Concerning Cricket

A Cubist concoction of layered planes,
seems cricket. A match progresses
in a stiff-legged imperial ballet
with yachting costumes. Scoring

is prolific, as with stock markets.
There are slap-bats and wee wooden
sticks--quite droll. Cricket is so
very, very something, far afield

from clarity but highly ordered,
bright and secretive. Sedate, surreal.




hans ostrom 2018

Ice Hockey

They are painters on skates,
brushing and dabbing the cold canvas
on which they glide and whirl.

They are sleep-walkers
in colorful pajamas, wandering
on the bright stage of a dream,
everyone else in darkness,
looking on, fascinated.

They are hornets and wasps
in dubious and snarling battle,
released in groups from their
nests, terribly distracted by one
black fly that moves among
them, a dark dot 

playing dead, then jetting off. 

hans ostrom 2017

Transformation: Footballer

(soccer, that is)

When I become a footballer, I run across
grass wildly but stumble into
thick mud as it were: halted.  I become

two years old again and stab at and stomp
and kick things with my legs. Adrenalin-
incited, I then oscillate between manic

ambition and dispirited lethargy. Every
so often, ambition gets what it wanted
from a ball and some netting.

Sweat-ecstasy. For a moment I'm held
in the raucous hive-mind of the Folk.
Even as I begin to celebrate, I feel

the thrill begin to fade. I see the howling
crowd drunk in the rain, and I turn 51
and lie on a couch snoring while TV

broadcasts a soporific match.



hans ostrom 2017