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an accidental old man

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 18, 2017 at 2:30 AM Comments comments (0)

An accidental old man

 

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out

walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.

The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept

sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.

He fell asleep and during the night water from

an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could

float holding onto a root, and when the water was

level with the ground he could get up and get out.

The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising

and the valley became a lake and his house, which

had been on the high ground a sought-after property,

and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany

with brass handles.

 

an accidental old man

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 18, 2017 at 2:25 AM Comments comments (0)

An accidental old man

 

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out

walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.

The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept

sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.

He fell asleep and during the night water from

an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could

float holding onto a root, and when the water was

level with the ground he could get up and get out.

The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising

and the valley became a lake and his house, which

had been on the high ground a sought-after property,

and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany

with brass handles.

 

an accidental old man

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 18, 2017 at 2:25 AM Comments comments (0)

An accidental old man

 

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out

walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.

The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept

sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.

He fell asleep and during the night water from

an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could

float holding onto a root, and when the water was

level with the ground he could get up and get out.

The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising

and the valley became a lake and his house, which

had been on the high ground a sought-after property,

and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany

with brass handles.

 

the enigma

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 17, 2017 at 3:25 AM Comments comments (0)

The Enigma

 

 

Some children rescued from the hell in Syria

came to the west where the got a good education,

which made them realize their rescuers were

also, the enemy who had bombed and strafed

killing their relatives.

The rediscovered they were Arabs and the culture

of the west was contrary to the Koran, so they

thought of bringing the war to us with a vengeance.

What we have done to the Arab people, even giving

them the bleeding wound called Israel is not and can

not be forgotten; the decision made by the few to

wedge war in the Middle East is a price the man and

the woman in the street, are paying.

 

 

the walker

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 16, 2017 at 3:30 AM Comments comments (0)

The Walker

 

He woke up when a nurse at the old folks home, kissed him,

because it was his eighties birthday, he knew this could

not be true he had slept for fifty years and now woken up

By a kiss. He looked in the mirror; the face was not young,

this was an illusion because they said he was old.

He set about capturing the lost years by walking across

Europe, from the south to the north, but to his surprise

when coming to a town people cheered him on and he

was famous as the man who was walking back in time.

When he reached the north of Sweden, he looked forty

he was treated as a sage; fans wanted to know his secret.

In a TV interview he said, “if you walk long enough, you`ll

find the way home.” This was regarded as a truism, and

roads were clogged by elderly people trying to find their

youth or a time when they were happy.

 

 

 

the saver

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 14, 2017 at 3:20 AM Comments comments (0)

The saver

 

 

He began saving money when 15 years old, liked to see

his bank account grow, not for him to spend money on

restaurants, drink beer with friends.

He inherited his mother`s house, repaired it cheaply by

stealing materials at building sites; he was rather proud

of how little it had cost him.

He had a small investment that paid him a small sum of

money once a year, and in his bank account, it went.

Needless to say, he lived alone a wife costs too much,

wanting this and that, so he visited elderly women who

didn`t want his money only a bit of love.

Then one day, he was eighty lived on potatoes and

cabbage all his life and the cheapest of wine, but he was

too old to spend money now; a lonely millionaire

who only read the bank statement the bank sent him.

 

 

the old poet and red wine

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 13, 2017 at 3:10 AM Comments comments (0)

The old poet and red wine

 

The old man gets up early in the morning; he doesn’t

eat breakfast but drink coffee, switch on the computer

look at the blank screen waiting for a word to come

so he can try writing a poem; it is a hard going so he

mounts his training bike and get some exercise.

Noon is the best time of the day; he walks to his café

have a good meal and a jug of red wine, which puts

him in a good mood and talk to the old men in the park,

Sometimes one of them say something interesting he

can use when writing. The old poet knows his best

work is behind him, but he still tries to tease another

poem out of his mind. His evening meal is simple he opens

a tin of soup and drink a few glasses of red wine watch

TV, or makes comments on the Twitter.

 

 

street walker in Oslo

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 12, 2017 at 2:55 AM Comments comments (0)

Street Walker in Oslo

 

As the black-winged night occupies my balcony

and spread its wings in triumph and shop lights

try in vain to illuminate and gladden a grubby street

I see you leaving your flat and begin your night shift

As you walk past splashes of yellow light,

I can see your white powdered face has not yet

settled into its customary inviting grin and your

lips are a machete slash where blood has coagulated

into lumps long ago.

Dressed in red tonight in the hope of attracting

rampant lust, but since you are an old bird

you are reduced to service those with a putrid need

for violence, but even in your disgrace I know

your heart is pure.

 

the mighty fall

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 11, 2017 at 2:15 AM Comments comments (0)

The Mighty Fall

 

I fell through the night under me I could see white crested waves

of the sea and there was little I could do to stop this freefall,

it took 3 minutes to reach the unforgiving surface of the vast ocean.

I screamed like a hurt animal and began sinking could not breathe,

fought and struggled to be free of this huge amount of water; and

there it was my heaven, the full moon pulling me upwards so I could

fly and dream among the stars.

First, I had to swim to the Saragossa and find the secret island always

hidden in a miasma of the absolved, but I could not do it alone.

On my back floated my body anemone and incredibly beautiful.

The sea was a mirror now; I was held back by the sea as the moon

tried to possess me, both wanted me, and this filled me with

ecstatic happiness as the current helped me to reach Saragossa.

 

 

interlude

Posted by jan oskar hansen on October 10, 2017 at 3:15 AM Comments comments (0)

Interlude

 

The air was still, and trees in the forest stood in frozen silence.

A rare day, animals listened to the echo of last summer.

Hare trails in the snow made without haste, the persecuted

has nothing to fear the day when the mountain lion dreams.

The bear is in its den deep under an oak, dreamless sleep

whether still or storm, but do not wake him before spring.

The tranquillity of peace is only a brief interlude, kill or be killed,

eat or starve are wild life`s merciless destiny.

The Calm cracks as the cold identified; there will be a toll to

pay if spring is too late with its promise of continuity.

Behind the forest where the blue mountain begins, a pack

of wolves howl to the moon, the soul of the hunter lied bare,

in an endless nocturnal dream.

 

 


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