Beautiful in Spring

We'll all be beautiful in Spring

in spite of how they've hated
and tried to make us hate.

Sunlight will infuse green leaves
with gold. It will round out our beauty,
too. The fantastic browns

of earth will nourish our context.
We'll talk superbly with each other.

sometimes without talking.

We'll do Spring walking

And see birds flocking

When we're beautiful in Spring. 

Yes, it's true: beauty's not
for the few. It's standard issue.
Let the dirty drifts and banks

of comparison melt away
to feed the flowers

hour by hour, and we'll smell

fragances in Spring, yes

fragance is the thing,
when we're all beautiful

You'll see. You'll see

when you're beautiful in Spring

hans ostrom 2023/2025

"Not Safe for Work?"

 Reading/video of a poem by moi, posted in 2012, if memory serves:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DE4wsnikXto

Life Is A Breath

Very short reading/video of a poem by moi:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AmEtmRs0p0

Happy Breathing

"Images Coalesce," by Hans Ostrom

I have come to believe
(note somber rhetoric)
that when the images
don't coalesce (there
is a chrome fender in
manzanita, a desire in me
to seem clever, billions
of objects and animals,
blue fabric, scalded flesh,
nothing, hydro-electric
dams, nothing, no connection,
and "surrealism" is no excuse,
shut up) we need to
let them be art.

The images coalesce
because to see patterns
has been drilled into us.
Capitalize. The images
coalesce because
our brains evolved,
along with much of what's
on the surface, and our
brains change what's here,
manufacturing patterns.
(Incidentally, who am I?
No, I mean really, who
am I?) The brain is
at home, that is.


hans ostrom 2014

"Date Palms in San Diego," by Hans Ostrom

"Jesus and the Condominium," by Hans Ostrom

Somewhere in the United States, someone
is trying to sell Jesus a share
in a condominium-scheme. Christ
is told He may vacation anywhere
in the world using a complicated
point-system. First He must pay
a lot of money to participate
in the point-system. Did

a counterpart to the verb, "to vacation,"
exist in Aramaic? Jesus is trying
to remember. He thinks it's a miracle
that people fall
for such scams. Christ notes

that sales-eyes are not on the sparrow,
and sales-affections lie not
with the poor. After he says

"No" the seventh time, he adds,
"I live in Heaven for free
and come here to Hell only
on business.Therefore this package
is not for me."


hans ostrom 2014

"Opinions," by Hans Ostrom

Opinions, the styrofoam peanuts
of human discourse, proliferate;
are almost weightless; annoy
so much they wither us. The more

opinions most people hear or read,
well, the more they think they
should cultivate their own. A few
respond another way. They constrain

their points of view, refuse to argue,
wait for evidence but rarely
trust it. They're just fine with
saying "I don't know." Terrifying words.

Sometimes I place the word "opinion"
next to the word "onion." It is fun
to look at them side by side. Always
I prefer "onion" to "opinion."


hans ostrom 2014

"Out Fairly Far," by Hans Ostrom

We're fairly far out now, well
past the harbor. We float on darkness,
look back to diminished city lights.
Stars gain candle-power. The sea

makes more sounds than we can
listen to. None of us knows
why we're out here, not really.
All of us fell short of

our dreams for ourselves. The
dramas of our lives are small
but exhaust us still. There is no
captain. We take turns at the helm.


hans ostrom 2014

"Poe," by Hans Ostrom

"Mere Sympathy," by Hans Ostrom

"Love Not In Demand," by Hans Ostrom

"Expect Delays," by Hans Ostrom

"Weak Days," by Hans Ostrom

Sunday was a damned done-day,
if you ask me, and you didn't.
Monday was a numb-day.
Wednesday? What a clot
of consonants. That mid-
dumb-day did not
find me inconsolable.
But still. Thursday,
a blur's day. Tues,
the Blues, an out-of-
order cruise. Fly-Day
night, I saw old pals
getting buzzed and sat
there in a corner like
a spider that's lost
its appetite. Saturday
always seems to want
to perform like
an Ur-Day. Academics
used to like to add
Ur to words. They're
always doing shit like that.
Also,there's always a missing
day in every week. It's that
one on which we do
exactly what we're
supposed to do.

"How to Be a Cat," by Hans Ostrom

"The League of Quiet Persons (Mum Is the Word)," by Hans Ostrom

"Gothic Fog," by Hans Ostrom

"Mistakes"

"Consumocracy Blues" recorded

"Location," a poem