Jan Sand

I was born in Manhattan, New York, grew up to the age of 12 in Brooklyn, and resided until the age of 36 in Manhattan. I took a degree in industrial design at Pratt Institute and worked in New York until I was designated field man for a New York firm for an exhibition by the US Commerce Dept in Helsinki, where I met my wife. Since then, I worked in Berlin, Paris, Tel Aviv and in the USA.


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	"Dead Reckoning" by Jan Sand This stone, When thrown,Performs a parabolic arcWith precision.What decisionHas made its markTo defineThe designOf its pristine curve,So mathematicalSome fa
	"Pennies" by Jan Sand Nowadays their round facesStrewn the streets like copper sunsIn a galaxy of torn paper shreds,Fragments of things broken and anonymous,Not worth the stoop for a retrieval.Some time ago t
	"Utility" by Jan Sand We know that they are thereLurking in their secret passageways,Hooting high frequencies through their lair.The sound itself chills the blood. It dismaysAny attempt to communicate, to find

	"Recipe For A World" by Jan Sand Let there be light, of course.But darkness too,Where the planet's shoulderShrugs away the fury of the SunTo permit the Moon's cool eyeTo hold court over her coterie of stars.
	"Family" by Jan Sand Were my hair green grass,My bones hard stones,My eyes blue skiesBehind which soft white thoughtsCould move on vagrant winds,If I accepted birth from stellar dustBoiled from hell
	"When" by Jan Sand When the moon was a silver queenAnd the sun was a golden king,Then the Earth was a tangle of jungleWith a few green fields between.A man in a cave that he made his homeScratched lines up
	"Picasso" by Jan Sand Picasso, when seenAt paintings, between,Was requested about his vocation. The question was askedFor reasons unmaskedTo discover his base motivation."I make, I
	"Cool It" by Jan Sand There is suspicion of intentIn everything, no purpose bent,For living things must orientPurposes where none is meant.Nature cannot swerve or swayTo please a whim or calm a qualm.
	"The Bust of Lust" by Jan Sand Now that I am wheezingOne would thinkThat special linkThat commands I seek Someone less antiqueFor fondling and squeezingWould become obsolete.But still I sift the community
	"Demise" by Jan Sand It is quite conventionalAnd not at all contentionalTo rage against the age when we decay.For the progress of the regressGenerates the anger to expressOur grief and our powerful dismay.
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