Friday, November 22, 2024
Thursday, November 21, 2024
Wind Advisory
No, a "wind advisory" does
not mean a meteorologistmakes suggestions to wind
about its breezy business.
Here it means driven winds
coming East off the volcanically inclined
Cascade Mountains into easily
offended Puget Sound,
which usually hosts Pacific
winds from West, warm. Something
tonight will rattle, bang, or both
outside this dwelling. We
never can predict what. We'll
listen to the ragged rhythm,
the knocks and ticks, not get
up, wake to debris-filled dawn.
hans ostrom 2024
Reflected Reflections
Lamplight ricochets
off a bit of foil, enterstwo eyes, appears in a
brain, in a mind.
Sunlight softly shines
through and on a window,
where two eyes see
themselves in a failnt face.
Here are mirrors and eyes,
illuminated blindness. Skies.
Wet heat in a gleaming greenhouse
rises. A reflecting mind apprises.
hans ostrom 2024
Wednesday, November 20, 2024
Wednesday, November 13, 2024
Monday, November 11, 2024
Seagul, Hawk, and Here We All Are
In a pounding but warm rainstorm,
I dropped off the weekly sackof canned foot to the food bank
run by a church. A seagull
landed on the church's big cross
and shrieked. Translation?
"I like water!" or "Praise the
feathered Lord!" or "I'm a gull
and I like to scream!" On the way
home I spied a hawk sitting
in a gentelemanly way on a
power-line, watching cars go
by, waiting for an unwary squirrel
or the evening rabbit commute.
Yes, well, here we all are,
traveling another one of our days.
hans ostrom 2024
Friday, November 8, 2024
Thursday, November 7, 2024
The Limits of Anxiety
Anxiety feel like breathless
pressure in the chest,a fluttering suddely of crazed
birds. Anxiety morphs
into dread, shakes the bars
of its cell for help.
Low charcoal clouds
move in, park just above
the head, which wants
to love hope but can't.
Anxiety's gaze wants
to weld itself to a dark pit,
a kind of sick security.
But it is nothing, anxiety
is nothing compared to what
the tortured imprisoned,
the constantly bombed and
displaced, must feel always,
even as they sleep, if they sleep.
hans ostrom 2024
Wednesday, November 6, 2024
Tuesday, November 5, 2024
From Time to Time
The phrase "from time to time"
makes my mind see stepping stones
set wide-apart. Circles of light
on stages. Old pulpy catalogues
and sports newsprint pages,
imploded miners' shacks,
and burial mounds, retired profs
(strangers now on what they'd thought
of as "their" campuses) taking
hard steps into a library. "From
time to time" makes me sad,
forlorn, and blue--but glad
to be alive today though feeling still
a chill on back and shoulders as Earth
spins me toward my personal last time.
hans ostrom 2024
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