Vanishing Future
The Vanishing Future
The lake we swam in, as children, is now
a sea of knee high thistles, in summer
evenings, that had no night, we fished for
trout, now I see empty tins of sardines
blinking in fading sunlight
I had travelled long to get here fifty years
or so, my old home was an oblong square
on ugly ground, but I did find a rusty
spade to dig my tiny space while smoking
a last cigarette or two.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sunday Dinner
Sunday Dinner
It was on an impulse I went to visit
my brothers' a fine Sunday noon,
No answer, but the door was open
I walked in food on the table, still
warm. Mary Celeste, I thought and
served myself.
Their garden looked enchanting
[...] Read more
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Long Doze
The Long Doze
God woke up
he had slept since world war one.
He was in good mood
On his desk two stacks of papers
one for the righteous people
one for atheists
He called St. Peter and said:
“Let them all in.”
“Are you sure Peter muttered?
“Peter, just do as I say.”
“I like to see
how happy the good will be”
God giggled
“But, most of all the astonishment
In the faces of non believers. “
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Garbage Collector
The Garbage Collector
He had horse and cart
made a living collecting trash,
bringing it to the tip.
He was often inebriated,
but the horse knew the route.
He was temperate
when April came around
and the sun smiled.
He planted flowers in his yard
and in June it was Paradise.
It didn’t last long,
he had eleven children,
eager, running feet.
Blooms trampled to the ground,
endless his quest for beauty.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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When The Great Errs
When the Great Errs
They fall hard the mighty...when they do fall.
Yet, they are often able to get up, look around
for legal help (the best mind, no less.)
Wing clipped perhaps, but the public is amazingly
forgiven. And there will articles extolling
the famous person’s attributes.
The victim, character assassinated and forgotten,
or paid off; if lucky given fifteen minutes of glory
before sinking back to anonymity.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Rainy Day
Rainy Day
It was eight in the morning when I heard
a car door slam and a car drive off.
It rained all day and it soothed my nerves
to hear water trickle down old roof tiles;
stuck indoors, I didn't have an umbrella.
Five o'clock, afternoon, the car returned
and the same door slammed shut,
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poem by Oskar Hansen
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New Year 2009
New Year Eve 2009
Midnight, New Year, fireworks explodes on
velvety sky. Gaza has fireworks too every day,
but they aren’t enjoying it the way we do,
standing here on the terrace of a five star hotel,
perhaps it is only three stars, drinks in hand
and idle chat. I feel wretched, wish I was drunk
but this place only severs wine and that is not
enough to drown my lack of shame.
Palestine, Europe doesn’t cry for you tonight.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Car Bomb
Cars and donkey carts, dust and noise, heat and mob
of humanity in a narrow street...Shoving and pushing
yet affable, of peoples who share a common bond.
A sharp flash that for a moment blinds the sun, then
the blast of an explosion, a shocked silence one can
hear a ticking clock, miles away.
Ambulance, police, screams and blood, when chaos
has abated, what’s left in the street are sandals that
belonged to those in the morgue...
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Immortality
Immortality
Every morning an old man, with a jute
sack slung over his bent back,
leaves his cottage.
His mother’s ancient shadow sits by
the fire keeps ember alive. She is older
than the oldest olive tree in the grove.
She came here when the earth was new,
stars not yet born and the moon was
a pale outline on black canvas.
Her son is gathering roses’ dream
and bird songs in the outer field to sustain
her in a life of perpetuity.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Primeval
The Primeval
Was it a distant cry of a child I heard?
it evoked an equally remote memory
of another child’s wail.
The body in, the bay is your dad’s.
The school yards is empty and cold as
the sea. The bullies have gone home and
the afternoon sun paints unyielding
windows reddish-purple.
Don’t go home yet. Your mother cries
relatives eat shop bought sandwiches;
whispers. I will stay here for a while
and listen to the silence.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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