Green of the Herbs

Thyme leaves look like frog
tears. Sage leaves
look fog-green suede.

Mint is a warrior
with shiny emerald shields.
Everything runs from it.

What should we say about
parsley? Such a hard worker.
Then it goes mad and pretends

to be a tree.


hans ostrom 2019

August Afternoon

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August Afternoon

A breeze off Puget Sound curls
around a corner of the abode,
rushes through a line of herbal
foliage--three kinds of mint,
a stout rosemary plant, parsley,
chives, oregano, thyme, and
leathery-leafed sage. The breeze
organizes an aromatic syndicate,
which bargains collectively with
a gardener's sense of smell
on an August afternoon.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

Potatoes, Thyme, and the Struggle

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Potatoes, Thyme, and the Struggle

What did I hope to gain by applying
my mental powers, such as they are, to
serious problems of the day--war, famine,
economic entropy, a planet turned to kindling?
Well, I'd hoped to make a show of doing
my part. In what? If not in the Struggle,
then at least in the struggle to pay attention.

Then I lost my keys and phone and had to
track them down. I watered the garden--thyme
and potatoes doing fine. I got a haircut,
purchased bread and other basics, fetched
the mail, sent a note of sympathy and three
birthday cards, excerised as a favor to
my heart, sent electronic messages, cooked
dinner. By then the day was done.

The smug oligarchs and financial thugs,
arms dealers, hacks, handlers, and somnambulent
press will prevail, or so run today's thoughts,
because an ordinary me or a you as you are has stuff
to do even on a day off from work. They and we keep
us busy, these magna cum sociopathic human
bacteria that eat systems, wreck lives, start
wars. Life keeps us busy, and so again I listen
to Tennessee Ernie Ford: "Saint Peter, don't you
call me, 'cause I can't go. I owe my soul
to the Company Store." Sixteen tons of busy.

Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom