A Pair of Shoes

17th century drawing, artist unknown

A Pair of Shoes

by Jan Oskar Hansen

She was nine years old wore a cotton dress, barefoot and had her

picture taken. Her mother had bought her a pair of new shoes,

and the shoes were so lovely she didn´t want to put them on yet.

Her mother relented the photograph was taken the girl holding

the shoes firmly in her little hands.

She looked into the camera with intense seriousness seeing into

a future she was not yet aware of, perhaps she was but couldn´t

articulate it, hence holding on to her shoes a symbol of the losses

she would suffer.

She married a farmer in Congo they had cattle and coconut trees.

Then came the revolution and since they had the wrong colour, not

black not white had to flee when crazed soldiers came, freedom

was for the masses, who took over the farm ate the milking cows, but

neglected to till the land. She ended up in a foreign land, but she

didn´t mind that so much her children had prospered and survived,

but she was always thrifty never threw away a thing.

~ Previously published in A Poet’s Almanac (cyberwit)

The Big Eve

digital art: ralph murre, architectural detail: paolo soleri

The Big Eve

by Jan Oskar Hansen

Tracer bullets on the night sky Aleppo seen

from a hotel veranda, I hear screams, but

it is the raucous laughter of too much wine

Noon in Sydney and New Year festive

rocket in the sky or perhaps I´m seeing

a war that has not yet been declared or

perhaps I have seen the future the holocaust

of mankind, the last hurrah and the blow

of a whistle calling full time... Whatever it was

I saw spectacular colours like rubbing one's

eyes when tired and seeing mystical rainbows

belonging to an unknown existence.

 ~ previously published in A Poet´s Almanac  (cyberwit)

Offspring of Sedition

digital art: ralph murre

Offspring of Sedition

 by Jan Oskar Hansen

In narrow streets between factories that

had never been adorned by paint, as though

out of grey walls they came, silent children

of a different and darker world.

Don’t speak to them, my brother said, they are

foreigners and enemies of the country, a by-

product of a lost army and treasonous women

who are outcasts forever.     

Where the street widened to a square, near

The clear blue, unpolluted sea, there was

sunlight and the unspeakable children slunk

back into damp walls not to be seen again.

~ previously published in Cracks in the Mirror (cyberwit)

Aerial Painting

artwork: ralph murre

Aerial Painting

by Jan Oskar Hansen

The painting in the hall, of an old bi-plane flying

across a blue sky, was different this morning.

It had landed by a waterfall and the pilot stood

leaning against the plane’s fuselage slowly

smoking a cigarette, eyes closed, enjoying every

moment, every inhale of scented tobacco.

I looked at the painting again; the sky was dark,

there was lightning in the air, the pilot had flown to

the front and collided with a barrage balloon.

The plane was broken as if thrown to the ground by

a spoilt boy who had wanted a fire-engine for his

birthday, and now only the blue sky prevails.

~ first published in The Writing Forum