Hans Ostrom

Silver Star - 4,005 Points (1954 / California)

Hans Ostrom Poems

41. Not Whitman 11/4/2007
42. Monastery, Montserrat 11/5/2007
43. Time Harvest 11/5/2007
44. Guilty At Some Level 11/5/2007
45. In Praise Of Seeding 11/6/2007
46. Animals And Investment 11/9/2007
47. Sierra Nevada: Cold Work Moment 11/11/2007
48. Mum Is The Word 11/13/2007
49. Quake 11/2/2007
50. Golf 11/3/2007
51. Sonnet: Less Of The Different? 5/7/2008
52. For Groundskeepers 8/18/2008
53. For Rose-Gardeners 8/19/2008
54. Villanelle: Go As You Wish Into That Good Night 9/25/2008
55. Mere Sympathy 9/30/2008
56. Villanelle: I Think I Know 10/1/2008
57. Concerning Joy 10/5/2008
58. Proverb Ambulance 10/5/2008
59. Capitolism 10/8/2008
60. Good Ground 10/9/2008
61. Concerning Gratitude 10/15/2008
62. Molecular Mood: A Sonnet 10/31/2008
63. Wary Lyric 11/3/2008
64. Options 11/9/2008
65. Quantum Sonnet 11/10/2008
66. Crossing The Creek 1/19/2009
67. Financial Advice 1/19/2009
68. Duke Ellington 8/26/2008
69. Blogosonnet 9/13/2008
70. Transactional Poem 9/14/2008
71. Ballad Of The Micro-Town 9/14/2008
72. Light A Candle 1/19/2009
73. Zen Golf 2/2/2009
74. Intrigue 2/17/2009
75. Names Of The Obscure 2/19/2009
76. Couplets In The Fog 2/19/2009
77. Snoring 3/13/2009
78. Sixty Bees Of Separation 3/29/2009
79. Digital Technology 6/2/2009
80. Perspectives: Duck, Pig, Snake, And Frog 10/26/2009

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Best Poem of Hans Ostrom

Langston Hughes

In a wilderness of reasons
not to write, he wrote. Just wrote.
Each word was the belief
in the possibility of the next.
He kept it going.

Mostly his days and words talk
quietly, though he could rant and rage.
Mention is what his voices usually do
in a world of self-convinced noise.

Truth mentioned is a sweet brass
note you’ll never forget. Writing,
Langston showed writing to be
an unashamed act, one of the few
in a shameful, shaming world. Words

grin. Words reside. Words throw
a meal together for unexpected friends,
make a garden...

Read the full of Langston Hughes

Hands Of The Wind

Inside a pyramid, its reason:
A former king parched like a leaf
And now impervious to grief,
Bacilli, and a shift of season.

Dust of a million builders’ bones
Informs the wind with grit, lingers,
Then scrapes with unbelieving fingers
Familiar blocks of hand-hewn stone.

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