various stuff

The Seeker


I saw a bushy tailed fox, running rabbits and
a boar in a bush landscape one can so easily
get lost in, I once did and panic stricken
stumbled about till I fell on to the main road.
I was looking for words or sentences, today
something that can make life easy, all I have
to do is to go home, write down what I have
found. Should I be so lucky!

There are many individual letters, strewn like
pebbles on my path, hang in trees like leaves
falling dawn in the wind. Clouds, on the blue
sky, made letters too, a B here and an A there,
saw a Q near the horizon; BAQ? Means little
to me, perhaps it is an Arab word for peace?
Struggled up a hill sun is heating up the day,
for lunch I’m having alphabet soup.



















Drones (wingless pilot)


Breakfast was served by a man without teeth when
he smiled and wished me good morning I thought of
burnt out villages in Afghanistan strafed by a drone
steered by a pilot who sits miles away; he presses
a button, blows up the cottage where the terrorist
lives with his family.

The guilty and blameless die together, it doesn’t
matter as long as the bad guy was taken out.
The drone’s pilot goes for his lunch in the air force
canteen; in the evening, after a day’s rebel hunting,
goes home make love to his wife and play video
games with his children.























One Man in a Boat

In a rowboat on the south Atlantic sea, a vast expanse
that appeared to slant downwards and towards Argentine.
A big, beautiful seabird sits at the bow watching me, dogs
can have kind eyes, never met a bird that has, and this
particular bird was dissecting me wanted to slurp my eyes
and wondered how my liver looked like, boozy if you ask
me. It’s getting dark I see a big liner- the birds sees it too
and flies off to a richer feeding ground -, lit up like fairies’
garden party, full of people who think they are audacious,
I hear dim echo of music the ship’s band plays a bordello
tango. If the ship’s radar sees me and I’m rescued the rich
and bored will have something to talk about, applaud her
captain and when the ship docks he will be given a medal,
his name and photo in the news, but will anyone bother to
ask what the hell I, all by myself, was doing in the middle of
the South Atlantic Sea?





















Senryu

An Agnostic’s nightmare
Wakes him up every night
He dreams god exist



Senryu

An orange tree
In an apple orchard
Isn’t overlooked


Senryu

Since giraffes have
Sixteen litre lung capacity
Let them sing opera


Senryu

Everyone loves
A lemon tree
In an apple orchard











Nature’s little Helper


Right there on the track, by my feet, a boa constrictor
was rolling around squishing a hare, it was not
a loving embrace. I stopped this murderous scene
and separated the two. The snake hissed balefully and
crawled into the bushes, the hare sat there stunned
not knowing if it was alive or dead. But something had
snapped in its head for it turned and attacked me; I had
to fight it off with my cane. The snake, the only witness
to my humiliation, decided I was a total idiot, it came
slithering back nabbed its prey and began crushing it to
death again. Wait there is more, an eagle swooped took
the snake, up in the air they all went, the snake had to
let go of the hare, which fell down in front of me; and
I, to avoid further indignity, killed it with my cane.






















Ornaments

A big stone under a carob tree, full of holes made
by winters rain, through some of the holes plants
with tiny red flowers grew. Partly in the shade but
sunlight filtered through leaves; beings made of
day and night, danced a sinful tango on the stone.
I look around want to share this moment, but I’m
stubbornly alone, except for the carrion that flies
above me, it waits for me to stumble, fall or get
lost in the arid landscape. A work of art wanted to
take it home, the stone was too heavy and, anyway,
I could not recreate the dancing; I left it for other
walkers to find, admire the stone, but not taking it
away thinking it would look nice as an ornament in
the garden.

























Senryu

Is verbal parsimony
Masquerading as haiku
Vacant poetry?


Senryu

Is, in pale moonlight,
Lilies in the garden pond
Ghosts of sailors past?


Senryu

The depraved rose
That shines on a man’s lapel
Is cast off’s at dawn.















Tanka

If you see the poor
In your leafy neighbourhood
Buy them a bus-ticket
So they can see our great land
And settle somewhere else.



Senryu

The demise’s grief... is
My total inability
To retell it

























Bio

Jan Oskar Hansen is a Norwegian, but not a Norwegian poet.
he has written several collections and his poems appear in
many anthologies. Mr. Hansen has written all his work using
English words and has ended up with a language which has
The flavour of the language used and how it echoed in
narrow street and up unpainted factory walls of his youth
Mr. Hansen has no poet who was his ideal, except Hemingway
and he wasn’t a poet, so his work only echo his own thought
and he has never attempted to belong to any school or style
of writing . When you read his work you will find his grammar
and syntax different from what you are used to, but when
you realise that no attempt has been sought to please you,
I think you will enjoy his work