You know (she said),
it's very important
to remember
the difference between
getting crazy
and
just being
a little
bit
drunk,
okay?
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Poem: Not Safe For Work?
Not Safe For Work?
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
I'll tell you what's
not safe for work,
says the waitress dead
on her feet;
the roofer in 104 degree
heat; the
truck driver, fire
fighter, soldier,
foundry worker,
heat-vent installer.
I'll tell you what's
not safe
for work, says
the warehouse-worker, the
unveiled woman, the
veiled woman, oil-
driller, welder,
seamstress, factory-
worker. What's
not safe for work is
work.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Found Poem: Followed
the new sexy
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
you
is following
you
would you
like to follow
the new sexy
you?
hans ostrom
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Commissioned Sonnet
Going through old computer-files and -documents, I found a sonnet I'd written that had been commissioned. Someone from the Politics and Government Department where I teach (U. of Puget Sound) had asked me to write a poem to be read at their departmental graduation-gathering. This was in 2008.
About all I can say for the sonnet is that it is worth at least what they paid me for it, nothing.
I thought a sonnet--or some traditional form--was appropriate for the occasion. Every so often, I like to write a "commissioned" thing. It's an interesting challenge.
Commencement Bay is the name of the harbor next to Tacoma.
Sonnet: To Graduating Seniors in Politics and Government
About all I can say for the sonnet is that it is worth at least what they paid me for it, nothing.
I thought a sonnet--or some traditional form--was appropriate for the occasion. Every so often, I like to write a "commissioned" thing. It's an interesting challenge.
Commencement Bay is the name of the harbor next to Tacoma.
Sonnet: To Graduating Seniors in Politics and Government
We’ve been the captains of your classes here,
The admirals of your splendid senior theses.
Today we are mere ensigns of good cheer
As you depart these arches, bricks, and trees.
Your learning is your cargo. Politics
And Government’s the dock from which you sail.
The world out there is one we hope you’ll fix.
May warm and fairly traded winds prevail.
Now, after several years at Puget Sound,
You’ll voyage from your own Commencement Bay
To ports where possibilities abound.
With pride we raise a toast to you and say:
In governing your lives, be politic
And always vote for wisdom—that’s the trick.
Hans Ostrom, 2008, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
It Means to You
It means to you, whatever
you're thinking now
as you sit in a chair, in
a seat, on a bench, looking
at the screen in your
hand, on your lap, on
your desk, on a wall.
It means to you, what
you're thinking
of the noise around you, of
your anxiety, of this
indescribable warren
of ideas, memories, neurons
firing, appetites, instincts--
all of it in its all-at-onceness:
mind.
It means to you, the taste
in your moth of coffee or beer or food
or smoke or your own mouth,
or someone else's. There's
the ache in one place, resentment
in another, in nerves and brain.
Are the unsatisfactions worse
than the dissatisfactions? Are
you comfortable enough
but still bored, angry, afraid,
frustrated? Are you looking
at someone now? It means
to you, it is meaning to you,
and you have been meaning, too.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
you're thinking now
as you sit in a chair, in
a seat, on a bench, looking
at the screen in your
hand, on your lap, on
your desk, on a wall.
It means to you, what
you're thinking
of the noise around you, of
your anxiety, of this
indescribable warren
of ideas, memories, neurons
firing, appetites, instincts--
all of it in its all-at-onceness:
mind.
It means to you, the taste
in your moth of coffee or beer or food
or smoke or your own mouth,
or someone else's. There's
the ache in one place, resentment
in another, in nerves and brain.
Are the unsatisfactions worse
than the dissatisfactions? Are
you comfortable enough
but still bored, angry, afraid,
frustrated? Are you looking
at someone now? It means
to you, it is meaning to you,
and you have been meaning, too.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
To Aging Friends
Oh, my aging friends,
what illnesses and
infirmities await us?
We hope to sail
along indefinitely
in these bodies.
We know we'll
be intercepted
and boarded by pirates.
The rigging creaks.
Boat-loads of young
women pass.
At best, they ignore
us, at worst laugh
at our sad crafts.
The aging are
a patient armada sailing
under a tie-dyed flag.
Ah, my aging friends,
let's drink wine in moonlight
on this our rolling deck.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
what illnesses and
infirmities await us?
We hope to sail
along indefinitely
in these bodies.
We know we'll
be intercepted
and boarded by pirates.
The rigging creaks.
Boat-loads of young
women pass.
At best, they ignore
us, at worst laugh
at our sad crafts.
The aging are
a patient armada sailing
under a tie-dyed flag.
Ah, my aging friends,
let's drink wine in moonlight
on this our rolling deck.
Hans Ostrom, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)