Life Is Just a Breath

Life is just a breath,

A breath in empty space,

Until love takes the breath

Away and to a different place.

hans ostrom 2020

Becoming a Spider

Maybe I'll turn
into a spider
at the end
and follow
the silk filament
up and up
all the way
into the clearest
sunny sky
I've seen
since childhood.


hans ostrom 2020

From A Diary of the Plague Year (15)

People are making
each other sick.
They're always
making each other sick,
and now the plague.

I'm sure in the lost
notes of Moses and
background material
for other religions
we'll find discarded
commandments,
entreaties, and revelations
along the lines of
Don't make each other sick.

A brainless virus is making
us make each other sick.
Hold the hubris.

After we corral this epidemic
(said the American), we need
a new treaty in which all
countries agree not to make
each other sick if they can
help it. They can help it.

I am convinced (and I
daresay so are you) that
in spite of recent setbacks
we're headed for a healthier
phase of so-called civilization.


hans ostrom 2020

He Carried Papers

He carried with him
a pouch full of papers
that showed he was among
God's most select people and
that others claiming to be
select were misinformed,
also doomed. In theological

arguments, he pulled the papers
out and cited them. It started
a trend. Everybody brought papers
representing holy favorable status.
It got to be a real paper-fight.

Which then spilled over into brawls,
mass expulsions, wars, and genocide.
It didn't take long. The violence
ran counter to what all the papers
said. Of course, you didn't need

to be God to see that all these
paper-carrying people were the same,
meaning nobody special or select
but all deserving dignity because
in fact they were all the same.


hans ostrom 2020

Nostalgia and Evolution

I wonder why Evolution
selected nostalgia as a trait
worth packing in perpetuation's
luggage. Maybe it's useful
to have people around who know
how things used to be done
(and never stop talking about them).

Sentimental yearning may lower
blood pressure. Or maybe those
who survive because of other
factors live long enough to have
a past to miss, so that nostalgia
just hitches a ride--which is something
people used to do all the time.
In fact, I remember . . . .


hans ostrom 2020

He Made a List

A bit of a tribute song, as it were, to folks who are a bit compulsive or obsessive, maybe both. It's called "He Made a List." Performance by Roger Illsley, who wrote the music. Lyrics by moi. A link to Youtube:

He Made a List (Illsley/Ostrom)

"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