Thursday, February 26, 2026

Haiku: cat and siren

     siren sound from so
far away I mistake it
     for a cat's meow

hans ostrom 2026

Death and Joy

for the memory of W.B.


A longtime historian
friend, gold-standard trained
at Harvard, Cambridge, Yale,
has gone down hard:

neurological nightmare:
bodily and mental collapse.
Before the finale,
he said he was losing

big chunks of memory
like a glacier
calving blocks of ice.
Flip-flopping like a minor

sea monter in a water-
aerobics class to
"maintain health," you
obsess about your

friend's brutal rotting
and death. You look over
to another pool and see
a Black grandpa holding

a toddler in a swim-class.
He's shaved bald
with a trimmed gray beard:
a griot look you like.

You saw him before
and said, "I have a grandson
that age--isn't it great?"
"It is the greatest," he said.

Now you see again
his look of supreme joy
as he helps the kid
float. Joy and vicious

decay, along the way.
Are they supposed
to balance out?
Well, it's not math--

it's life. And death. Just
the way things are. You're glad
you glanced over to that other
blue pool as you wallowed.

Saturday, February 7, 2026

The Superb Owl

 reposting one from 2015

 (super bowl)



What is this superb owl
that everyone's talking about?
It sounds fantastic. I would
like to watch it, to see it glide
in moonlight across
a clearing, alighting in a grove.

Well, yes, of course, we may hold
a superb owl press-conference
and attend superb owl parties!
I don't yet know what in particular
the superb owl even better
than other owls I've seen.
I will not quit until I find out.

In the meantime, let be known
that near barns and in woods,
in city parks and gullies,
on plains and in mountains,
I am a fan of the superb owl,
its perfect wingspan cutting
silently, like longing,
through the air.


hans ostrom
copyright 2015

"Surrendering to Tenderness," Lyrics by Hans Ostrom

 romantic jazz ballad

click on link 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QT2JgvbSxo

Thursday, January 29, 2026

"The Force of Nature, You," by Hans Ostrom (Lyrics) and North Fork (Music)

The Men Making Millions Selling Pepper Spray To ICE

In No Time At All

 

In a time designated September,
among short pine trees, and feeling
the high mountain heat, I look

across a deeply gashed canyon
and a thousand years--not time at all!--
to small homes people made

in gaps of limestone,
with sandstone rocks for
outer walls. Overhead,

crows, ravens, and hawks
whirl, riding the updrafts
of hot air. How quiet the Sanagua

generations must of have been.
I imagine murmurs and giggling,
sometimes overlain with shrieks

of illness or birthing cries. Little
traceries of smoke rising from
cook fires. People working to live.

I turn away from all the history
hiding in those crafted caves,
look down at a lichen-etched rock,

walk to the paved parking lot
to drive--in no time at all!--the roaring
machine back to Flagstaff and

its massive crops of housing.

Hans Ostrom 2023/2025

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

"My Shadow Ran Away From Me," by Hans Ostrom, Lyrics, and Ceciliana, Voc...

Dragonflies of Medicine

Physicians, doctors, remind me
of dragonflies. Large heads--
metaphorically. Complicated
engineering, motions fluid
and not. Often irridescent--
in self-regard. The main thing
is they never land for long. In
a room and out. Perched some
distance from the bedside,
then gone. Visible in a doorway--
then vanished. Flashing in,
flashing out, caught by bright
lights, but only for a snapshot.
It's as if they regard the patient--
the one who waits for everything--
as a potential predator. It's as if
physicians play a game of tag.
Tag, you're it, patient. You are
always It, not me.

hans ostrom 2026

"Happy Birthday to Me," by Hans Ostrom, Lyrics, and Sanders Creighton, M...