Oskar Hansen

Motorbike - Poem by Oskar Hansen

My motorbike has been on the terrace during the winter
I cleaned it and tried to start it, alas, the battery was
flat so I tried to kick start it but gave up got to get someone
with strong legs and muscular arms to start it.
At this time – spring- in Algarve there are flowers that
only last a week or so and so delicate that if you pick one
it will become a wizen face and die in your hand a hungry
child by the gaslight in the slums of Soho.

Some flowers are too delicate for human hands and can
only be handled by angels with fingers soft as a silk scarf.
When I take pictures of the flowers they come up blank
like they belong to a religious sect that does not believe
in idolatry. Splendour should be shared, if you see it alone
it is like being an old man with Mona Liza in his vault.

Topic(s) of this poem: love and life

Form: Sonnet

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 31, 2015

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