Sunday, May 11, 2025

Fashion Sonnet

The fashions come and go,
drifting in like sparkling snow.
Buttons, zips, and cloths,
woolens for the moths.

Silly cuts and dyes,
laces through the eyes.
New York, Par-ee, Milan--
the models want to yawn.

The cotton comes from soil,
the sweatshops do the toil.
The famous want our gaze--
surplus value is what pays:

after capital infusion.
Fashion: just an illusion.

hans ostrom 2025

Wednesday, May 7, 2025

Ladybug

The design is Art Deco meets mid-century sci-fi:
a seemingly seamless blood-orange red, 
hard enamel dome (with 5 black spots)--
which can break in half to let wings open.

A tiny black and crafty head--with
the machinery to bite aphids and humans. 
Six of the smallest black legs
in insect show business. Two antennae. 

Coccinellididid is the Latin name--
which in my head I hear sung with a Latin
beat (try it). In California, ladybugs
migrate from the Big Valley to the Sierra

for summer. I'm told as many as thirty
million can swarm in a quarter acre--
and not behave like locusts or other
pests (humans, for example).

Intelligent Design? Tempting, but no:
an example of what Evolution does because
it has all the time in the universe plus
no deadlines. Ladybugs make me smile

thinly (hello again). Unless they bite, at
which point I cast them off in a huff.

hans ostrom 2025

Saturday, April 19, 2025

IKO IKO the DIXIE CUPS TV version

Risky, Rickety Bridge

It was a cafe in Time. It was
an evening in space. You two
met, talked and listened, heard
and spoke. Eyes seeing faces.
Nostrils noting aromas, Gestures,
shifts of bodies. Smiles, giggles,
frowns. Tendrils of thought
intertwining. The unfolding

took you to a precipice. Where
a thin, swaying bridge made
of rusty cables and gray boards
offered a way across a chasm,
a segment of two lives' times,
a space called risk.

Hans Ostrom 2025

Concerning Cardamom

 I first met it in childhood,
eating Swedish butter crescent
rolls laced with it. I called it
cardamon for years.

It's not sour or sweet or
hot or bland. Not among
the brash, ballistic, or
bombastic spices. A taste-shifter.

It comes from wee dark seeds
held in narrow, sage-green, three-
sided pods picked from low-growing
tropical plants. It cloaks sugar
in subtlety. Builds coalitions
inside pastry, pudding, or pilafs.

It attracts attention it never
demands. Cardamom allures
as it defers. Again
I move toward it with description
in hand. It dances aside, ever
out of reach. It might even grace
the taste of a peach.

hans ostrom 2025

Sunday, April 6, 2025

Staring Becomes the Fourth Line

A corner of a ceiling:
could be in any squarish
building anywhere on Earth.

Three lines intersect, dissolve
into a point. Maybe where you
are now, you find a corner to see.

Seeing, you might get transfixed,
the familiar becoming strange.
Shade versus light. Axioms

versus wood, plaster, stone,
paint,,,, Or: just that thing
which staring or even

imaginging in darkness
can do: hold your mind, bind
it; tug, coax, seduce it. Staring,
sight becomes the fourth line.

hans ostrom 2025