Bookshelves

In a musty library room

in a friend's old abode,

dark wooden shelves,

floor to ceiling, look like

rows of secrets, willing

to be opened like gates

and doors and windows

and minds. To reach

for one book, clothbound

with no dust jacket, and 

take it from its snug space,

fulfills a desire. For what?

You don't entirely know,

do you? But there it is,

the book, quiet and pliant

in your hands, centuries

of the printing art floating

invisibly behind it. The rest

of the books on all the shelves

and walls look on,

like spectators at a stadium--

but they're the quietest

audience ever. A clock's

bell dings, softly, softly. 

Hans Ostrom 2024

Longtime Married

Two candle stubs

in old candlesticks

drown their flames 

in wax. A few strings

of gray smoke disperse

in the dim, darkening 

room at dusk.

We're both quiet

as we look, together

and separately, 

into advancing darkness.

Finally, one of us

says, "Well, . . . ."

and the other says,

'Yes, . . .". We rise

from the table,

pick up the dinner plates,

silverware, glasses,

and take them to 

the kitchen where one

of us flicks on the light. 

Hans Ostrom 2024

Conan O”Brien - Suspicious Minds @ Love Rocks Beacon Theater 3-7-2024

Poet's Musings: Poe Sonnet

Poet's Musings: Poe Sonnet: Poe Sonnet He was so utterly American, Careening through his life deliberately, Addicted to both impulse and ambition. He wrote for art...

March, in the Northern Hemisphere

March, a grunting month,

a mound of mud, a flood
of flotsam, a stormy brawler
drunk on rain. March, a sentimental
sap, half in love with shapely April,
half in hate with freezing Feb.

We want such a month
because of what it portends
but beg that passes fast
because it only pretends.

Hans Ostrom 2024

Cinquain for a Spring-Fevered Cat

The cat

seems fevered by
the warmth and light outside
his lair, this house. He yowls and runs around,
Spring-zinged.

Hans Ostrom 2024

Procession of Cats

Like a long silver ribbon,

the path from the moon

stretches to Earth tonight. And

down the path come the cats,

striding with their lazy lope.

Thousands of them, leaving

their lunar lair, returning

to this ground with moonlight

in their round unblinking eyes.

Arriving, they take their feline

time to scatter to homes,

hideouts, forests, plains,

jungles, mountains, and alleys.

Anvil

Bolted to the bench

in the Old Man's workshop,

the anvil seemed to have

a bow and a stern--a ship

of steel that would never see

water. A rock of ages

on which to pound things,

will things into shape. Always

cold to the touch, like a snowdrift,

even in high summer. It had jaws

and teeth to hold things if need be,

but never ate. It was

indestructible and passive

like the blue bedrock over which

impulsive rivers ran. While tools

broke, rusted, disappeared; 

while nuts and bolts came

and went; and jobs and tasks

were asked and answered,

the anvil stayed like an anchored

asteroid, like a god of patience. 

Hans Ostrom 2024

Questions at a Cafe

The 3-year-old sips

his hot chocolate.

His face expresses

pleasure. He tells me,

"Cows make milk."

"That's correct," I say,

as if he needs my opinion.

His grandma, my wife,

is at the cafe counter

getting her drink (I sip

my two shots of espresso).

The 3-year old asks,

"How do cows make meat?"

I say, "Well, cattle, male

and female, eat a lot of

grass and hay to make

their muscles big."

I dread the follow-up

question and in my mind

see abbattoir images,

hear horrific terrified

bellowing, smell blood. 

The question doesn't come,

for he sees grandma

returning to our table

with her drink--a cafe latte--

made with oat "milk."

Hans Ostrom 2024

Colbert & Poetry

TNN Grand Ole Opry - Earl Scruggs & Andy Griffith performing (11/13/99)

Steven Tyler - Golden Slumbers, in The End

WHITE VS BLACK CHILDREN IN GROCERY STORE | Ali Siddiq Stand Up Comedy