Oskar Hansen


Oskar Hansen Poems

361. Cold Coffee 3/10/2015
362. Cold Feet 6/3/2016
363. Colibri A Sonnet 6/22/2012
364. Collective Punishment 1/28/2009
365. Collector 4/13/2010
366. Colourless 4/24/2016
367. Comedians 1/7/2015
368. Coming Wars 5/10/2010
369. Common Ailment 12/16/2013
370. Conflicting Influence 11/25/2010
371. Confusion 12/12/2015
372. Contemplation 7/10/2014
373. Continuation 3/18/2011
374. Cookery Programs 6/6/2014
375. Corrosion 7/12/2014
376. Costa Rica 4/8/2015
377. Country Road 9/11/2009
378. Couples 4/15/2014
379. Cowboy Poem 7/5/2010
380. Cracks In The Mirror 3/27/2011
381. Creative Painter 3/25/2015
382. Cultivated Is My Valley 3/2/2009
383. Culture 7/4/2014
384. Cumoulous 9/7/2012
385. Curse Of The Facebook 2/23/2013
386. Curtain 7/18/2012
387. Cylindrical Mirrors 6/15/2009
388. Dad´s Army 11/10/2012
389. Dance Macabre 2/27/2012
390. Dance Nocturne 11/18/2009
391. Dance Partners 6/5/2011
392. Dangerous Encounter 5/29/2015
393. Darkening 11/28/2014
394. Daughter 7/9/2012
395. Dawn 2/19/2011
396. Daybreak Song 4/20/2009
397. Dead Canines In Spain 2/10/2016
398. Dear Reader 5/16/2010
399. Dearth Of Bees 4/6/2012
400. Death Of A Dog 9/4/2009
Best Poem of Oskar Hansen

...And It Was Her Summer

…And It Was Her Summer


“Go back to the children’s home, she said I have no work and
can’t afford to keep you” Late June afternoon she sat on a bench
with a man I didn’t know. The man smiled I didn’t like him, but
took the coins he gave me to buy an ice –cream for; I was still
hanging about so mother got up and slapped me across the face.
”Get lost you stupid boy! ” My face was burning I threw the coins
into the lake and ran away. When I stopped running it was night
and I could see sheep in a field, I was tired and cold, thought of
seeking shelter in a...

Read the full of ...And It Was Her Summer

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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