Oskar Hansen


Oskar Hansen Poems

1681. Winter Of Discontent 9/22/2011
1682. Winter Of Discontent 2 1/10/2016
1683. Winterlight 2/3/2010
1684. Wintertale 2/3/2014
1685. Wintery Blush 12/1/2010
1686. Wisdom 4/19/2011
1687. Within The Circle 5/1/2012
1688. Women Who Drink And Sex 6/24/2015
1689. Wonder Drug 7/21/2014
1690. Wonder Of Spring 4/13/2012
1691. Wonderful America 8/21/2013
1692. Wonderful Scandinavia 2/4/2016
1693. Woodland 6/5/2014
1694. Wordless 2/22/2011
1695. Words In My Mouth 7/19/2015
1696. Worker Ants 7/14/2009
1697. Working Class Poet 5/18/2016
1698. Working Class Soldier 1/14/2010
1699. World News 11/7/2012
1700. World War 3 11/26/2015
1701. Worlds Biggest Rat 8/24/2010
1702. Worried Water Vertebrates 3/17/2012
1703. Worth Fighting For 1/22/2015
1704. Www And Cute Puppies 12/24/2010
1705. Yang Sing River 6/21/2015
1706. Yemen 3/19/2011
1707. Yemeni 1/23/2015
1708. You Are What You Drink 7/25/2012
1709. You Too 9/3/2009
1710. Young Lovers 12/7/2010
1711. Yule Logs 12/22/2012
1712. Yule Tide Again 12/23/2015
1713. Yule/Christmas 11/24/2014
1714. Zeb And More 12/11/2015
1715. Zen Too 5/26/2014
1716. Zero 6/6/2011
1717. Zeus´s Revenge 6/23/2014
1718. Zeus´s Revenge 4 6/23/2014
1719. Zoo Animals 9/1/2011
1720. Zoo Gorilla 4/6/2009
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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