Hans Ostrom Poems

The field of our day lay ordinarily
before us. Gravity and practice

tethered our thoughts
...

Winter’s filibuster fades to mumbles.
The delegates are nominating Spring,
signifying their favor by piercing
soil with green digits. Birds work
...

People have retreated
from the outside
of not having homes
to the inside of not
...

A politician's head swelled
and burst out of a televising screen,
crashing onto the floor of my room,
rolling to my feet, where it lay,
...

Some doors are made of wood,
and some of fear.
Inside, you hear
the knocking, wonder: Should
...

The task of cafeterias is to feed large
numbers of people quickly. They are
not so different, then, from farms and
ranches, except the clientele is often
...

Someone's wearing the socks I almost bought.
I wonder how they're doing.

Does he, or someone, launder them well?
...

He'd been at his place of work many years
when one day white ants swarmed
into his official space and climbed all over him.
They bit him, making red marks, stinging.
...

“The days don’t
seem to go fast,
but the months do.
...

Your constancy inspires me to refurbish
pavilions of hope. Your sweetness
unfurls yards of woven sky
that luxurious tailors applaud. Ah,
...