oskar hansen


oskar hansen Poems

161. An Alternative View Of Iran 11/1/2013
162. An Angel 6/9/2012
163. An Echo From The Sea 7/1/2014
164. An Elderly Dog 11/29/2010
165. An Emigre 8/16/2011
166. Ancient Hamlet 10/12/2013
167. And More Haiku 6/2/2014
168. And This Is Not A Poem 2/7/2013
169. Angela Merkel 7/20/2015
170. Angela Merkel No One 7/20/2015
171. Angels Too 3/4/2009
172. Angola The African Dream 3/5/2010
173. Animal Pictures 6/7/2012
174. Animal Senryu 3/16/2011
175. Animals And Madness 5/27/2015
176. Anniversary 10/5/2012
177. Another Friendly Poem 1/10/2013
178. Another Silence 3/1/2012
179. Another War? 3/18/2011
180. Ants In The House 3/1/2015
181. Apocalypse 10/17/2012
182. Apparition 3/25/2013
183. April & Easter 4/5/2010
184. April Day 12/21/2010
185. Argentna 9/8/2011
186. Art'Life 8/10/2011
187. As A Day Is Gone 6/21/2013
188. As A Day Passes 4/14/2010
189. As Bullets Fly 12/15/2012
190. As Days Cool 7/25/2015
191. As Days Get Shorter 11/29/2008
192. As Sparrrows Fly 6/4/2015
193. As The Year Ends 12/29/2010
194. As Time ~runs By 8/29/2012
195. As Time Goes By 8/28/2011
196. Assassination? 4/22/2009
197. Assertiveness 7/21/2009
198. Astronomy 4/4/2011
199. At The Chemist Shop 11/20/2013
200. Athens 4/17/2015
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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