Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Awful Bog
That the U.S. president's speech
has declined into bits of blather,
a handful of flaccid bigoted prods,
and droplets of rancid smarm
sharply summarizes the state
of the nation's health. He is where
he should not be because our sense
and sensibilities continue sunk
in an awful bog.
hans ostrom 2017
has declined into bits of blather,
a handful of flaccid bigoted prods,
and droplets of rancid smarm
sharply summarizes the state
of the nation's health. He is where
he should not be because our sense
and sensibilities continue sunk
in an awful bog.
hans ostrom 2017
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Monday, October 9, 2017
Italian Coffee Pot
Caffeine priest in a silver
cassock. Octagonal alchemist.
Silver bird gargling dark steam.
It is in the pantheon of small,
essential pots that lead us
kindly into our daily labors.
It is the beloved mayor of the
stove. It is a three-part harmony
of form and function.
hans ostrom 2017
cassock. Octagonal alchemist.
Silver bird gargling dark steam.
It is in the pantheon of small,
essential pots that lead us
kindly into our daily labors.
It is the beloved mayor of the
stove. It is a three-part harmony
of form and function.
hans ostrom 2017
About Last Week
The old days--last week: hard not
to yearn for them, their billions
of images and messages from robots
that made them so special.
And that's not to mention
all the official depravities
pursued worldwide. And it's a
piquant era in America.
The noxious gas that fills
the nation's balloon president
leaked out and anointed the hate-
filled land. The White people
in power who can stand
between his madness and
catastrophic destruction did
not, do not. What a time it was!
hans ostrom 2017
to yearn for them, their billions
of images and messages from robots
that made them so special.
And that's not to mention
all the official depravities
pursued worldwide. And it's a
piquant era in America.
The noxious gas that fills
the nation's balloon president
leaked out and anointed the hate-
filled land. The White people
in power who can stand
between his madness and
catastrophic destruction did
not, do not. What a time it was!
hans ostrom 2017
Sunday, October 8, 2017
Saturday, October 7, 2017
Friday, October 6, 2017
Centri-Fugue
Mind's centrifuge spins in self-defense.
Attempts to spare the core from engulfment
by noise shocks sales extortions hate;
and drowning by social media. Centrifuge
plays a centrifugue, its own idio-
synchronized music, which insulates,
and which also helps mind evade ego,
culture's target. A not-you seems
to glide in the fugue. Glowing
multi-colored rain falls. "Starwater,"
it's called by locals, although
there is no locality. The fogged
not-you folds itself into an unbounded
flow of other disengaged personas.
Soon sadly your non-self hears a noise,
recognizes it as name, and everything's
recalled, ego re-established. The
spinning and its spun music cease.
Your tense sense of the world resumes.
Out of digital Hades comes the flood again.
hans ostrom 2017
Attempts to spare the core from engulfment
by noise shocks sales extortions hate;
and drowning by social media. Centrifuge
plays a centrifugue, its own idio-
synchronized music, which insulates,
and which also helps mind evade ego,
culture's target. A not-you seems
to glide in the fugue. Glowing
multi-colored rain falls. "Starwater,"
it's called by locals, although
there is no locality. The fogged
not-you folds itself into an unbounded
flow of other disengaged personas.
Soon sadly your non-self hears a noise,
recognizes it as name, and everything's
recalled, ego re-established. The
spinning and its spun music cease.
Your tense sense of the world resumes.
Out of digital Hades comes the flood again.
hans ostrom 2017
Thursday, October 5, 2017
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
Creature Brains
Creature brains feature
lanes nature grooved
as species moved into
spaces over time with
their accidental
adaptations.
Hans Ostrom 2017
lanes nature grooved
as species moved into
spaces over time with
their accidental
adaptations.
Hans Ostrom 2017
Phantom Blues
I have the phantom blues.
I'm too tired to be blue.
This is what phantoms do.
They only almost have the blues.
Maybe I'll get some rest
so I can get depressed.
Yes, that's it. I need to
feel better to feel worse.
Maybe I am a phantom.
I hadn't thought of that.
Just an old weary ghost
with an invisible hat.
Hans Ostrom 2017
I'm too tired to be blue.
This is what phantoms do.
They only almost have the blues.
Maybe I'll get some rest
so I can get depressed.
Yes, that's it. I need to
feel better to feel worse.
