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poetry and vignettes

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sensual haiku

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 5, 2021 at 6:00 AM Comments comments (0)

Sensual Haiku

 

With a lump of clay

Her hands erected a vase

Sensual flowers.

 

Experienced fingers

Squeezes the cow’s teats tenderly

A dreaming milkmaid.

 

astonishment

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 5, 2021 at 4:15 AM Comments comments (0)

Astonishment

 

The queen in her gilded coach pulled by white horses

Came gliding on the sea, towards the sandy shore

Where men stood waited to be knighted.

 

They had done their duty to keep their mouth shut

And averted their eyes to the state’s illegal activity

Now, payoffs a title and membership in a pash club

 

The queen came ashore, she had a white lion cub

In one hand and a hammer in the other hand

She hit the men over the head; they fell and died.

 

The queen, a Marxist revolutionary had been silent

for so long, now she was, old the truth had to come out

no horse carriage for her, but she kept the lion cub.

 

 

video

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 4, 2021 at 4:30 AM Comments comments (0)

the video

 

He received a video from his distant past

he played the video to his amazement

people long since dead and forgotten

Walked, talked and danced in the street of his childhood.

Eerie it was, he knew the people he had overlooked

where on the way to the future?

Later that day, he remembered more, why had he so beastly

To the little girl age, boys do not consort with girl

he couldn’t tell that.

At night the video became a panorama of past lives

he saw a truculent boy and asked why was I like that.

He knew the answer, as a child, he was abused

by the stigma he carried in his heart, suspicious of friendship.

He woke up, didn’t want to remember the past is dead

and can stay this way, nothing more to see.

 

 

discovery

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 3, 2021 at 4:20 AM Comments comments (0)

Discovery

 

If you find a rusty nail you are halfway there

all you need is cabbage, carrots and a bit of meat

Soup is ready.

Genuinely made from a rusty nail.

This is also a way to write poetry look for an idea in the darkness

and not falling over tables and chairs,

This is an unfortunate mishap that occurs when writing

my eyes are old.

I have between my thumb and index finger a cork from a bottle of wine

from this humble start, I can conjure up a cool bottle of wine.

Jesus did it once when feeding the five thousand

when all he had in his hand was a slice of a day-old loaf.

Imaginary friends, I have many, can be helpful when remembering

their antics, and I can be absolved of sin.

Stick to a rusty nail or a horseshoe, friends are hard to find

 

 

the dance of the dead

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 2, 2021 at 1:00 PM Comments comments (0)

the dance of the dead

 

Forever and ever

You will be my love. Eternity.

On green meadows, he walks.

Held up by skeletons

On land fit for horses.

White cottontails

Burrows underground

To the bones of the dead

But they bring

Nothing up

It is not food.

Forever and ever

You will be my love. Eternity.

The stream has clean water

Filtered through

Human bones.

Endless wars

In Europa has not ceased.

Forever and ever

You will be my love. Eternity.

The victims

An inferior race.

Today it is

Palestine that pays

Red is the sand.

Peace is a world

The void of humans.

Forever and ever

you will be my love. Eternity

 

silk road

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 2, 2021 at 7:55 AM Comments comments (0)

In Kashagan

The silk road begins

I bought

An apricot

From a woman

wearing

A red shawl

Over her black hair.

A yellow dress

She was stunning.

Kashagan

Has the biggest

Outdoor market

In the world

Europe is puny

And far away.

A new silk road

Is being

Constructed

Pipelines and trains

Expanding trade.

that is ok

as long

as they sell apricots

 

 

for a few lovers more

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 2, 2021 at 4:05 AM Comments comments (0)

For a few lovers more.

 

I was driving along on the car radio Rod Stewart

Sang” have I told you lately that I love you.”

Perhaps it wasn’t Rod but someone else what

Do I know about popular music?

Why do I find it hard to say those simple words?

I have practised in front of the mirror, like an actor

who knows his line but lacks imagination

I bought her a car instead.

That made her happy, she meet her lover

come back and kiss my bald head and say, “love you.”

thinking of him.

I met her lover at a party, walked up to him

and said “I love you for making my wife happy.

He was stunned into silence.

She stays home, I think the lover broke it up

because when they made love, he was thinking of me.

the spell, of having a hidden affair was broken.

 

 

a writer problem

Posted by jan oskar hansen on December 1, 2021 at 4:55 AM Comments comments (0)

A writers’ problem

 

The thing is this when you die; you can’t go back

and write about it.

Those, there are a few, who say they can are charlatans.

We can speculate about death or write a thesis about it

or we can write about near-death experiences

like if a bright light a choir singing soft songs to harp music.

The river of no return.

When driving on the long bridge on my way to Algarve

I think of the bridge falling, but it is always about survival

a story to tell, the one who got away.

Death is the ending of a book you read,

was the book a good read, or was it boring?

 

 

 

recollection

Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 30, 2021 at 4:50 AM Comments comments (0)

This is my Recollection

 

A salutation to mules, donkeys and horses.

They have disappeared from city life

but without them, no city could be built.

Without the beasts no them, no field to plough

we owe then our way of life.

The beasts were sacrificed in our senseless wars.

We remember them not that saddens me.

There is a hole in the ground, a dot beside an oak

where the mare of many foals stood.

I miss the sturdy beauty of donkeys and mules.

The aroma of their work is gone, and we are poorer

of the vision, we shall not see again

 

 

tanka

Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 30, 2021 at 3:55 AM Comments comments (0)

Tanka as Poem

 

I have been outside

Nature is beautiful they say

It was rather cold

The sun a polished one euro

Clouds are the sun’s flunkies

 

Inside looking out

Nature looks fantasyland

You can’t lure me out

The wilderness is insecure

And sometimes the wind blows hard.

 

I’m sivilized man

Outdoor is discovery channel

Sharks and dark water

Nature needs a glass divider

Enjoying our inimitableness

 


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