Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
"Now That Phones Are With Them," by Hans Ostrom
("Is this a good time to call?" --Old Saying)
Now that phones are with them,
everywhere and always,
it is always
and never a good time to call. Life,
a series of interruptions,
has become a shattered series
of interrupted, re-continued,
dis-directed ruptures. Like
a batty princess to a frog,
people speak loudly at something
in their palms. Confused
courtiers look on.
One hand's fingers
tap like spiders' legs
on plasti-glass surfaces.
Apps become vats
into which to pour
attention. Heads bent,
faces slack, eyes distracted:
people's minds leave their
bodies to go to that other space,
that cloud which is forever
and presently calling.
--hans ostrom 2014
Now that phones are with them,
everywhere and always,
it is always
and never a good time to call. Life,
a series of interruptions,
has become a shattered series
of interrupted, re-continued,
dis-directed ruptures. Like
a batty princess to a frog,
people speak loudly at something
in their palms. Confused
courtiers look on.
One hand's fingers
tap like spiders' legs
on plasti-glass surfaces.
Apps become vats
into which to pour
attention. Heads bent,
faces slack, eyes distracted:
people's minds leave their
bodies to go to that other space,
that cloud which is forever
and presently calling.
--hans ostrom 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
"Pecking Disorder," by Hans Ostrom
The smallest chicken listened
again to the rooster, spikes
on his ankles, red gristle
below the throat. Again
the rooster seemed to be
throating things like
I'm a dictator, I'm boss,
a movie star am I, a
celebrity, a CEO, a pastor
of a mega-church, a
full professor, a senior
partner, a Wall Street
broker, a stand-up joker!
The rooster's crew then
came over to pick at
the smallest chicken,
who took it, and who
after they finished,
amused itself by picking
at the chicken-wire,
until, one night, a
hole appeared and a coyote
entered. In the morning,
the smallest and only
remaining chicken
picked its steps through
what bones were left
and feathers and blood,
gristle and spikes and
beaks. It walked through
the hole, proclaiming nothing,
and was picked up by
the soft hands of a god
from that place the smallest
chicken had always thought
to be a bigger chicken-house.
hans ostrom copyright 2014
again to the rooster, spikes
on his ankles, red gristle
below the throat. Again
the rooster seemed to be
throating things like
I'm a dictator, I'm boss,
a movie star am I, a
celebrity, a CEO, a pastor
of a mega-church, a
full professor, a senior
partner, a Wall Street
broker, a stand-up joker!
The rooster's crew then
came over to pick at
the smallest chicken,
who took it, and who
after they finished,
amused itself by picking
at the chicken-wire,
until, one night, a
hole appeared and a coyote
entered. In the morning,
the smallest and only
remaining chicken
picked its steps through
what bones were left
and feathers and blood,
gristle and spikes and
beaks. It walked through
the hole, proclaiming nothing,
and was picked up by
the soft hands of a god
from that place the smallest
chicken had always thought
to be a bigger chicken-house.
hans ostrom copyright 2014
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Seven Poems Concerning Easter
--A Youtube playlist of seven poems that, directly or indirectly, concern Easter:
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
"Canal Dream," by Hans Ostrom
Oh, lovely nightmare
of the canal and futile,
panicked paddling, I do
love to wake from you
with you. A film
of absurd residue
coats my grogged
consciousness. You
depart like a cool
lover. I get up and
get into a day,
which joins other
days I haven't understood.
Dearest canal-nightmare,
you're so easy
by contrast to these
lived days. I enjoy
working with you.
hans ostrom 2014
of the canal and futile,
panicked paddling, I do
love to wake from you
with you. A film
of absurd residue
coats my grogged
consciousness. You
depart like a cool
lover. I get up and
get into a day,
which joins other
days I haven't understood.
Dearest canal-nightmare,
you're so easy
by contrast to these
lived days. I enjoy
working with you.
hans ostrom 2014
"City of Things," by Hans Ostrom
In the city of things, people
defer to heaps, piles, and stacks
of plastic and alloyed molded
things. The people are stopped
by stacked boxes, so they go
around or give up and sit
and lie. The people agree
to purchase, to take on and put
on a quota of things, a pre-set
set of things. The people
pray to things with the aid
of Thing Preachers in thing-
choked halls and littered
amphitheaters. Austere
and escetic people are shunned,
fined, scorned, and watched.
They're forced to wear
designated denigrating things.
It's quite thing, the city
of things, where over-abundance
is unlimited, loved, and legislated.
I got cut in the city
by an angular thing
I bumped into. I said I
am sorry to the thing.
hans ostrom 2014
defer to heaps, piles, and stacks
of plastic and alloyed molded
things. The people are stopped
by stacked boxes, so they go
around or give up and sit
and lie. The people agree
to purchase, to take on and put
on a quota of things, a pre-set
set of things. The people
pray to things with the aid
of Thing Preachers in thing-
choked halls and littered
amphitheaters. Austere
and escetic people are shunned,
fined, scorned, and watched.
They're forced to wear
designated denigrating things.
It's quite thing, the city
of things, where over-abundance
is unlimited, loved, and legislated.
I got cut in the city
by an angular thing
I bumped into. I said I
am sorry to the thing.
hans ostrom 2014
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