Maybe I am a phantom.
I hadn't thought of that.
Just an old weary ghost
with an invisible hat.
Hans Ostrom 2017
Let the Maul Fall
In Fall always
use a splitting maul or an ax,
never a hatchet,
to split cut wood into kindling.
As you split and sweat, don't forget
to find the smell of sap in air.
Find a rhythm to body plus wood
plus chop; and air.
Let the maul fall,
no need to swing it. It's splitting
not chopping, after all.
Would anybody find you
if you walked back into
woods to apologize to trees?
Thoughts like this come from air
as your mind moves away
from the fall of the maul's
heavy head and blade.
Hitting a knot calls your mind back.
Find yourself done with splitting
wood, two boxes of kindling,
let's say. Wood stoves are disappearing,
they must. Culture always
chops away old days, splits
custom, finds other ways to warm itself,
finds other work to get that done.
Hans Ostrom 2017
use a splitting maul or an ax,
never a hatchet,
to split cut wood into kindling.
As you split and sweat, don't forget
to find the smell of sap in air.
Find a rhythm to body plus wood
plus chop; and air.
Let the maul fall,
no need to swing it. It's splitting
not chopping, after all.
Would anybody find you
if you walked back into
woods to apologize to trees?
Thoughts like this come from air
as your mind moves away
from the fall of the maul's
heavy head and blade.
Hitting a knot calls your mind back.
Find yourself done with splitting
wood, two boxes of kindling,
let's say. Wood stoves are disappearing,
they must. Culture always
chops away old days, splits
custom, finds other ways to warm itself,
finds other work to get that done.
Hans Ostrom 2017
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Monday, October 2, 2017
Jambing Jam Jive
Jam of the berries, plums,
and sums of water, sweetness,
concoction. Jamb of a door,
a line, or a vine propelling
itself gradually toward
a window sill: vegetative
will. Jamb of the saying
when English meets French,
leaving you singing
the time-and-place blues
on a bench. Jam of aggression,
reckless and crude, forcing
parts to fit into
what's falsely trued.
hans ostrom 2017
and sums of water, sweetness,
concoction. Jamb of a door,
a line, or a vine propelling
itself gradually toward
a window sill: vegetative
will. Jamb of the saying
when English meets French,
leaving you singing
the time-and-place blues
on a bench. Jam of aggression,
reckless and crude, forcing
parts to fit into
what's falsely trued.
hans ostrom 2017
The Vast Hall
Another group has rented
the vast hall here. We must leave.
We didn't know this day would come.
We knew a day would.
Yes, of course I'm confused
and afraid, as if I'd been hollowed
out and panic had been poured in.
I'm also greedy for more time
in this grand space. That's so small
of me. A door will open,
and a door will close. The simplicity
of it is appalling.
hans ostrom2017
the vast hall here. We must leave.
We didn't know this day would come.
We knew a day would.
Yes, of course I'm confused
and afraid, as if I'd been hollowed
out and panic had been poured in.
I'm also greedy for more time
in this grand space. That's so small
of me. A door will open,
and a door will close. The simplicity
of it is appalling.
hans ostrom2017
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Becausing
because we say because
we try to know why,
to isolate a correlate,
shun ones we see
to be against our picture
frame of the world,
the notion of the world
itself a frame,
an abstracted concrete
rain-blur in the brain,
neurologically produced.
loosed,
we speculate, and early we
decide before
we know because we need
to say because.
hans ostrom
we try to know why,
to isolate a correlate,
shun ones we see
to be against our picture
frame of the world,
the notion of the world
itself a frame,
an abstracted concrete
rain-blur in the brain,
neurologically produced.
loosed,
we speculate, and early we
decide before
we know because we need
to say because.
hans ostrom
Monday, September 25, 2017
Smug Shadow
When I was young, I didn't take
my shadow for granted much.
I looked for and at it. My preference
was that version roughly
proportional to my body. I felt
ludicrous when I saw the one
where my torso disappeared
and my legs grew to meet
my neck. I hardly ever look
at my shadow now. It just
never seemed to develop
into a major innovative
displacement of light. And
honestly, I'm tired of carrying
it around. At the same time:
no shadow, no me. It is
a kind of proof. Believe me,
my shadow's quite aware
that it's indispensable to my being.
It's a smug, insubstantial thing.
hans ostrom 2017
my shadow for granted much.
