Walt Ostrander

Walt Ostrander Poems


In all sight touch taste smell
I have known you.

Concerning Our Weary Limbs

With what resonating mystery
Do strings sound through the gallery?
Eight strong hands with fingers wise
Did I watch with unwavering eyes.

O delicate instrument of patience
That sews herself the seeds of life
Two by two behind her past.
Thou answers only with silence as


O sweet envelopment of vine,
Warming me heavily with (wonder) damp
Lilacs and soft dew underneath my feet;
I am nakedly clothed by the rain from your bow

To live
Is to dream
With Death as a lucidity.
No more will time make

It was called red; it was
Vehement softenings upon such
Strands of life did Her terms of endearment

As existence is a tapestry
So have I begun
(And ended)
With colors of and of not

Violins market themselves
To the illustrious depressive culture of
Irregular devils
And the staccato signals

I thought of a story
One that I’ve had in the back of my mind as long as I can remember,
In the most definitive sense of the phrase.
I thought of a story of a human who thought of a story

Makes red of orange and eats into black holes
Like apples into teeth
Unfinished undone unrefined unstuck unfun

Tealeaves saoked
Timidly in the morning

Throwing as if sinking
Like methylethylflotsamjetsam
Boiling yellow liquid
Smells of death and malted

i kiss this little Spring’s
finger be
cause it is Green like
so many

Maybe because it’s
Your hair
That blonde windy strand
With your head a tired field.

I like to think of smoke as
Serpents making clever
Decisions about where to squirm next

If Faustian souls are made of
Some kind of material
(like denim or plaid or maybe bone)
Perhaps then invasions will pass in secret

In response to the imagist:

He felt there was no decision more important:
He took off his straw hat.

Outrages! Outrages!
But for the sky our muscles ache in pleasure
And in the corn our sunlit sweat smells sweet
A softer left eye

Walt Ostrander Biography

Walked once, and now does not walk; but seems like a person just gone.)

The Best Poem Of Walt Ostrander

In All Sight Touch Taste Smell I Have Known You


In all sight touch taste smell
I have known you.
Bringing me such Utopias.

In all sleep music grinning kiss
I have become Ivy,
Upon your castle growing ceaselessly against you.

Within all stone I have felt you warm;
your parapets bring to me electric morsels of
physics and chemistry and forests.

Your pale, singing guardsmen shall give to me consent
to linger within your walls which you breathe quietly,

sweetly to be open or closed.


If in this ever-breathing pulchritude
I cease to turn about your sun,
This Ivy shall become my sepulcher;
(And I should not expect to view your leaves)

If all this and little more be real,
(And Lyre Plays Little More than Horn)
You and your walls shall close completely;

Squestrating the music I have sewn.

Walt Ostrander Comments

Joseph Daly 30 December 2005

Walt has not been on PoemHunter long. He has shown the good sense to post his pieces after working on them (there is no spontenaity for him) and ensuring that they meet his standard rather than taking a 'this-will-do' attitude. I that, he is a craftsman and a proud one at that. The pieces that Walt have posted scream out, not only to be read, but examined. I do not hesitate in placing Walt alongside Lamont Palmer and John Kay as an illustrious and discipline artist.

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