Hans Ostrom Poems

In a wilderness of reasons
not to write, he wrote. Just wrote.
Each word was the belief
in the possibility of the next.
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Let's lay down some lines for Langston Hughes
this day of news: 20 January 2009. A fine
piece of the dream's no longer deferred, though
the thought's occurred that Mr. Hughes
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Be the noble curator of your excellence, for
fate made you perfect. In all things, be precise:
standing, sitting, staring, walking, sniffing, eating,
sleeping, killing. Never look in mirrors,
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Today’s whether report
calls for increasing perplexity
in the morning hours,
followed by intermittent
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Imagine you can consider all ideas
And images represented by all words
And numbers in all libraries worldwide.
Open the book of this consideration.
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Among the events occurring
in the universe today, one featured
a convergence of the life patterns
belonging to a salamander and me.
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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,
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News: a signature of flight
stays imprinted on blue-black strata
in Earth’s uncertain crust.
(Body long since gone.)
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The circle is the center of the game:
The trip from home to home; mound; ball.
And Baseball’s creed is O-penness: fields;
Gloves like birds’ mouths; past fences lies forever.
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If you don’t have it, you
must need it, and if you need
it, we can feed it to you. You’re
free to buy what you want,
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