Tuesday, January 7, 2025

Boot

I saw a single cowboy boot,
brown, upright on a sidewalk.
It pointed toward the painted
crosswalk it stood beside.

Had its inhabitant stepped out
of it and limped across the street
into a single-booted life?
Or had he hauled the other boot

along, walking in socks?
The tokens of absurdity,
calamity, defeat, and sadness
are strewn across all cities.

Of course they are: masses
of people, masses of things
and accidents and fractured
fates. Oh, stride on, stride on,

single-booted city cowboy.

hans ostrom 2025

Sunday, January 5, 2025

O, Mouth

 an ode, in abc... form


O, mouth,
Abyss of appetite,
  Bureau of belching,
Cannon of cursing,
  Dungeon of tongue,
Emitic exit,
  Fanatic of food.

O mouth,
  Groom of gluttony,
Hall of hiccups,
  Inventor of intrigue,
Joker and jester,
  Knight of bite,
Lover of lick and kiss.

O mouth,
  Muse of mucous,
Nobleman of No,
  Obnoxious Opinionator,
Penthouse of Prevarication,
  Quarrelsome quipster,
Rude rogue of rebuke,
  Soothing sayer.

Tabernacle of teeth,
  Union of utterance,
Vector of vocabulary,
  Wagon of waggery,
Xanadu of flu,
  Yodeler and yeller,
Zone of zest, O, mouth.

hans ostrom 2024

Saturday, December 28, 2024

Sonnet for Olivia Hussey

 rest in peace, Olivia Hussey--1951-2024

A yellow bus hauled us to Sacramento—
A field-trip to Franco Zifferelli’s film.
We were as young as Juliet and Romeo,
Three years too young for Johnson’s war in `Nam,

An ideal audience for R and J--
Infatuated with ourselves, that is to say;
Hormonally volcanic; raised on Coke™,
TV, and Rock. The news had not yet broke

That we were mortal and that Clearasil™
Could not salve every wound. Sex and death,
First crushes, crushing families—these filled
The screen. But soft! She took my breath

Away—Juliet. To this late day, you see,
I have a crush on Olivia Hussey.

hans ostrom 2024

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Leaving the Holiday Party Early

Amidst the burnished
buzzing of chat, you
say thanks to the host.

Then thread yourself
through clumps
of standing talkers.

You see yourself
out, as they say,
and close the door.

You deep-breathe
to sample cold air
and walk until

you can't hear
the party at all
anymore. Maybe

you'll go on
forever, past all
gatherings,

past being you,
past being, into infinity's
big get-together.

hans ostrom 2024

An Image of Spring Wheat

Emerald-green spring wheat
in Tuscany unrolls its carpet
up to a hilltop and blue sky.

Up there to the right
gather cypress trees in a
clump like conferring monks.

Across the top of the hill,
two electrical lines sag
between two cruciform polls.

A photographer has snapped
this image with a legendary
Hasselblad. The scene ordered

him to do so. Then, a guest
late to dinner, he rushed off
and forgot the lens-cap. In

the morning he returns. The
hill doesn't look the same. Of
course not. He smiles. He

scans the green grass,
searching for the cap. He
finds it, glances back up

at the cypresses, which
gossip about him. A bird
lands on one of the wires.

hans ostrom 2024

What A Cat

This leopard's growl
stays in the throat, gargling,
gurgling like a cauldron.

This dabbed fur
paints an impression of
dappling sunlight on brush.

Sides of the lithe cat
expand, contract, as air
jumps into lungs, rides out

again over a rough pink
tongue, white theeth,
black lips. This staring leopard's

mouth and nose taste-smell
air, sorting known traces,
measuring strange mixtures.

This leopard, what a cat,
ah, what a creature,
what a miracle of Here.

hans ostrom 2024