"Tame Cat," by Ezra Pound

"To Waken an Old Lady," by William Carlos Williams

"Discreet Books," by Hans Ostrom

Old books, discreet, keep what now
seems naive, quaint, or embarrassing
enclosed, hidden in stacked pages
between covers. Replayed TV episodes

lay bare what's now funny
for the wrong reasons. They
show how the writers
sank their lives into a wicked,
remunerative genre bound
to betray them as now

they sit in fine houses,
their bodies ravaged
by the stress of the Industry,
looking at the spines
of novels they've collected.

Faint noise of grandkids
splashing in the blue pool,
Hollywood hills, reaches
the interior, paid for
by residuals. It was,
it is, a living, and as Sam
Johnson said, "No one but
a block-head writes
for anything but money."


hans ostrom 2014

"Love Without Hope," by Robert Graves

"Earth Song," by Langston Hughes

"Salome," by Langston Hughes

"May," by Fenton Johnson

"Unwind My Riddle," by Stephen Crane

"The Rainy Day," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poetry-Prompt: Writing a "Thing-Poem"

"The League of Quiet Persons (Mum Is the Word)," by Hans Ostrom

"Song for Billie Holiday," by Langston Hughes

It is Billie Holiday's birthday today.

"The Witch," by W.B. Yeats

"Gothic Fog," by Hans Ostrom

"Between Two Worlds," by Lord Byron

Canto XV, Stanza 99, of Don Juan:

"It Will Not Change," by Sara Teasdale

"She's Checking," by Hans Ostrom

in the Parkway Tavern, Tacoma,
i'd been drinking lemonade
for a half-hour or so.

a different waitress
came to the table. i
wondered if waitresses
and waiters like
to be called servers
now or not. i kept
this question to myself.

anyway, she said,
"what are you drinking?"
i said, "lemonade."
she said, "we don't have
lemonade." i said,
"i have been drinking
lemonade." she said,
"well, i'll check."



hans ostrom

"I Saw a Man Pursuing the Horizon," by Stephen Crane

"The Poet Speaks," by Georgia Douglas Johnson

"Death and Life," by Robert W. Service