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Best Poems Written by Jan Oskar Hansen

Below are the all-time best Jan Oskar Hansen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What Happened

What happened
 

The woman from the Philippines
She and her husband a European man of middle years
Had a clearing in the jungle.
Built their own bamboo cabin raised pigs and chicken
Also, vegetables which the sold at the local market.
She sent many photos of their daily life
Then came the long silence I heard nothing more
What had happened?
Now my imagination speaks: he had died and she
Surrounded by hostile men, not interested in her
Farm but to sleep with her.
She sold the farmstead went to live in Cebu and
Waits for an elderly man ready to share in her dreams.
Since her first vision was shattered there is
No need to give up the idea of having a cabin
In the jungle

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Five Haiku

Such a disaster 
Waking up in the morning
Shamelessly white 

Haiku
 Self- tanning cream
The pride of looking sporty 
The mirror pulls face 

Haiku
Deep philosophy 
The poet is in deep water
Saved by low tide

Haiku
One types of success
When your work brings happiness
And not endless doubt  

Haiku
The loser a man 
Who knows he`s incompetent  
Yet accuse others

The news I read
Been the same for fifty years
War and film stars

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Meeting Van Gogh

Meeting Van Gogh…sonnet 
the wheat-field, blond as a Volga German milk maid, heat 
intense and in the shade of a demanding olive tree I saw 
 grumpy Van Gogh, glaring at me intruding on his painting.
“Sorry for the scooter it is electric blue and doesn’t fit in, 
pretend it is a donkey free of its leather harness.” 
The vines, deep green leaves and fertile soil, soon there
would be grapes, mostly dark cerulean, an army of wine 
to come tempting souls into surrender… liquid pleasures;
 and the narrow road snakes amongst fields like a black
mamba hunting grey rabbits in the meadow. 
I have the afternoon sun in my eyes, a cooling breeze
on my back; and then I drive off the road fall amongst
thistle and thorns and the spell is broken, look around
but only Van Gogh witnessed my disgrace.

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A Woman of Substance

A woman of substance 
 
I`m sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas 
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn 
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
 In his hands   
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me

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The Black Phone

A black phone 
I dislike our phone a sleek monster in a corner
I never answer it when it rings unless my wife is out
My mobile phone is in the pocket in my jacket in the hall
Where I can`t hear it when it rings, it is usually someone 
Trying to sell me something, but I never go out driving
Without my mobile it comes in handy if the car breaks
Down and I have to call the garage with a tow- truck 
Years ago I used to do haiku; it did my head in
The bloody phone always rang when I had the right 
Word on the tip of my tongue often I took the phone 
Off its hook but I could hear it humming which was
 Worse when I was still young enough to think
A phone could bring good news something like
“We have decided to publish your book” it never
Happened instead, it rang to give me heart-wrenching 
News, an early morning call: your mother has died.

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The Muse

The Muse 
I remember it well when in the summer evenings
I went to see her we drank wine and made love
Embraced we slept to morning light.
Stay with me she said to rest a bit longer I will serve you tea
No, I wanted to go home savour the night in privacy 
Feed the dog, go for a walk and write about my love for her.
It ended like a morning dream; she had found a man who 
Drank her tea and stayed with her till he was too old
And she sent him to an old people’s home.
She had been my muse lives in my poems, but no,
I didn`t want to stay with her a painter rarely marries his model 
But she will always be there hanging in some gallery 
Or on the wall in the lobby of some hotel.

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Affection

The Business of affection

When you couple fall in love
and the love is broken and
not following its natural course
to fulfilment and a union of hearts
that sings from the same musical
sheets of harmony
The one left alone will feel a pain
that is physical in it intensity 
no one night stand fuelled by alcohol
can assuage a hearts loneliness
In time the person will fall in love again
and again and leave behind 
broken marriages should he be a man 
we call him a Casanova and if it is
a woman she is feisty.
But they are lonely people trying to find
back to the feeling of the first love

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A Tale Never Told

A Tale Never Told 
The old man, who carried what, appeared to be and empty sack
over his shoulder when he walked through the village, is no more;
and I never got around asking him what was in his jute sack.
 I think he carried around stories untold, dreams and translucent 
memories of childhood. He was the brother of another old man
the one with a white donkey who came to our village selling 
juicy, big lemons; alas he too has gone.  He said of his brother, 
the dreamer, walked amongst the stars and had forgotten how 
to talk except to trees rose bushes and animals in the forest.
I once saw him in the glade playing mouth harmonica to a flock 
of sheep that for once forgot to eat. When seeing me he stopped,
got up, smiled shyly and walked his way followed by snow white
rabbits; I fancied they were angels. I look up to the October sky
and sense his shadow and smile casting peace upon me.

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The Norwegian Club

The Norwegian club

We went there last night
it was set in a wine bar and the prize,15euro each, 
I refused to pay that much.
The bar was almost empty but for a group
of Norwegians who sat whispering in a corner
And there was no one to welcome us.
I was donating some books to the club
 left some of them on a table.
No one stirred.
I thought the scene was surreal.
We left and had a meal at a Portuguese
restaurant.
I suppose the books were thrown away
after closing time.

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The Social Life

The Social Life

A monkey sits on the roof, eats a bon, bon 
with its wrapper on teasing a dog.

I sit in the bar, with Sylvia and Fred, drink
cola through a straw.
Bottles on shelves promise me I will be 
strong, feel at ease with this weird couple.

Fear will flutter away
like butterflies in a glade
disturbed by a hare.

A small glass of beer,
the monkey laughed.
came down from the roof.

I`m confident again
Fred is funny and
Sylvia is beautiful