Apocalypse
I saw the storm coming like wall of revolting evil,
people sought shelter in the town´s only café and
I was looking for my dog. I didn´t like to share my
space with the many in the café and found a bus
shelter that once had been a bunker in a forgotten
war; my dog was there. Then the storm hit and
when it was over, the town had disappeared and
a field of tall, sea green grass had taken its place.
The stillness was acute I heard the undulation of
grass, this unnerved the dog so we went on to
the sandy lane and walked on in the hope of
finding the future that had disappeared into a past
where memories linger like dying stars.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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when I met Sir Cliff
When I Met Sir Cliff
I once met Cliff Richard at a newsagent he bought a conservative paper
which, makes sense since he is loaded? Cliff smiled to everyone in the shop,
I did not, can’t see why I should smile buying a newspaper.
That is the difference between us except he can sing bland songs that are
pleasing to the ear and has got hair. We spoke he was pleased to have
someone to talk to who wasn’t an adoring fan. We drank wine, too much
and I walked him home, he lived nearby. He had forgotten his keys to
the gate, but jauntily jumped over the wall. And that was the last I saw of
Cliff, a slim bum disappearing behind a wall
poem by Oskar Hansen
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final Reckoning
Final Reckoning
Murky day in my valley the mountain which
Is a gigantic, petrified tidal wave of soil and
boulders, is obscured today should it liquefy
the vale will be a plateau with a story to tell
but no one around to tell it too, except for
mustangs that only cares about the quality
of the grass. Perhaps some of us would live
on in air pockets underground turning into
earth worms while looking for a light switch
we knew used to be on a wall while gulping
stale air, not grasping that we are doomed;
as a battery radio plays a dirge because
the king is dead like that should be our chief
concern on the day our valley disappeared.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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More Than Paris
France is more than Paris
This dark, unfriendly French provincial town, only,
a pizza parlour open run by a gloomy, unshaven
person who looked like a reluctant refugee from
Kosovo I wouldn’t like to stay down-wind from.
Everything made of plastic tables, chairs that once
had been white, under the counter rested pieces
of pizzas that was going cold, I had two pieces one
with salami, the other with tuna, washed down with
soft drinks. Finished the meal, the man looked at me
as saying: ” What are you still doing here? I left.
Turned, looked into dirty windows, and thought” If this
is hell I better start saying my prayer now.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Rainbow Coalition
Rainbow Coalition
On the border between Chile from Argentina
there is a long barbed wire fence full of plastic
bags, some from posh shops in Paris, London
and New York, There are Japanese bags too
and some with Arabic letters, you can say it is
international garbage fence, but not quite, it is
eerily beautiful like a pale sad rainbow.
There used to be skeletons here too they all had
broken bones as dropped from planes, but
they have been removed now if you are lucky
or ghoulish you might find a collar bone or two
or a skull cleans by the wind; indestructibly sacks
flap, so deafening that you can’t hear the song of
the condors.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Zoo Gorilla
Zoo Gorilla
There was a big, bright ape at a zoo in Sweden who
disliked being looked at when walking about in his
enclosure minding his own business. To get visitors
to move on he threw stones at them. Bad ape, bad
for business the wise zoo administration concluded.
A tranquilizer dart flew through the air and the ape
was rendered emasculated; one cannot have hostile
apes at a zoo, they should behave like cuddly giants.
[...] Read more
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Observed When Buying Onions
Observed when buying Onions
The massive grey cloud on the sky looked like a tiger shark,
open jaw ready to strike it had one shiny eye, and tore off
a piece of heaven’s floor. I saw shocked angels running about
one lost his harp; it fell like a comet down to earth, and landed
with a thunder on the frozen wasteland of Siberia.
The shark had tried to eat more then it could possible swallow,
it fragmented with a limp bang and fell to ground as lumps of
rain. When I looked up again the hole on heaven’s floor, had
been filled in with fluffy clouds, but the angels evening choir
had to do without the harp’s sweet and lyrical tunes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dad´s Army
Dad´s Army
On the Milky Way a black cloud appeared,
not dark as the night, but as a whole year
of winter nights put together and blended
with stygian thoughts of a suicidal dictator.
Then slowly the cloud began to dissipate,
became whispery as Fidel Castro´s beard.
…And there, on blue silk, a new born star,
unexciting at first but it grew stronger by
the galaxy minute- which last a bit longer
than on earth-, till it one day sparkled with
pride especially around Christmas.
The moment a new star is born an old star
lights up, like northern light, for so to fall
into perpetuity, and I shall not see my old
friend Clive Dunn again.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Worker Ants
Worker Ants
Parallel along the path I followed an ant track.
I joined the ants, there were many all carrying
bits of straw so I picked up a piece of dry straw,
and man was it heavy. The other ants laughed
said will get the hang of it in time, soon you’ll
be able to carry two. Maybe four too, I rashly
said. No, that will break your back.
I kept falling behind as I timidly scanned the air
for predatory sparrows and wondered if rabbits
eat ants. Where their track ends by a hole, their
home, I threw my burden to the ground and
jumped back on to my own path. Hard work kills
the soul, and all you get at the end of it is cheap
pocket watch.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Tv Star
A TV. Star.
The man hiding in the light his persona, sparkling
sunglasses not enough when we gloried in his
mesmerizing peculiarity. We saw not the sinister
black shadows behind him… except, from time to
time we felt revulsion a glint in his eyes and shark
teeth that told of what we didn’t want to know.
He died a much loved hero, the abused stayed silent.
Now the dark hideous nature of the man is for all to
see; and must bring shame of those who knew but
for the sake of his fame never spoke out. Pedophiliac,
the seducer of children, his clunking gold chains we
followed, to the tune of greed into the dark abyss of
fear and loathing.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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