The Suffering
The Suffering
She visits me every night,
her clear blue eyes so full of love, cries.
A pool of hopelessness at her feet,
a love I cannot reciprocate.
When I wake up my pillow is damp too,
I must have wept for her restless soul.
Wrapped in a sheet of plastic
she cannot decompose,
be soil and reborn.
Her eyes so clear and blue look at me
with enduring motherly adoration.
I beg of you go now, let me free
for I have not the force
to return your love.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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9/11
9/11
The man, in the prize received picture, falling down from
the twin tower was flying…he knew he was descending
slowly down to earth and into a blue lake. He had no fear.
He believed that…I too do. We all must believe this.
There was no splash, no broken body, only eternal peace.
We must believe this or his suffering will make no sense.
Ten seconds is an eternity and nothing matters after that.
Forever falling into rapture and no evil will touch him.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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No Love For Jonny
No Love For Jonny?
Was doing the dishes when I felt an odd rousing
below the belt, thought of calling my girlfriend,
haven’t seen her for ages, but she probably would
want dinner, with wine, before succumbing to my
charms, and by then I would be drunk and tired;
so just forget it. Dried the dishes and staked them
neatly, I’m you, see housetrained and divorced,
went into the bathroom and shared my vanishing
ardour with the pink, blasé bathroom sink.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Prima Vera (Spring)
The westerly has ceased it doesn't get
dark before seven, time for evening walks,
and let stillness read my thoughts.
Under a carob tree three stones one on
top of the other and old man sat here,
he saw everything till he lost his shadow.
No one sit on his throne, like sitting on
a tombstone, the stone-chair belongs to
him, his everlasting memorial.
Time to walk home, feel hungry,
the mundane always takes precedence.
Spring is here and life is beautiful.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Silk Road
Farghana valley
the splendour of a mythical dream.
The fabled silk route
snaked its way through here,
bringing new cultures, silk and jade,
and no drones filled the night sky with fear.
In this valley of ancient dreams
beautiful horses made the landscape enchanting.
Civilizations come and go; yes, religions too.
They will claim to have the key to the ultimate truth.
Our time also will be cosmic dust in history of man,
but the valley of Farghana shall endure.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Man With Golden Pen
The man with the golden pen
The president a man of great charm
erudition, has a shady side caused by
his absolute power over others.
Every Tuesday he is presented with
a list of state enemies, he reads and
put a cross of those who have to die.
When doing this he sits alone in his
office, the moment when he is god
decides who is going to live or die.
No man is strong enough to resist
the power bestowed on him, luckily
we have elections but do we listen?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Omen
The Omen
I heard the sound of a plane looked up
a big carrier going north, it was white
and had an orange tail.
In one of its portholes my brother sat
looking out he had a serious face and
I think he was day-dreaming.
I waved he took his glasses off polished,
and put them back on, politely waved
too, but I don’t think he saw me clearly.
The plane vanished into a cloud of fine
woven air, I listened to its silence till a
crowing crow in a tree broke the hush.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Making Of Stars
The Making of Stars.
Long time ago before stars appeared,
nights were as black as standing inside
a mist of ink ejected by an octopus.
When stone-age man found how to lit
a fire, sparks flew up and slowly
the night sky had what we call stars.
When a star or spark dies a new one
will appear if not as many as before
now that we have electric light.
In Kalahari a tribe sits by the fireside
sparks fly upwards, they see to it we
always have stars on the night sky.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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October
The tenth month
October has psychological problem as it doesn´t
belongs anywhere, nor summer or winter? That
is why it gets hot at noon and cold in the evening
having read bad reviews all day long,
October has an inferiority complex doesn´t accept
critics, sees it as a personal attack and then it gets
resentful send bucket full of rains on foe and friends
alike. But October has a soft inner heart, sentimental
too, so speak softly to it and it will be your friend.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Tour de France
On my training bike, in the back yard, I won Tour de France,
it only took half an hour. In Paris they gave me red wine,
a medal and my picture in Le Monde. Then I lost it a blood
test showed I was taking Lasix 40. Again my face appeared
in the papers, with the caption: “A cheat.” Me who had to go
off my bike twice for a pee. I can live with public disgrace for
I know in my heart I won the race; and as the song says:
“no, no they can’t take that away from me.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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