"Sea Violet," by H.D.

"Sasha's Hooka," performed by Joe B. Vaughan, Jr.

Dotted Man

He was sitting in the waiting room
of the dermatologist's office, there
for his annual scan.  Ten years
earlier, melanoma had appeared.
A surgeon had carved it out of his leg.

"I've brought my moles with me,"
he thought. "--The brown, the black-
brown, the raised, the flat, the cherry
red.  I am," he thought, "a dotted man."

A woman came into the office.
Her hair was yellowish orange.
She ordered a bottle of special
shampoo. To the receptionist,
she said, "And I'm not homeless
anymore!"  The man saw immediately

how rare and grand it was
to have an abode to return to.
To have an incoming stream
of the magical symbol, money.
to have a fed body dotted
with moles.  To be ten years
out from melanoma.

He wanted to share his good news,
as the woman had done.  He
admired her. He wanted to cry,
"My body is covered with a
wide variety of moles, and I
have a warm shelter to go to!"

But he remained silent. The
woman left. He picked up
a month-old magazine
about nature.


--Hans Ostrom

The Obscurity Zone

Okay, Mr. Tobbs. This is it.
This is your last chance before
you die to become famous.
Ready? Go!

Well, your score was better
than before, Mr. Tobbs,
but I'm afraid once again
you didn't pass.  See right
here? According to the chart,
your score is still well
within the Obscurity Zone.


Copyright 2012

"The Goddess In The Wood," by Rupert Brooke

"My Papa's Waltz," by Theodore Roethke

"Breathless," by Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi

Bank Statement

I opened up my bank-statement (I
like it still on paper).  It stated:
"This amount is some pitiful shit."

It went on to say, "Man, you got
to get a lot more, and you got
to keep what you get."

The statement ended with this:
"Meanwhile, we'll lend to others
this pitiful amount, make a
percentage, and charge you
fees.  See how it's done?
Love, the Bank."



Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom

"Inscription for a War," by A.D. Hope

"Remorse Is Memory Awake" (#744), by Emily Dickinson

Titles of Poems I've Never Tried to Write

(but be my guest)


The Tahiti Concerto
Guitar Strings and Hunger
Coleman Hawkins and Edgar Allan Poe
Asphalt Catfish
American History Bombing
A Swedish Interrogative
I Can't Know What It's Like
Right On, Off, On, Off
Give Chance a Peace
Gambling With Frogs
The Home Shopping Network Visits Plato's Republic
What Should I Do?
Clues to Your Beauty
The Ruling Class Doesn't Like to Lose
Go Deconstruct Yourself
Christians and Guns
Always Afraid
The Rabbi Writes Poetry
May I Live Forever in One Summer, Please?

"Sonnet 145," by William Shakespeare

Sled Dog

Yeah, I'm lying down.
Feed me or don't.  In a pinch,
I can eat you. What I know is,
white man in another creature's
fur, if the sled's going to be pulled
across this idiotic white expanse,
you're going to have to pull it
yourself. I'm done. We're done.
You never thought dogs would
go on strike. To us, freezing or
starving to death look like a
vacation. What do they look like
to you, Boss, as you shiver
and yell and try to get a
signal for your phone?


Hans Ostrom
copyright 2012