Hans Ostrom

Bronze Star - 2,595 Points (1954 / California)

Hans Ostrom Poems

241. Palette 2/25/2015
242. 'Beautiful In Spring' 2/16/2015
243. To The Band With One Hit 2/9/2014
244. Impression, Sunrise 10/19/2007
245. Homage To Rex Stout And Georges Simenon 10/24/2007
246. Notes In Five Paragraphs On How To Write An Essay 2/17/2009
247. Basketball 5/6/2009
248. Employee 1/19/2009
249. Daphne 7/14/2008
250. Snow And Hawk 11/18/2007
251. Invasion And Birds 11/9/2007
252. Location, Location 11/5/2007
253. Frustration Station 11/5/2007
254. Zen Ambulance 11/2/2007
255. Gävle, Sweden 11/2/2007
256. Just Between You And Me 10/24/2007
257. Apertures 10/30/2007
258. Consumocracy Blues 9/20/2013
259. The Superb Owl 2/9/2015
260. 'Please Rate Your User Experience' 3/23/2015
261. Chocolate 5/19/2009
262. Every Flutist 3/9/2015
263. Fyris River 3/9/2015
264. Have You? 2/12/2015
265. Of Bronchitis 2/16/2015
266. French Rabbits 5/17/2014
267. Downward Dog: Yoga Poem 5/18/2014
268. V For Surrender 10/24/2007
269. Consolation Bracket: Go, Tigers 10/23/2007
270. Hurricane Season 10/23/2007
271. St. Petersburg 11/18/2007
272. Career 11/16/2007
273. Sea Monster 10/19/2007
274. El Greco's 'Christ On The Cross' 5/11/2009
275. Memory Unit 2/16/2015
276. Fingernails 11/11/2007
277. Murder-Mystery Poem 4/11/2008
278. Feeling Bad? Try Thinking About Sex 3/23/2015
279. Of The Socks 2/12/2015
280. White Ants 3/25/2015
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

A Hod-Carrier Reflects

Stone walls get the last word.
This wall, my father built. He’s dead.
It stands. He hefted each rock, troweled
mortar, composed High-Sierra granite,
quartz, diorite, mariposite, slate. Made
the thing true, good, pleasing, and useful.

I mixed and wheeled the gray “mud, ”
cleaned tools and rocks, etched

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