I looked for and at it. My preference
was that version roughly
proportional to my body. I felt
ludicrous when I saw the one
where my torso disappeared
and my legs grew to meet
my neck. I hardly ever look
at my shadow now. It just
never seemed to develop
into a major innovative
displacement of light. And
honestly, I'm tired of carrying
it around. At the same time:
no shadow, no me. It is
a kind of proof. Believe me,
my shadow's quite aware
that it's indispensable to my being.
It's a smug, insubstantial thing.
hans ostrom 2017
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Friday, September 22, 2017
Anti-social non-media
holds promise. It might look like
sitting alone, phoneless and thinking,
which at least allows you
to imagine a country that has unfriended
racism, faved equity, pinned
knowledge, twanked twaddle
into truth, and stopped following.
As the media are mainly
a village of the damned celebrities,
it may be wise sometimes
to reduce the status of the spectacle
to that of an evening gnat that
passes by your eyes and ears-
a momentary minor whine.
hans ostrom 2017
sitting alone, phoneless and thinking,
which at least allows you
to imagine a country that has unfriended
racism, faved equity, pinned
knowledge, twanked twaddle
into truth, and stopped following.
As the media are mainly
a village of the damned celebrities,
it may be wise sometimes
to reduce the status of the spectacle
to that of an evening gnat that
passes by your eyes and ears-
a momentary minor whine.
hans ostrom 2017
Thursday, September 21, 2017
Monachopsis
You feel you've had
to try to fit
yourself into groups
and systems
like a hand-made part
in mass-produced machinery.
You know other people
must feel this too,
except there seems to be
less friction for
most of them, more
gliding function.
You play at envying
them to pretend
to chastise yourself.
You always think
you can be better
at joining. Yeah,
you think that.
Indeed you've archived
the many instances
of your desire to fit in,
and using "indeed" in
sentences is one of them.
You assemble conscise
internal reports
that tell of irascibility
and insufficiently
feigned adherence
to the contours of authority.
That is, times when
you were a pain in the ass,
when you wouldn't
knuckle under but
could have easily.
Should have? You
ask that now!
Down there in
dark, dank storage,
you feel judged
even by the rude
shelves and weary
boxes of your making.
Don't panic. Go upstairs
where the others are.
Mind your manners
and your mannerisms.
Chat and listen. Note
the desire to be somewhere
else but do not
act on it. The gathering
will dissolve soon
enough/not soon enough:
what's the difference?
The difference is you.
hans ostrom 2017
to try to fit
yourself into groups
and systems
like a hand-made part
in mass-produced machinery.
You know other people
must feel this too,
except there seems to be
less friction for
most of them, more
gliding function.
You play at envying
them to pretend
to chastise yourself.
You always think
you can be better
at joining. Yeah,
you think that.
Indeed you've archived
the many instances
of your desire to fit in,
and using "indeed" in
sentences is one of them.
You assemble conscise
internal reports
that tell of irascibility
and insufficiently
feigned adherence
to the contours of authority.
That is, times when
you were a pain in the ass,
when you wouldn't
knuckle under but
could have easily.
Should have? You
ask that now!
Down there in
dark, dank storage,
you feel judged
even by the rude
shelves and weary
boxes of your making.
Don't panic. Go upstairs
where the others are.
Mind your manners
and your mannerisms.
Chat and listen. Note
the desire to be somewhere
else but do not
act on it. The gathering
will dissolve soon
enough/not soon enough:
what's the difference?
The difference is you.
hans ostrom 2017
Party of One
A frost has settled on her smile.
Her words are crisp and cold.
You suspect she never dances,
and that's what you've been told.
You do not want to know her,
although her ways intrigue you.
Your you would not fit hers.
Her disdain would make you blue.
Think of all the times you tried
to get along, accommodate.
They were you've learned a waste of time,
like talking to an iron gate.
Maybe in fact you've lowered
your level of sociability
and must sanguinely admit
alone's good company.
hans ostrom 2017
Her words are crisp and cold.
You suspect she never dances,
and that's what you've been told.
You do not want to know her,
although her ways intrigue you.
Your you would not fit hers.
Her disdain would make you blue.
Think of all the times you tried
to get along, accommodate.
They were you've learned a waste of time,
like talking to an iron gate.
