"That's the Day I'll Forget About You"

A rather traditional love ballad. Music and performance by Roger Illsley. Lyrics by moi. Link to Youtube:

"That's the Day . . ."

From a Diary of the Plague Year (14)

I've been saying
encouraging words
to my body. Telling it,
without evidence (this
is a national trend),
that it will fight the Virus
just fine if things should
come to that. My body

doesn't listen to me. I'm
unreliable. The body
has its own life, writes
its own memoir. It is
a republic of cells
devoted to an oxygen cult.
I'm not privy to the council's
deliberations on this virus.

Many times I have been
told, "Listen to your body."
Well, my body talks
too much. It's my turn
to be heard.


hans ostrom

Song: "Willie, the Babe, and Hank"

Another Illsley/Ostrom song, peformed by Illsley. It took root in Davis in the 1970s, which might as well be the 1870s at this point. Babe Ruth, of course, was long gone; Willie Mays (now 89) had just retired; and Hank Aaron was still going.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bULEpyf_MLY&t=18s

Song: "Solomon Fry"

Got back in touch with a former college roommate at U.C. Davis. (No doubt there's a lot of getting-back-in-touch these days). We've been working on some songs, me as lyricist and amateur video-maker,  he as composer and performer. This one is "Solomon Fry":

"Solomon Fry," Illsley and Ostrom

From a Diary of the Plague Year (13)

Sometimes I'm inside
hiding from the virus.
Sometimes I'm outside
hiding from the virus,
digging in the dirt around
fledgling vegetables
and forming flowers.

Inside or outside,
I also try to hide from
celebrities. Their faces,
peccadilloes, opinions,
and posts swarm. They're
not the norm but the fame
machine tries to make us
famished, hungry for
manufactured news

of celebs. It makes me
febrile, celebraphobic,
vised in by the virus
and the famous. I don't
know who most of them
are but must react as if I do.

Inside, old time reading
helps, hefting a book of words.
Outside, the worms and crows
and trees and fleas are not
famous and I am treated
as just another beast.


hans ostrom 2020

From a Diary of the Plague Year (12)

(song)

When I see us back then
We're laughing in the sun
Back when we were young
And thought the other
Was the one. 

Now that the plague's descended
Priorities amended
I thought I'd beat the rush,
Reach out and get in touch
After so long.

Sorry I mocked your favorite song
And broke your bestest bong
You cooked the clutch on
My silver green Camaro
And stole my cherished vinyl
of Ravel's Bolero.
This all seems so funny
After so long, so long ago.

[repeat chorus]

Hey, I'm glad you married Craig
Hey, please don't catch the plague
I hope this letter is okay
If not, I know you'll say
So, love from so long ago
After so long ago
Some days were great, you know?
Some nights so fierce, although
Our futures were not ever
Meant to be together

[repeat chorus]


hans ostrom 2020

From a Diary of the Plague Year (11)

Kangaroos boppin and hoppin
through Aussie towns,
wild boars busting loose
in Barcelona, mountain
goats getting grub in Welsh
villages. O, come all ye
species into empty human spaces
the plague has opened up for you.

Smog clears, the moon's
asthma's under control,
and the sun can dispense
with its monocle. Baby
sea turtles samba down
an empty beach, sand to sea,
small and free.

Rabbits in suburbia rejoice
Eagles monitor impromptu
migrations from CEO chairs
set up on the wind. Pet dogs
and cats form revolutionary
cells, having caught some
scents of rising wildness
from outside.


hans ostrom 2020

From A Diary of the Plague Year (10)

Me, with machete,
chopping methodically at a jungle
of myths and lore,
breaking news and pointless views.
I'm headed and footed
to a village in search of clarity.
I'm told they reach consensus
about facts there. Does
such a paradise really exist?

Magnetic North still tells
my compass needles where
to settle down. My body
still needs water. Facts
are beautiful. Check
them. Check on them.
Cherish them.



hans ostrom 2020

From a Diary of the Plague Year (9)

A circus of emotions these days.
Under the big top, round and round
the cranium the white horse goes,
his acrobatic rider showing sinews.

The value of worry, like the stock
market, has plummeted. I feel
like a hobo who jumped off a train
of events and watched it

go by and away. Now
what, I thought. Not a question.


hans ostrom 2020

Imagine Religion

Imagine religion without
killing, without spiritual
extortion. Imagine religion
without obsession about
women, without greed.

Imagine religion keeping
children safe. Imagine it
absent exclusion and proud
certainty. Imagine religion
with warmth, humor, supple
thinking, generosity. Imagine

religion getting along with
religion, good friends in spirit.
Imagine religion with democracy,
with science, with Earth in mind.
Imagine religion that defers
to God on final judgments,
not on preachers' rage. Imagine
religion that trusts rational adults
to make rational choices within
the confines of community,
caring for our home, which is here.


hans ostrom 2020
hans ostrom 2020

More Than Enough in Ragusa

(southern Sicily)

In Ragusa most afternoons
I sat outside a cafe locals favored.
Iron tables. I didn't feel at home
there but I surrendered
my touristic pose to become
a mere outsider. My presence
seemed to amuse the waitresses,
whom I tipped respectfully.

I pecked at salads, sipped
water and coffee, scribbled,
looked from shade out at hot light
hitting brightly painted walls
and old stone buildings. I
was a large man in a white
linen shirt, and ursine scarecrow.
So much more than enough
that place provided.


hans ostrom 2020

From a Diary of the Plague Year (8)

Maybe birds like it
that we're nesting in place.
Their song-jabber's intense
this year. Like they're saying
We like the change of pace!

They're out there sampling
the Spring buffet, gathering
building materials, telling
migration jokes, nibbling
on suet pie, passing anti-cat
legislation. Spring

is bird time, citizens. They
are the bosses. If I make it to
next year, I will remember that.


hans ostrom 2020

From a Diary of the Plague Year (7)

I went outside in the dark just
to be out. A warm western wind
tricked me into thinking,
Everything's going to be all right.
It's good to fall for that intuitive
prank sometimes. Softens
the fatalism. I looked out at

cheap solar lights I'd placed
on the perennially flowered
slope, a private bee resort
in summer. Bees, I thought,
if only bees would show up.

I went back inside to shelter
in place, a phrase of our moment.
I held a good thought (useless,
I know) for people forced
to shelter out of place.


hans ostrom 2020