Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Fat Man on the Radio
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*
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Fat Man on the Radio
There's a fat man on the radio
who thinks he knows it all.
My truck is stuck out on I-5.
I'd settle for a crawl.
I have to get this load to Texas
or else I won't get paid.
The blowhard on the radio--
he won't come to my aid.
Fat man on the radio,
jerking people's chains.
The fat man: hell, he just
pretends to know our pains.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
*
*
*
Fat Man on the Radio
There's a fat man on the radio
who thinks he knows it all.
My truck is stuck out on I-5.
I'd settle for a crawl.
I have to get this load to Texas
or else I won't get paid.
The blowhard on the radio--
he won't come to my aid.
Fat man on the radio,
jerking people's chains.
The fat man: hell, he just
pretends to know our pains.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
see so many just
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see so many just
i see so many just
hanging on, or not,
staggering in wind
without a coat (as
TV heads mock
people-just-getting-
by); keeping upright
in a job while worrying,
weary, ill, afraid to miss
a shift, target, quota, goal.
see so many
ground down--
and the grinders:
well ensconced with
cosmetic surgery,
lawyers, gates, and
lies. see so many:
cubes and cubes of
housing, broken street
after broken street, &
slashed by alleys. something's
coming. don't know what.
maybe just more of
same. maybe reckoning--
a gray wind chasing
indifference and evil
across a plain full
of smoldering phones
and melted ear-buds.
see something staggering
in the cold, walking past
an empty police cruiser,
strolling toward a swarming
crowd, sound of cockroach-
scuttle coming out of
speakers. and a wailing.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
*
*
*
see so many just
i see so many just
hanging on, or not,
staggering in wind
without a coat (as
TV heads mock
people-just-getting-
by); keeping upright
in a job while worrying,
weary, ill, afraid to miss
a shift, target, quota, goal.
see so many
ground down--
and the grinders:
well ensconced with
cosmetic surgery,
lawyers, gates, and
lies. see so many:
cubes and cubes of
housing, broken street
after broken street, &
slashed by alleys. something's
coming. don't know what.
maybe just more of
same. maybe reckoning--
a gray wind chasing
indifference and evil
across a plain full
of smoldering phones
and melted ear-buds.
see something staggering
in the cold, walking past
an empty police cruiser,
strolling toward a swarming
crowd, sound of cockroach-
scuttle coming out of
speakers. and a wailing.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
New Novel About a Bizarre Plague
So I finally published my most recent novel via Kindle. It is called WITHOUT ONE, and it concerns a bizarre epidemic that strikes in the near future and that hits men where they live--but otherwise let's them live. One tag-line, so to speak, is "Something is happening to men; their penises are falling off."
Mostly droll satire, I'd say, with some pathos and comedy. The ensemble-cast includes first sufferers, researchers, doctors, media-folk, conspiracy-theorists, and of course politicians, including the POTUS.
The disease is soon known as RAPIDS--Rapid Penile Degeneration Syndrome.
My favorite anecdote from my adventures in trying to find an agent for the book: A male agent responded almost immediately to the email query and wrote, "I couldn't possibly represent this book because I have a fear of castration." Which was funny. And which, to me, suggested the book might have some appeal. Technically, the disease doesn't castrate, but I got his drift. I think I apologized for scaring him, too.
Anyway, if you're not scared, and in the unlikely event you have time to read, sigh, another novel, and you like somewhat bizarre fiction, here is a link:
Without One
Mostly droll satire, I'd say, with some pathos and comedy. The ensemble-cast includes first sufferers, researchers, doctors, media-folk, conspiracy-theorists, and of course politicians, including the POTUS.
The disease is soon known as RAPIDS--Rapid Penile Degeneration Syndrome.
My favorite anecdote from my adventures in trying to find an agent for the book: A male agent responded almost immediately to the email query and wrote, "I couldn't possibly represent this book because I have a fear of castration." Which was funny. And which, to me, suggested the book might have some appeal. Technically, the disease doesn't castrate, but I got his drift. I think I apologized for scaring him, too.
Anyway, if you're not scared, and in the unlikely event you have time to read, sigh, another novel, and you like somewhat bizarre fiction, here is a link:
Without One
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Anti-Epic
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*
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Anti-Epic
Here's a thought: stay home.
Quell grandiose ideas.
Let understanding invade you.
Consider all those people
and animals you won't kill.
Admit that whatever you
would seek doesn't exist--
revenge; a cup; glory.
Construct manageable
fantasies. You're an organism
that eats and sleeps. A deeper epic
lies in being nothing special.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
*
*
*
Anti-Epic
Here's a thought: stay home.
Quell grandiose ideas.
Let understanding invade you.
Consider all those people
and animals you won't kill.
Admit that whatever you
would seek doesn't exist--
revenge; a cup; glory.
Construct manageable
fantasies. You're an organism
that eats and sleeps. A deeper epic
lies in being nothing special.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Dog Outside a Bar
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Dog Outside a Bar
Memory is loyalty
to something not there.
I sit outside the past
like a dog outside
a bar, and what
I'm waiting for went
out the back door
hours ago. I furrow
my brow and alert
my ears and eyes.
And I remember.
The future wants
to take me for a
walk. It hooks
a leash to my collar.
And here we go.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
*
*
*
Dog Outside a Bar
Memory is loyalty
to something not there.
I sit outside the past
like a dog outside
a bar, and what
I'm waiting for went
out the back door
hours ago. I furrow
my brow and alert
my ears and eyes.
And I remember.
The future wants
to take me for a
walk. It hooks
a leash to my collar.
And here we go.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Wislawa Szimborska
Wislawa Szimborska, the Polish poet and Nobel Laureate, has died, age 88. Bless her. What a splendid writer. An obituary:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/02/books/wislawa-szymborska-nobel-winning-polish-poet-dies-at-88.html
A recording of a poem:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92dakW05yGs
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/02/books/wislawa-szymborska-nobel-winning-polish-poet-dies-at-88.html
A recording of a poem:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92dakW05yGs
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