She turns Elton John's "your song" into a sweet lullaby

Get Rhythm Johnny Cash Martin Delray

'CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF YOUR LOVE' (BARRY WHITE) Cover by The HSCC

The Fairfield Five

 The Fairfield Five, a Black gospel group, sings to a room full of white folks:  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fOmKNOeJpc

Babyface - Change the World (MTV Unplugged, NYC, 1997)

Ring Of Fire - Johnny Cash & Dj Serj Moldova (remix)

Dummy Hypnotises Ventriloquist | Live at the Apollo | BBC Comedy Greats

Long Black Veil by Lefty Frizzell - 1959 (with lyrics)

Parisians Try to Pronounce Words in English

Move

Move through dew

on grass like an eel
muscling itself between
canals. Move

into light and shadow,
the dappled landscape
of your life. Ride
like a child

the silly contraptions
of commerce--escalator,
elevator, metro, & sad,
sagging bus. Keep

going, knowing
you're probably not
going to get anywhere
special fast, except Here.

hans ostrom 2023

Hello, Stranger

 (with apologies to Barbara Lewis, who recorded the song "Hello, Stranger," in the 1960s)

As I walked under
a Norwegian spruce
today, a dove cooed
three times.

It sounded like someone
blowing carefully
on a conch shell:
the hard c in coo

had dissolved.
Three musical notes:
what a nice thing
to say to a stranger

walking by, I thought--
how sweetly polite,
how tonal, coaxing a
smile out of me.

hans ostrom 2023

Squashes in the Farmers' Market

Market squashes (do the Brits

call them "marrow"?) conjure a carnival
of painted shapes self-sculpted
by the genius of seeds. Like books,
the squashes have pulp inside,
enclosed by hard or soft covers.

Some species hold a hollow
zone where sound can play.
Dried gourds become instruments,
and a thumped pumpkin will mumble
autumn syllables. A crook-necked
squash can become the baton
that conducts Zucchini's unfinished
symphony. Still, Fall does mean

the party's over. We select our squash,
haul it home to grill or bake--or cut up
raw. Next Summer's vines are already
blue-printed in seeds as the soil rolls
over, exhausted, in need of dreams.

hans ostrom 2023

Uphill

July heat hangs over the bottom

of the hill, scratching at me
like an old wool blanket.

Crows that aren't picking
mites from feathers
leave their beaks open

to cool down. Mid-way
up the climb, I flag
& my vision gets a little

weird. Dehydration.
I sit on a a dark grey
rock under a tree.

Finally I make it to
the top of the hill:
a breeze kicks in.

I feel better but still
old & I buy a bottle
of water, splashing

some on my hot
neck and forehead,
guzzling the rest.

People, shrubs, buildings,
buses: though brightly lit,
they all, every one, look tired.

hans ostrom 2023