Rondeau of the Sowing

Old adage says, Reap what you sow.
What have I sown? That's hard to know.
I have been selfish, that's for sure
But not, I think, cruel by nature.
Effects of how one lives are so

Untraceable. Search high, search low:
My net effect must be zero
On those, on them, on him, on her.
And who am I to say, you know?

One certain fact--I'm no hero.
Fall short. Fell short those years ago.
What's up with this accounting--why?
Self-centered guilt, I cannot lie.
Applause or boos before I go?
A useless review of the show?

hans ostrom 2022

Jury Duty

We passed through voi dir,

my dear, were made peers

of a rococo realm, with its

perched presider and purchased

persuaders.  We nodded at passing

evidence, became a dozen guilty

buzzards asked to shadow

a creature offered on an altar

called The People. We heard

arguments open and close

like shutters banging in the wind.

In a room, our opinions

accumulated like snow.  In that

drift was buried our decision,

which we seized.  The facts had

whispered to us, “He is guilty.”

We listened to them and repeated

what they said.  The defendant

bowed his head.  Shadows

of our doubt followed us outside,

where, greasy-winged, we joined

The People leading perfectly

legal lives.

hans ostrom 2014/2018

The Mouse of Contrition

The mouse of contrition
withdraws to its nest.
I am sorry, I am sorry, says
the mouse. For what, I can't
remember, but I do apologize. 

Wise, the mouse enjoys sleep
more than guilt, and so
in the warm embrace of old
newsprint chewed, it dozes
but doesn't stop the quivering
of its nose, which is agnostic.


hans ostrom 2018

Semi-Descript Suburb Somewhere

In a semi-descript suburb somewhere,
people believe in Counting Your Blessings
and First World Problems. Some
even get the idea of privilege.

But hedges there become overstuffed
couches. Rain hardens into visual
static. Before people go to work
elsewhere each day, they lie down

on lawns and gnash their teeth
and lash their consciences with
shaming pep-talks. The contents
of one house there rarely

interacts with those of another
house, and this include people.
Everyone's regrets pile up, become
invisible drifts that never melt.


hans ostrom 2018

Monachopsis

You feel you've had
to try to fit
yourself into groups
and systems
like a hand-made part
in mass-produced machinery.

You know other people
must feel this too,
except there seems to be
less friction for
most of them, more
gliding function.

You play at envying
them to pretend
to chastise yourself.

You always think
you can be better
at joining. Yeah,
you think that.

Indeed you've archived
the many instances
of your desire to fit in,
and using "indeed" in
sentences is one of them.

You assemble conscise
internal reports
that tell of irascibility
and insufficiently
feigned adherence
to the contours of authority.

That is, times when
you were a pain in the ass,
when you wouldn't
knuckle under but
could have easily.
Should have? You
ask that now!

Down there in
dark, dank storage,
you feel judged
even by the rude
shelves and weary
boxes of your making.

Don't panic. Go upstairs
where the others are.
Mind your manners
and your mannerisms.

Chat and listen. Note
the desire to be somewhere
else but do not
act on it. The gathering
will dissolve soon
enough/not soon enough:
what's the difference?

The difference is you.



hans ostrom 2017