new collection from jan oskar hansen

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/8182534542/ref=kinw_rke_rti_1

tganka too

Tanka

If there are no bees

There will be no pollination

Bees are plants sex toy

Dipterous are not up to the job

A bee is your survival

Tanka

We created god

And gave him too much power

Mental tyranny

Lucifer wanted power too

Was expelled and made hell

Hemingway and I

Hemingway and I.

I do not want re invent myself rather I would like to go back

to what I used to be before domestic demands took my time,

and dreams became like hole-in-one at a golf course.

 I had to work to support a family of four and wearing a suit,

stole some time from family demands sitting in my garage

looking at my car...should I escape this domestic bliss?

Once my mates and I climbed trees I sat on an oak branch

told them when I grow up I will be a writer. Now that I´m old

I have my chance, but so much innocence has run into silt

I will never be a Hemingway of letters. 

economics

Economic Grows Theory  

A forest is beautiful to look at, it also has animals jumping

about not being productive for our common good.

So we chop down the trees and make timber, never mind

the animals they are dangerous anyway; who wants to risk

being attacked by a puma. On the cleared space we can build

 houses made of the former forest´s timber, this will give

employment for many and that is good for mankind. 

epigram

Epigram

When parks have been fenced in and locked

And school play grounds shut down

 Will children be safe or lose their freedom

Behind dark curtains?

survivors

The survivors

Old age is a strange time you have no future and tend

to look back to what was is a dream.

How long does old age last?

My wife and I are closer than ever, but are we clinging

to a life buoy of eternity?

I look at her, she has problem walking looks st me

and we both think the same.

So used you to each strength and weaknesses,

how is she or she going to survive?

We have come to a point when our arguments are

a declaration of love.

The coward I’m I hope to go before her I can’t cope

with the aftermath that can cause

resentment that fester for another generation.

And in early mornings I touch a warm body listening

to her gentle breathe glad to be alive.

the pope and me

The Pope, Statues and Me

 Confounded old age, I keep looking at a blank screen a plateau of nothingness,

except for this ridicules idea that I must travel to Rome and see the statues I once

wrote about; and perhaps have little chat with pope about this and that. I must

talk to him now before the Vatican machine brainwashes him into conforming

 to a glorious robed pope, a person of empty rituals. If I get to meet him, he could

dress up in a smart Italian suit, a false moustache and a nonchalant way of walking,

 we could look at the statues; then over a few beers, Brazilian sausages, with Italian

flavour; tell him a secret so deep he might reject it as fantasy by a deluded person.

 

Dear Brother Frances, your name is Erik, we are twins, shared the same womb,

but I was kidnapped by Gypsies, grew up in a camp of filth as an underdog in our

democratic society and know how demeaning poverty is and can help you with

your austerity program.  You are, the bishop of Rome.

There will be a stunned silence, either he accepts my story and embraces me or call

the guards; whichever way he will not forget me and the statues of Rome.