oskar hansen

oskar hansen Poems

81. A Sea Dirge 3/16/2013
82. A Shadorma Poem 1/6/2012
83. A Shanty 5/4/2009
84. A Sigh (Tanka) 9/7/2009
85. A Sonnet (San Suu Kyu) 8/11/2009
86. A Story Of The Unsung 3/26/2013
87. A Sudden Second Sight 7/11/2013
88. A Summer 4/24/2012
89. A Summer Night 7/19/2009
90. A Tale Never Told 10/19/2011
91. A Tin Of Sardines 7/27/2010
92. A Tough Cookie 3/17/2015
93. A Truely Norwegian Poem 5/18/2009
94. A Tv Star 10/14/2012
95. A Verse For You 9/26/2011
96. A Verse Of Sexual Nature 12/19/2010
97. A Village 7/16/2009
98. A Village In Iberia 8/23/2009
99. A Way 4/1/2009
100. A Weepy 6/9/2010
101. A Winter Memory 12/22/2010
102. A Woman´s World 10/15/2012
103. A Woman's Man 1/17/2015
104. Abike Memory 4/5/2012
105. Abortion 1 12/11/2014
106. About Candles 7/1/2010
107. Accident Prone 11/5/2012
108. Acidic Sea 5/8/2009
109. Aearial Painting 5/3/2012
110. African Bee 4/23/2009
111. After A War 7/6/2012
112. After Coronel Kaddafi 3/24/2011
113. After Ingmar Bergman 2/11/2015
114. After Rain 1/14/2011
115. After The Revolt 2/28/2011
116. After The Wedding 11/4/2008
117. After Us 10/10/2013
118. Afternoon Doze 6/23/2013
119. Age 9/9/2014
120. Ageing 6/28/2012
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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