. That got flung
around last century. It seemed to have
expressed either male fantasies of a pulp-
fiction kind or pseudo-scientific, puritanical
indictments of women who had sex, if
they did, but that was their business,
so what the hell?  One ministry

of fishing flies goes by the nymph name,
meant to mimic gnats, mosquitoes, and other
tiny hatchers. You unhook the nymph
from the caught trout, and before you release
the fish back into flow, you think you know
what that frowning face suggests:
Is this sport-fishing really necessary?

That's the problem with mythology. Sooner
or later, it disappoints everybody, among others.


hans ostrom 2017