Galleries of Grit

Desert winds compulsively

sculpt sand. Abstract shapes
rise up, find edges, façades,

contours--then serve up all

they are unto the sculpting force.

 

The cosmic tourists--sun and stars

and moon--oversee these galleries

of grit, where place is art.

air's genius, and illusion

of form never tires ore expires. 

hans ostrom 2022

Regarding Boxes of Boxes

There's something wrong
about a box of boxes.

It's as if Box World
has suddenly acquired
a food chain and boxes
have started eating boxes.

Open a box of boxes,
and you'll almost hear
the inner boxes moaning,
sobbing cardboard sobs.

Each of them wants
to contain something
independently. They're
fine with intervals

of emptiness, which
are better than the horror
of recycling or
the atrocity of magic.

I'm a zealot on the subject:
a box is mean to be
autonomous, enclosing
material matched to form.

I'm not afraid to declare
I belong to Box Liberators.
Stand--or sit, on a box, your
heft matched to form--with us!



hans ostrom 2019

Wood Carving

Is this wood
in the mood
for steel? The
shape you see
in there is real.
It's not a distant
form. Your body
warms as you
dig in, asking
grain if it's seen
the spoon you
want. Of course
it has. A basic

sensuality abides
in this old craft,
which predates sin.
Odd, and good,
how body and
attention mold
themselves around
the task. Shavings
and gougings fly
like fat snowflakes.
Wood remaining
repeats a mantra
to you as you carve:
carver, slow down. 



hans ostrom 2019