Showing posts with label dancing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dancing. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 27, 2022

Dancing Freely Away From the Fire

Phone-videos show
women waving hijabs
in the air as they dance
toward a fire, throw
the cloth in, dance away,
lifting their arms freely,
their black hair whirling.

Apparently these adult women
don't want to wear the hijabs.
In which case I would not want
them to wear them
and would feel like a combo
of bully and clown presuming
to tell them what to wear. Me,

I'm an American, looking on,
knowing the Iranian-American
history and thus not eager
to shove swaggering opinions around.

I'm an American married
to a woman with deep Sicilian roots,
so I've had refresher-courses
on not telling women what
to do. And I'm a human being

who knows what exhilarating
freedom looks like when I
see it on a phone-video:
that's enough for me. Naively,
a spectator with no effect,
I hope this is the start of
something big for Persian women.

Thursday, October 10, 2019

They Need Easy

Up and down the stairs
of scales the bossa nova moves,
garbed in 1960s threads. A
crowd shuffles and sways
to these terraced tunes.
These folks have fled the future,
which is fond of atrocity. Sort
of dancing, they need easy.
They want to rest in it
and love and laugh in it,
knowing something simple
like the bossa nova.


hans ostrom 2019

Friday, July 12, 2019

Answers

If you think you have the answers,
don't tell me. Tell someone
who matters. I'm out here in
the weeds, walking around
a birch grove, plucking
a blackberry or five, dancing
with vivid women in the desert
of my mind. Although I'm
obscure, people with secrets
seem to find me. I'm telling
you, if you're important, don't
bother with me. I know how
little I can do about big things.


hans ostrom 2019

Monday, January 7, 2013

Waltzing

Oh, let us hold
each other turning
slowly ‘round
the floor. A waltz
is humorous
and kind, old-
fashioned intimate.
We’re a little high.

Oh, the perfume
of your hair, the
architecture of
your back, the
present of the
presence of
your hand in mine.



Hans Ostrom, 2013

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Sydney Greenstreet's Younger Days

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Sydney Greenstreet's Younger Days


today i heard
a woman say
of sydney greenstreet:

"in his younger days,
he was probably
light on his feet."

Link: "The Sydney Greenstreet Blues," by Richard Brautigan


poem copyright Hans Ostrom 2011