Tuesday, February 11, 2025
Monday, February 10, 2025
Sunday, February 9, 2025
The Superb Owl
reposting one from 2015
(super bowl)
What is this superb owl
that everyone's talking about?
It sounds fantastic. I would
like to watch it, to see it glide
in moonlight across
a clearing, alighting in a grove.
Well, yes, of course, we may hold
a superb owl press-conference
and attend superb owl parties!
I don't yet know what in particular
the superb owl even better
than other owls I've seen.
I will not quit until I find out.
In the meantime, let be known
that near barns and in woods,
in city parks and gullies,
on plains and in mountains,
I am a fan of the superb owl,
its perfect wingspan cutting
silently, like longing,
through the air.
hans ostrom
copyright 2015
Tuesday, February 4, 2025
Busker in the Rain
singing on the corner
down on First and Main.
Seven people listen,
Looks like four will clap.
Look, one drops some coins
In that old black hat.
He’s played like this
Around the world,
Belgium to Berlin,
Paris to St. Paul.
He might move on
To Tulsa, or to
the metro, Montreal.
Yeah, it’s hard to find
A gig in a coffee house or bar.
Well, that’s the way it is
So he’s a sidewalk star.
Folk and rock and pop,
Jazz and country, too.
Someone drops paper money--
Time to nod, "Thank you."
Buskers play like this
All around the world,
Ireland to Spain,
Paris to St. Paul.
They might move on
To Tulsa, or to
the metro, Montreal.
He used to have a dog
But sadly it's has passed on.
The blues tunes made him
Moan. That old dog’s name
Was Don.
A woman listens hard
He can see her sigh.
That feels pretty good,
It’s true—he cannot lie.
If that woman walks up
And tosses in a bill,
That will help him eat:
A different kind of thrill.
The cities of the world
Are the troubadours’ abode.
They’re out there playing now
On this street or that road.
Stand or sit, play and sing—
That is the busker’s code.
Elevator and Bus
Doors closed, doors opened:
onto a bus where she sat
riding with new strangers.
"I didn't want this," she said
to a gray-haired woman.
"No one does," said the woman.
Then everyone began to sing
a song she did not know.
"I'm scared," she said to
a weary, kind brown man.
"It is all right," he said.
"This is the bus we're on,
and all of us are frightened?
Friday, January 31, 2025
The Goddess Dusk
goddess infused with gold
light, luxuriant in liquid
soft warmth.
hans ostrom 2025
painting by Alphonse Mucha (1899)
Thursday, January 30, 2025
Sine Qua Non
for phrasing. Blank stare,
bunched brow, light in eyes--
words stored in neural bins,
plucked out, strung like beads,
then shipped in blood-drawn
carts along nervous roads
to mouth and tongue and
lips: "Sine qua non--that's it."
And the listenerr repeats:
"Sine qua non--right."
Monday, January 27, 2025
Winter Samba
(song lyric)
I find I need to feel my feet
On Ipanema sand
And see the supple bodies -
So lithe and tawny tan.
I conjure up Brazilian heat -
And sense the
sultry sun.
I crave the fiery chill
of
Cold rum on my tongue.
Play
a winter samba
To
melt my soul’s cold ice.
A
soft & sultry samba -
The
sound of paradise.
Play
a winter samba
That
sways just like a palm
Beside
a breezy beach -
The
ocean bright and calm.
Winter wears me down
-
The city’s gray and cold.
The forecast every day’s
The old same-old same-old.
Who are all these strangers
Who sneeze and cough on me?
I spend my evening shivering,
In front of the TV.
Chorus
Buffalo and Cleveland,
Detroit, Ontario.
Winter wants to strangle them.
Winter won’t let go.
Seattle and Chicago,
Berlin and Paris, too.
The rain and snow and darkness
Dye all our spirits blue.
How much are flights to Rio?
Okay - I’ll check
online.
Do I have Brazilian cousins
Who own a silver mine?
Chorus