Monday, October 14, 2024
Saturday, October 12, 2024
Old Barn
Smell of sun-baked, cured,
unpainted boards. Aromasof hay and horse manure.
Shiny tines and sweat-dyed
handles of pitchforks.
Massive cured teeth
of an ancient rusted harrow,
retired now, host to spiders.
Fat raindrops tick against
an iron roof. Under eaves
of this hall of harvest
and toil, swallows lay eggs
in mud nests. At dusk
the birds will curve and dip
down for bugs on
a cow-pond surface.
Beyond this heap of rafters
and beams and light-shafts piercing
cracks, the corn and wheat
rustle in heat.
hans ostrom 2024
Wednesday, October 9, 2024
They Live With Us
For the second year
in a row, a large speckle-leggedspider has anchored a silken thread
on a rain gutter,
and built a languid, relaxed
web anchored below
to a rosemary bush in front
of a large window. She's
an orb-wearver spider--
Neoscona crucifera--found
everywhee around this country.
I like to sit in a chair by the glass
and watch her. She usually perches
somewhere near the central
orb of web, plump and still,
but sometimes plucking silk
like a harpist. Yesterday,
I saw that she had built a snug,
velvety pale egg-sac. A little
purse. She touched it up
like a painter or sculptor.
Fussing with it. What does
she see when she does that?
Later, she'll lay about 1, 000
eggs in it, and it will drop
off the web into the bush,
maybe down into dirt.
She lives with us, and
we, with her. The same
can be said of so many
splendid creatures.
hans ostrom 2024
Among the Trees
In a forest, I rarely
speak to trees. A guest there,
I don't want to interrupt
their conversations.
Pine trees: often
the chattiest, gesturing
with boughs. Oaks
mumble, if that.
Old shaggy cedars
withdraw from gab,
cover themselves
in green resin blankets.
Stern fir trees speak
judgmentally, telling
neighbors to straighten
out their posture.
I think of all the roots down
there, arboreal working class.
They groan, grip rocks,
in darkness mine for water.
speak to trees. A guest there,
I don't want to interrupt
their conversations.
Pine trees: often
the chattiest, gesturing
with boughs. Oaks
mumble, if that.
Old shaggy cedars
withdraw from gab,
cover themselves
in green resin blankets.
Stern fir trees speak
judgmentally, telling
neighbors to straighten
out their posture.
I think of all the roots down
there, arboreal working class.
They groan, grip rocks,
in darkness mine for water.
hans ostrom 2024
Friday, October 4, 2024
Thursday, October 3, 2024
Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Open Your Soul to the Stars
this one is a song lyric & my friend R.I. is working on the music--I hope!
Verses
In the space between the beats
of music, time, and heart,
lives a mystifying silence –
source of life, muse of art.
In the space between the stars
float expansive lakes of time.
In the dreams encasing dreams
stairways rise in mists of mind.
Chorus
Open your soul to the stars
dancing with creation.
Floating in that space,
ride on elation.
Open your soul to the stars—
imagination.
Sense the source of love
And adoration.
Verses
In your time within all time
and the life that moments make,
you will find your destiny
in leaps of faith you take.
In emptiness there is a cup
That holds infinity.
Time and beats and rhythm
pour from divinity.
repeat Chorus
Bridge:
Our time’s a space to explore.
Love from the universe is ours.
Find what your time here’s for.
Open your soul
Yeah, open your soul
to the stars.
repeat Chorus
hans ostrom
copyright 2024
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