Biography of Jan Sand
Originally a New Yorker. Currently a resident of Helsinki, Finland
Jan Sand Poems
The Funny Old Man
There was an old man who was lonely and grim And excessively technically minded. He lived with a cat and an owl that was fat And a fancy new clock. He=d designed it.
Split me in two And spread the gash. There, between the pillows Of my lungs, tangled
Frank In Contemplation
They call me Frank these days And the name implies me many ways. My character is blunt, somewhat unswerving. My features rather crude, I am a creature
A black cleaver In the tropics Severs day from night In one chop.
I am tall in years these days And sway with all the breezes. Weather whistles through my ways, Erupts in snorts and sneezes.
To fold a cat It must be flat So that, one could hope, To put it in an envelope
Somebody Else's Dog
We stand in line Patiently hungry for money At the ATM. All black, he is,
The Means Of Michelangelo
The sculptor once pointed out That his duty to the stone Was janitorial. By removing excess alone
The patterns of the world wash in Across the sands of mind And ripple through the thoughts which drift And scatter unaligned
The waltz of warmth That dances in and out Of each year Is played on instruments
Death knocked upon my door - Asked me to come along. I told him that I'm occupied. To leave now would be wrong.
Let me ride the tail Of the blue-eyed whale, Use the ocean for a pillow, While the cobalt sea
There is cold In the country of the old. Heat of life, Heat of love,
Midnight Wind At the Carnival
The chill air tumbles down from the moon And splashes through trembling leaves Tainted by the icebergs of Europa. Silently, like a frenzied animal,
To fold a cat
It must be flat
So that, one could hope,
To put it in an envelope
And mail it to a destination
With very little explanation.
Cats do not appreciate
This flat compressive state