To Have Been: Old Letters

To keep old letters,

or to throw them away?--
much more difficult
than Hamlet's question.

Letters from my mother
in her neat handwriting--
to me when I taught
in Germany. Letters

from former girlfriends--
& "girlfriend" now seems
as antique as ink missives
crawling along mail routes.

I hate to destroy someone's
writing. I see the people
sitting at a desk or a table,
taking time to shape sentences,

to somehow slip news
and feeling into scrawl....
sealing the envelope....
attaching stamps....

Words, preserved--
a pickling of thought.
Eventually we all have to
wreck evidence of our lives:

To have been, or not to have been.

hans ostrom 2023

Tom Jones Offers Spontaneous Tribute to the Late Tina Turner

A Pixel in the Picture

Trying to be enough

in others' eyes, you got used
at working at life too hard--
performing. By

accident you discovered
that it's better
all around just to do
your part--

whatever that is. Those
tasks. Cook, tidy up, listen,
work, care, remain rational.
Just doing, not

performing. A pixel
in the picture
of the common good.
One day someone

said she was impressed
with your kindness. She
may have added "sweetness."
You were surprised.

A bit grateful.
But not tempted
at all to start doing
tricks.

hans ostrom 2023

Of Roses, Again

Just as castles want

nothing to do
with other buildings--
roses don't desire
the company of other flowers.

They wield thorny branches
like maces, defending
their center. Buds
and opened roses
emerge like wise,
gorgeous princesses.

And the colors. My
God--as vivid
and stirring as flags,
as various as whims.
A gardener cultivates
flowers. A gardener
negotiates with roses,
which define their property,
own it, become green
monuments with spikes.

hans ostrom 2023

The Burst

Garden's

green about to
burst into pink and red,
yellow, purple, lavender, white.
Late May.

hans ostrom 2023

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Collected Poems Available on Kindle

The Coast Starlight: Collected Poems 1976-2006 by an obscure poet named Hans Ostrom is now available as an e-book via amazon.com Kindle, and it's cheap. Cheap, I tell you. Cheap:

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Assessing an Evening

What evens at evening?

A dog's barking takes bites
out of quiet. In their buildings,
people cook, drink, take medicine,
talk, give up, rage, look at screens.

Outside, birds have returned
to nests and perches, warming
each other, silencing caw, shriek,
whistle, and song. I decide to use
all this information as evidence

of local equilibrium at dusk,
something that's fine by me.
I'm more weary than optimistic.

hans ostrom 2023

I Spy the Local Eagle

I'm hauling a bin of prunings

and clippings when a bald eagle
flies by low. With one quick
side-glance, it unnerves me.

Such a sure bird, dark and big-
shouldered, yellow-clawed
like a dragon, its wide wings
like a glider's. Those white

head-feathers surround cold
binocular eyes, microscopic
if need be, as when the eagle
parks above water, wings wide,
not moving, not straining, absolute
mastery of air-currents. And
the bird with the wrecking
beak looks down. Sees
the necessary fish. Dives.

Bound to land, I pull
the bin like a large draught horse,
heavy-footed, and a breeze
teases my cap.

hans ostrom 2023

Northern Flicker

Northern flicker, cousin

of the wood-peckers:
It's such an accidental dandy,
with polka dots, a black cravat,
dusk-blue cap, red ornament--
and a subtly curved, bladed beak.

And when it takes off,
a shock of yellow shows
like the lining of cape.

Each early Spring, one flicker
beak-hammers the metal flashing
on our chimney. I'm back!
Such a lonely, obvious bird,
too guileless to annoy.

It likes to blast a high-pitched
shriek and dine on fat bugs
pincered out of trees and posts.

I've never not been thrilled
to see or hear a Northern flicker.

hans ostrom 2023