Sunday, December 31, 2023

Primary Colors

In golden light yellow
hay made me sneeze,
wheeze.

I don't see many women
nor even men nor trans
wearing red lipstick anymore.

The 1950s kissed
with thick crimson lipstick, kicked
like a mean horse full
of bad yellow hay gas.

When an alpine lake,
I say brothers and sisters,
if an alpine lake
turns truly blue,
you must pause in awe
your fishing or kayaking,
your known rowing.

As the fog began to thin,
the sun looked like a flat,
cool yellow disc.

Bombs, bullets, missiles,
rockets, shrapnel, make
bloody death, dead bloody
children, babies, their mothers,
fathers, lying in blood
because Power does not
want in its red fury, its
ruinous hatred, to share.

Hans Ostrom 2023

Wednesday, December 20, 2023

A Moment in a City

A seagull in silhouette--
it glides across sky's last light.
Unsheltered, a woman stirs
beneath blankets in a shop's
entryway. Uncovered,
her face is leathered and red.
Cars roll by, roll on.
The sound of their engines underlies
all we hear on the sidewalk.

We're among the living today,
the ones cast in this play,
humanity, but local to this moment's
scene. The shapes of moments
shift constantly. None of us passing
helps the woman. Should I go back
and give her money at least?
The shadow of the seagull is long gone.


hans ostrom 2023

A Secret

A secret is like
an egg in a bird's nest
that sits on a limb
in your mind. The
egg will later hatch,
gain strength, and fly away.


hans ostrom 2023