Wood Carving Poem by Hans Ostrom

Is this wood
in the mood
for steel? The
shape you see
in there is real.
It's not a distant
form. Your body
warms as you
dig in, asking
grain if it's seen
the spoon you
want. Of course
it has. A basic

sensuality abides
in this old craft,
which predates sin.
Odd, and good,
how body and
attention mold
themselves around
the task. Shavings
and gougings fly
like fat snowflakes.
Wood remaining
repeats a mantra
to you as you carve:
carver, slow down.



hans ostrom 2019