Oskar Hansen


Oskar Hansen Poems

1. Driving Home -new- 8/27/2016
2. The Beer Drinker 3/8/2015
3. Retired Sea Master 3/11/2015
4. To See Or Not To See 3/13/2015
5. Instant Memory 3/14/2015
6. To Prefer Life 3/15/2015
7. Dignified Doorman 3/16/2015
8. Yemeni 1/23/2015
9. The Serb General 1/24/2015
10. Electrification 1/25/2015
11. Hunger 1/26/2015
12. Verses 1/27/2015
13. Mgic Tree 1/28/2015
14. Nolocaust 1/28/2015
15. Stages Of Life 1/29/2015
16. Morning Conversation 1/30/2015
17. The Perennial Problem Among Squirrels 2/4/2015
18. Handcart And Ring 2/5/2015
19. The Cigarette Smoking 2/7/2015
20. Deficiency 2/9/2015
21. Australia Vet 2/12/2015
22. Borderline Drunk 2/18/2015
23. Stop Them Now 2/20/2015
24. Porto He Said 2/24/2015
25. Haifa Oranges 2/25/2015
26. The Common Soldier 2/27/2015
27. Golden Fleece 2/28/2015
28. Ants In The House 3/1/2015
29. The Smallness Of Things -new- 8/15/2016
30. Vehicle Island -new- 8/16/2016
31. The Unknown Couple -new- 8/17/2016
32. Love Bug -new- 8/18/2016
33. Unwanted -new- 8/19/2016
34. Thoughtless Day -new- 8/20/2016
35. Water Bill -new- 8/21/2016
36. Beware Of Poets -new- 8/24/2016
37. At The Meeting -new- 8/25/2016
38. The Painting -new- 8/26/2016
39. Pledge -new- 8/26/2016
40. The Seal 3/21/2015
Best Poem of Oskar Hansen

A Cigarette

A Cigarette


Dawn, yes and the mist, what else do you
expect on lake Martin early and summer?
Swamp cypress dripping with Spanish moss.
I have stopped rowing, water swirling around
Oar blades, the silence is absolute I dare not
Inhale, a bird shrieks, the lake shudders
An evil thought has entered Paradise, I hear
The faint noise of outboard motors,
The moment of ethereal stillness has gone,
I lit a cigarette inhale deeply, exhale and blow
Rings a pure delight into morning air.

Read the full of A Cigarette

Lady And The Tramp

The Lady and the Tramp

I took the bus from Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead,
from there the underground to Liverpool, walked
to Hanover Street; took a rickety lift up four floors
to a studio where Miss Summers tried to teach me
to speak posh English. A hopeless task my Norse
accent refused to be relegated clung to my throat
like phlegm, the size of a jelly fish, and anyway,

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