oskar hansen


oskar hansen Poems

121. A Tough Cookie 3/17/2015
122. A Truely Norwegian Poem 5/18/2009
123. A Tv Star 10/14/2012
124. A Verse For You 9/26/2011
125. A Verse Of Sexual Nature 12/19/2010
126. A Village 7/16/2009
127. A Village In Iberia 8/23/2009
128. A Way 4/1/2009
129. A Weepy 6/9/2010
130. A Winter Memory 12/22/2010
131. A Winter`s Tale 1/27/2016
132. A Winter`s Tale 2 1/27/2016
133. A Woman´s World 10/15/2012
134. A Woman's Man 1/17/2015
135. Abike Memory 4/5/2012
136. Abortion 1 12/11/2014
137. About Candles 7/1/2010
138. Absolute Faith 2/23/2016
139. Accident Prone 11/5/2012
140. Acidic Sea 5/8/2009
141. Adjourned 11/7/2015
142. Aearial Painting 5/3/2012
143. African Bee 4/23/2009
144. African Elephant 6/18/2015
145. After A War 7/6/2012
146. After Coronel Kaddafi 3/24/2011
147. After Ingmar Bergman 2/11/2015
148. After Rain 1/14/2011
149. After The Concert 1/14/2016
150. After The Revolt 2/28/2011
151. After The Wedding 11/4/2008
152. After Us 10/10/2013
153. Afternoon Doze 6/23/2013
154. Age 9/9/2014
155. Ageing 6/28/2012
156. Ageless Beauty 9/10/2009
157. Agents Abroad 4/16/2012
158. Aghast 12/15/2011
159. Agoraphobia 10/15/2013
160. Air Travel In A Dakota 7/28/2010
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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