Oskar Hansen


Oskar Hansen Poems

41. A Day In Our Life 12/24/2016
42. A Day Is A Lifetime 3/28/2014
43. A Day Of Rest 12/2/2010
44. A Dayat The Beach 6/3/2010
45. A Different Sonnet 1/17/2016
46. A Dog Called America 9/13/2013
47. A Dog For Sale 8/27/2013
48. A Dream Called Israel 6/19/2015
49. A Fable 1/15/2011
50. A Fable 2 5/28/2016
51. A Fairy Tale 2 7/3/2016
52. A Farming Couple 8/17/2015
53. A Female Pedophiliac 7/3/2012
54. A Fine Film Of Sadness 5/16/2010
55. A Flat In Town 6/8/2016
56. A Flying Bagatelle 11/14/2016
57. A French Visit 8/28/2012
58. A Friend In Need 4/19/2013
59. A Friendly Story 10/29/2016
60. A Glass Of Wine 3/10/2013
61. A Good Day 1/8/2017
62. A Good Morning 1/8/2017
63. A Hole In The Sky 3/8/2016
64. A Horse Story 6/22/2015
65. A Housewife In Alexandria 10/20/2009
66. A Kinda Love Story 2/25/2011
67. A Lady Unknown 4/28/2013
68. A Lady´s Handbag 7/12/2013
69. A Landscape 12/11/2008
70. A Laughing Matter 11/28/2016
71. A Left Winger 7/14/2016
72. A Left Winger 1 7/14/2016
73. A Leonine Moment 9/1/2014
74. A Letter Sent 7/25/2013
75. A Life-Time 7/8/2015
76. A Literary Magazine 8/18/2015
77. A Literary Magazine Of The American Type 8/18/2015
78. A Litre Of Wine 11/24/2008
79. A Little Sardine 11/29/2015
80. A Lizard Sonnet 7/5/2016
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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