Saturday, March 19, 2011
The Alchemist
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The Alchemist
Umber smoke, flashed flame,
a bizarre stench: all this delights
the alchemist, whose brow
and cheeks are carbon-smudged.
The base metals stare up
at him like indifferent pets.
He stares back, smiling.
The alchemist knows gold
is far off, welded to quartz
inside mountains under snow.
Facts are tedious to know.
In the windowless room
allowed him, the alchemist
transforms fact into gilded
hope. His crucible holds
a desire: that wealth can
come from want, reverence
from boredom, love from
indifference. He breathes
the fumes of failure and smiles.
Golden bees of possibility hum
inside the realistic head of
the alchemist, who must go to
his job the next day: welding
gray cargo-ships beside the bay.
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=
=
#
The Alchemist
Umber smoke, flashed flame,
a bizarre stench: all this delights
the alchemist, whose brow
and cheeks are carbon-smudged.
The base metals stare up
at him like indifferent pets.
He stares back, smiling.
The alchemist knows gold
is far off, welded to quartz
inside mountains under snow.
Facts are tedious to know.
In the windowless room
allowed him, the alchemist
transforms fact into gilded
hope. His crucible holds
a desire: that wealth can
come from want, reverence
from boredom, love from
indifference. He breathes
the fumes of failure and smiles.
Golden bees of possibility hum
inside the realistic head of
the alchemist, who must go to
his job the next day: welding
gray cargo-ships beside the bay.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Bread and Oranges
...Re-posting one from 2009....
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At Least I Left Bread and Oranges
At first I didn't think I'd be in
this poem, which set out to accumulate
words representing images neutrally--
blue conifer-hills, black flies pulsing
on a deer's bone, rocking red box
of a medics' truck, mineral-grin of
a Cadillac's fin. . . . The truth is
I didn't have another poem to go to,
so I visited this one. You came in
and discovered me sitting on the old
green couch. --And now there you go,
out the door, slam, and I can't
blame you, but I promise to be gone
by the time that you return, and
I did buy bread and oranges. They
are sitting on the counter.
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom
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At Least I Left Bread and Oranges
At first I didn't think I'd be in
this poem, which set out to accumulate
words representing images neutrally--
blue conifer-hills, black flies pulsing
on a deer's bone, rocking red box
of a medics' truck, mineral-grin of
a Cadillac's fin. . . . The truth is
I didn't have another poem to go to,
so I visited this one. You came in
and discovered me sitting on the old
green couch. --And now there you go,
out the door, slam, and I can't
blame you, but I promise to be gone
by the time that you return, and
I did buy bread and oranges. They
are sitting on the counter.
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom
Data Regarding Teacher-Pay
Particularly in relation to the events in Wisconsin, these data concerning teacher-pay in the U.S. vis a vis other industrialized nations are (or may be) of interest:
chart
chart
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Reno
?
)
&
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Reno
When a man holds a knife
in an alley and his aim
is to stick the knife in you,
your dispersed thoughts
reconvene for a quick
meeting. Adrenalin
floods so fast, it balloons
your heart and almost
lifts you off the ground.
Keep that blade away
from your torso and
hurt the wielder: two tasks.
Survive somehow: one.
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
)
&
#
Reno
When a man holds a knife
in an alley and his aim
is to stick the knife in you,
your dispersed thoughts
reconvene for a quick
meeting. Adrenalin
floods so fast, it balloons
your heart and almost
lifts you off the ground.
Keep that blade away
from your torso and
hurt the wielder: two tasks.
Survive somehow: one.
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
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