Oskar Hansen


Oskar Hansen Poems

1921. Water Bill 8/21/2016
1922. Water Everywhere 3/18/2016
1923. Water Mermaids 5/3/2016
1924. Water Shortage 3/1/2013
1925. Waterloo 6/26/2015
1926. Waters Way 1/20/2015
1927. Watershed 7/15/2015
1928. Watery Tanka 3/4/2013
1929. We The Stupid 6/9/2016
1930. Weather Forecast 1/9/2014
1931. Wedding In Paris 5/28/2012
1932. Welcome Onboard 10/27/2011
1933. Wentertainment 7/29/2009
1934. Western Movies 3/26/2016
1935. Whales 6/19/2012
1936. What Angles Know 6/3/2009
1937. What Heppened To Laughter? 10/14/2010
1938. What If... -new- 3/25/2017
1939. What Remains 11/14/2015
1940. What Stones Tell 5/13/2010
1941. What The Poet Wrote 6/30/2010
1942. What The Priest Said 1/28/2010
1943. What Was It All About, Alfie 8/11/2016
1944. What's In A Name 1/20/2012
1945. When Autumn Begins 9/2/2011
1946. When Beelzebub Ruled 1/28/2017
1947. When Bordello Was Fun 7/20/2016
1948. When Bordello Was Fun 2 7/20/2016
1949. When I Met My Father 9/5/2011
1950. When I Met Sir Cliff 3/3/2011
1951. When News Was Easy 7/6/2015
1952. When The Dead Awakens 1/5/2016
1953. When The Great Errs 5/16/2011
1954. When The Running Stops 4/8/2010
1955. When Trump Rode Into Town 2/26/2017
1956. Where Is Alex 8/3/2010
1957. Where The Northwesterly Blows 7/14/2010
1958. While We Wait 11/4/2016
1959. Whisper Of Love 2/18/2013
1960. White Horse 5/2/2012
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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