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Poetry by
Jan Oskar
Hansen
WONDERFULLY OLD
Woke up a day in
May felt serene and old,
admired my deep
facial lines and tanned
baldness; yes, I’m a survivor of mudslingers
and character
assassins. Infinite, my charity
is, even toward
those who criticize my style.
My experience is
vast, knowledge profound,
there is no hell
and the heaven is a fairytale;
thus I fear not
walking into the good night.
I keep my
fingernails clean, dress well, now
that I’m old;
bought a blue blazer with gold
buttons on and a
captain’s cap; when I walk,
with measured
dignity, through my town,
women will stop and
say: “What a charming
man, this ancient
tar with a song in his heart.”
LOVE'S LIFETIME
Of the hundreds of
photos I keep
in a lacquered box
made in China,
there is none of
you.
Once had one, but
it hurt too much
seeing you, I tore
it into small pieces
and threw them to
the wind, the same
day as my almond
tree shed its enchanting flowers.
Yet, when I look up
to the morning sky,
if it’s blue with
wooly, playful clouds,
that makes the
heaven less stern;
I see your
reflection it has a shadow of a smile.
Since I shan’t go
up north,
where we first met,
so many dreams ago,
you will forever look
young.
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