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Jan Oskar Hansen Benafim / Portugal, Male, 64
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Jan Oskar Hansen's last comments on poems and poets

  • POET: Murtala Ramat (4/1/2008 1:00:00 PM)

    I'm just reading around your poems and it is very intersting

  • POEM: RIVERS by KEERTHANA DINESH 1998 (4/1/2008 12:54:00 PM)

    lovely poem and so true, I wouldn't mind being a river too
    or a stream; where I live there was a river but now it is dry
    and just a scar across the landsape

  • POEM: ! My Muse by Vidyadhara ... (4/1/2008 12:48:00 PM)

    yes this is a deep poem you get the sadness of the impossible
    clear without saying so

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  • Jan Oskar Hansen (2/13/2007 3:41:00 PM) Post reply

    Instant Attraction.

    In the queue buying lottery tickets, last day, last chance
    to win a fortune, I turned and there behind me she was
    the Chinese lady, our eyes met, I had known her all my
    life. Instantly every detail of her face was engraved on
    my mind, if I met her later dressed as peasant woman,
    in Shanghai I would still recognized her

    At the local café I ate fresh Danish pastry, drank newly
    brewed coffee when she came in and sat behind me,
    tremor in hands couldn’t read was acutely aware of her
    presence, too self conscious to get up without breaking
    a cup or turn to speak to her, but we’re meant for each
    other, something has to give.

    Pondering my own feelings I got a little distracted, so
    when I finally turned to look behind me, she was gone;
    had another pastry, remembered she was the Mandarin
    lady that decorated every mess hall on every ship I have
    sailed on; at meal time she looked straight at me and no
    one else in the room.

  • Jan Oskar Hansen (1/30/2007 1:42:00 PM) Post reply

    Cold Scenery.

    The fat duck stands on ice, the pond
    has frozen over, shifting its appetizing
    weight from leg to leg, must be cold.
    Little snow around, too cold for that;
    so why doesn’t it stand on some dead
    grass? An arctic fox sneaks up wears
    expensive fur, but as it lunges the bird
    jumps up in the air, the fox loses its
    balance and slides to the other side of
    the pond; gets up runs, head down to its
    hole in the ground, by the cold boulder.
    The duck stands as lost in thoughts,
    the Nordic landscape is perfectly still
    and the sun is a frozen Florida orange

  • Jan Oskar Hansen (1/29/2007 1:11:00 PM) Post reply

    The Hunted.

    The little red fox he had shot
    and now carried by its hind legs
    to the village to show his mates,
    dripped blood from its mouth.
    On to the sea- sand lane drops,
    of ruby glinted in the sun, but
    quickly paled as domestic dogs
    went wild ready to tear a tiny
    body apart. The hunter and his
    mates laughed.

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