poetry and vignettes
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 19, 2018 at 3:50 AM||comments (0)|
Death of a young man
There is a schooner in the bay flags on half mast
a crew member had fallen from the top of the mast
and since the ship had no freezer he had been
buried at sea. This reminded me of the deckhand
on a boat, I was on he fell down and empty hold
got up insisted he was ok, but the captain called
an ambulance and two hours later he was dead,
At eighteen his passing was senseless. I hoped
his mother had more children to console her which
she wouldn`t have had had she been caught up
In the abortion debate believing it was ok only
having one child. Abortion is the quickest way to
depopulate a country; the Israeli knows this and
give black Jews a pill so they can abort, they want
European Jews of the type who becomes good
soldiers and belief in their supremacy.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 18, 2018 at 4:05 AM||comments (0)|
The war and food
During the war years in Norway 1940 to 1945
there was little food, but the coast was teeming
with fish, my brother and I often walked down to the pier
and in a matter of minutes had dinner.
Needs make you into a thief we stole potatoes,
apples and coal for the fire.
We had a variety of fish like boiled, fried or made
into fish-cakes, but in the process I developed a lifelong
dislike of fish, but I do eat fish as long as it doesn`t like
After the war nicking food was no longer seen as legal
but with food in shops, it was no longer needed
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 16, 2018 at 8:35 AM||comments (0)|
What`s going on
Watching TV flicking from channel to channel is surreal,
one moment a casket is lowered into
a perfectly dug grave, umbrellas go up as fine rain falls
The next moment is about men riding horses
that have no idea what is going, the riders have been
on their mounts for days and must be stinking.
The next is about some old detective who is solving
crimes that are surprisingly easy to unravel.
Back at the graveside after false tears have been shed
all hell breaks loose who is getting his priceless
album of rare stamps and more murders are committed.
In the meantime, the riders are having a bath in a river
fully clothed in leather and armour. The horses are just staying
there looking beautiful and dumb.
I switch off the telly and drink a glass of beer.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 14, 2018 at 3:35 AM||comments (0)|
A man bought an old fishing vessel
it had a steering house, but the door was rotten
he got a new door a painted it sea green.
Sometimes he forgot to close the door and a sea lime wave
swept him on to the deck, when tried to find the handle
a flounder hang on it he slipped hit his head on the ladder
on the step leading into the steering room.
He painted the door black but when he after navigating
rough sea he turned and found the colour ominous, so he
painted the door in rainbow colours, this made the head spin he opened
the door, but the emerald sea came in.
washed him back on the deck.
And I have no idea how to end this story ends, but his boat
was full of tunny fish.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 13, 2018 at 3:50 AM||comments (0)|
A character trait
She was divorced with one child a daughter
had met a man she liked going out for the first meal
the daughter was playing it up her mother tried
to calm her to no avail.
Her new friend lost his temper and shouted, whatever
his profession he was no a psychologist.
Deadly silence at the table, the man tried to say something nice,
but it was too late. They had chocolate pudding for dessert
which the daughter refused to eat.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 11, 2018 at 3:30 AM||comments (0)|
I was sent a book used when I went to catering
college 60 years ago, I had signed it on a page inside.
What was remarkable was my handwriting
which was a little shaky and insecure like a person
who yet to come to grips with life and tries to
make himself invisible.
The book, about hygiene on ships and how much water
a person needed every day; the text was displayed on
The Facebook and they wanted to send it to me,
but I declined since I could remember every word in
the book holds no sentimental value for me.
At best it was a meeting of the past I do not care
to remember as it only makes my old age sadder
then it is.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 10, 2018 at 1:10 PM||comments (0)|
“Go silent go Deep” a title of a film he saw of Curd Jürgen
an actor who got manly roles and looked good in Nazi uniform,
but somehow was a hero who did the right things.
Alone in the house, he tries to go silent and deep into his mind
pieces of shrapnel of a bombed out U-boat, dead sailors
floating about until a creature takes pity and eats them.
It is semi-dark down here, the bottom is filled by un-digested
words and deleted poems, but he is trying to find his true self
a rare fish not seen by anyone since childhood.
He swims in the shallow picks up small crabs easier to write
about, with tiny claws, they try to bite his fingers, puts them
down and see them seeking shelter.
He sighs, at eighty he still don`t know who he is, other than
he is not embittered, has a sense of irony and often laughs
at himself on his journey to infinity.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 10, 2018 at 5:05 AM||comments (0)|
The new normal in the twentieth century is war
it has continued without a break a perpetual machine
of mass killing, someone somewhere must see
war as a business in which every country has a bloody hand.
Politicians, the handmaiden for manufacturers
of weaponry claim, they only sell the weapon for peaceful
means this as bombs fall in Yemen.
The Afghan war against the Taliban has lasted 17 years
and will not end before all foreign troops leave,
but the war continues, and the poppy fields bloom.
Many smaller countries in UN see, it cynically, as a training
ground for officers and they know well
the Taliban cannot be defeated on the battlefield that
have no lines of combat against the Peshawar people
who fights for freedom, but we chose not to see this.
On an island in a bloody river, they count not corpses
but the money they make.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 9, 2018 at 4:25 AM||comments (0)|
While I was waiting for the poem, I was going to write
to show up but I can`t find the right words
starting the process, I have amused myself by
writing two smaller things. I look at my nails
they are too long but clean mainly because I do
the washing up after lunch by hand or rather
two hands I have never heard of a one-armed dishwasher.
Thought of the German philosopher who said
that God was dead, I ask; How can something not
Born be dead? The great poem I was going to write
is in hiding looking at the screen didn`t help,
so it will have to wait and soon it will be morning.
|Posted by jan oskar hansen on November 6, 2018 at 3:20 AM||comments (0)|
My, my dear Delilah I was drunk and fell on the floor
there I saw your lover hiding under the couch.
My, my dear Delilah I slit his throat with a knife
there was so much blood on the floor you got
a mop and tried to clean it up before the blood
was running down to the next level.
But I run away before there was a knock on
the door I couldn`t take anymore I feel sick
when I see so much blood, forgive me, dear Delilah
for you got twenty years in the goal.