Maybe in fact you've lowered
your level of sociability
and must sanguinely admit
alone's good company.
hans ostrom 2017
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Nymphs
Well, that's a gnarled word. Six consonants
invite tongue, teeth, larynx, lips, and roof
of mouth to a pronunciation party. Awkward!
Now, about those wood nymphs. I've invested
much time-capital in the woods, which
are always a going concern. I earned
a nymph-sighting. You'd think so, anyway.
But, no. Just squirrels, rattlesnakes, deer . . . .
And then: nymphomaniac. That got flung
around last century. It seemed to have
expressed either male fantasies of a pulp-
fiction kind or pseudo-scientific, puritanical
indictments of women who had sex, if
they did, but that was their business,
so what the hell? One ministry
of fishing flies goes by the nymph name,
meant to mimic gnats, mosquitoes, and other
tiny hatchers. You unhook the nymph
from the caught trout, and before you release
the fish back into flow, you think you know
what that frowning face suggests:
Is this sport-fishing really necessary?
That's the problem with mythology. Sooner
or later, it disappoints everybody, among others.
hans ostrom 2017
invite tongue, teeth, larynx, lips, and roof
of mouth to a pronunciation party. Awkward!
Now, about those wood nymphs. I've invested
much time-capital in the woods, which
are always a going concern. I earned
a nymph-sighting. You'd think so, anyway.
But, no. Just squirrels, rattlesnakes, deer . . . .
And then: nymphomaniac. That got flung
around last century. It seemed to have
expressed either male fantasies of a pulp-
fiction kind or pseudo-scientific, puritanical
indictments of women who had sex, if
they did, but that was their business,
so what the hell? One ministry
of fishing flies goes by the nymph name,
meant to mimic gnats, mosquitoes, and other
tiny hatchers. You unhook the nymph
from the caught trout, and before you release
the fish back into flow, you think you know
what that frowning face suggests:
Is this sport-fishing really necessary?
That's the problem with mythology. Sooner
or later, it disappoints everybody, among others.
hans ostrom 2017
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Monday, September 18, 2017
The Ballad of Mr. Who
A certain Mr. Who ordered
his where whated--why,
he wouldn't say.
He hired reliable whaters
trained in necessary hows,
which earned them pay.
When all the hows were done,
sad Mr. Who wished he'd kept
the whaters at bay.
Indeed he missed his otherwhere,
which his impatience had reduced
to dust of clay.
Old Who brooded about what-now.
He grew consumed with whys that led
his mind astray.
It will straggle back sometime,
somehow. Meanwhile now, Mr. Who,
he tries to pray.
hans ostrom 2017
his where whated--why,
he wouldn't say.
He hired reliable whaters
trained in necessary hows,
which earned them pay.
When all the hows were done,
sad Mr. Who wished he'd kept
the whaters at bay.
Indeed he missed his otherwhere,
which his impatience had reduced
to dust of clay.
Old Who brooded about what-now.
He grew consumed with whys that led
his mind astray.
It will straggle back sometime,
somehow. Meanwhile now, Mr. Who,
he tries to pray.
hans ostrom 2017
A Quality of Cold in September
Cold no longer subtle,
as the shifts started in September
as we finished framing a house.
Hurry, get the roof on.
Cold now in September
as I clear the garden beds,
knocking loose a few last
golden potatoes and carrots
with sunburned indigo shoulders.
It's an insistent chill. An overture
to a Winter suite. An advance-team
working for an immanent season
that bides its clime in gravitational
patterns. A shirt under
a flannel work-shirt--then and now--
soaks up sweat & cold startles
the skin when wind rouses itself.
This is a ritual annoyance
that flavors wistful weariness
when I pick up a rake or a shovel.
hans ostrom 2017
as the shifts started in September
as we finished framing a house.
Hurry, get the roof on.
Cold now in September
as I clear the garden beds,
knocking loose a few last
golden potatoes and carrots
with sunburned indigo shoulders.
It's an insistent chill. An overture
to a Winter suite. An advance-team
working for an immanent season
that bides its clime in gravitational
patterns. A shirt under
a flannel work-shirt--then and now--
soaks up sweat & cold startles
the skin when wind rouses itself.
This is a ritual annoyance
that flavors wistful weariness
when I pick up a rake or a shovel.
hans ostrom 2017
Sunday, September 17, 2017
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