the down keeps me up
needing to crash but thoughts beckon
i know i must pay tomorrow
full moon tonight
what’s your excuse?
if you’re a woman don’t misconstrue
i’m not a  misogynist
true misogyny neccitates great admiration
full moon tonight
what’s your excuse?
i don’t care tonight
gonna stay awake till collapse
i dreamed Apple traded
$99.00 monday morning and i bought it
i’m not your type
not your type not your type
i read Flaubert, Zola, Nabokov
i know it’s hard to see
i imagine angels
what do you like in your cup of tea?
while taking care of neighbor’s cat Oskar
decided to replace porch standard white with green light bulb
i hope they like it
they’re burners
they’ll be gone for two weeks

Adali offered Father’s stranger more wine.
We all knew he’d accept.
On our way to the woods though,
Someone stepped upon my dress.
“Oh Yseult,”
Conradine cried.
“Stop imagining things”
They didn’t think I was right.
The trees were beautiful every time
We walked the paths by the midnight moon.
The first was silver,
The second gold,
But we all loved diamonds the most.
Again I could feel someone following:
The trees never made a sound.
“Oh Yseult,”
Ediline hushed.
“You really are too old for these games.”
They didn’t think I was right.
I tugged on Galiana’s left glove-
We’d always been close-
Thinking she’d believe me this once.
But the boys in the boats were too tempting for us.
I told Oskar there was something wrong,
The boat was too heavy for him to row.
“Oh Yseult,”
Irmuska gasped.
“You didn’t even eat today!”
They didn’t think I was right.
Within minutes we arrived
At our sanctuary, our dancing hall.
We laced up our shoes
But I watched the boat groan and rock.
“Oh Yseult,”
Katchen teased.
“That’s just the tide pulling it in.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Hours passed as I danced
With my Oskar.
However, the sinking feeling
We’d been caught lingered.
“Oh Yseult,”
Magnild snorted.
“Your delusioning is quite perturbing.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Oskar took me away
To the side of the room.
He knew my shoes had worn straight through.
I watched out the corner of my eye
A golden chalice float away.
“Oh Yseult,”
Otylia reprimanded.
“Your childish ways are far too much!”
They didn’t think I was right.
The brothers rowed me
And my sisters back home.
Kissing us each goodnight,
They returned to their boats
Thinking we’d see them tomorrow.
I heard a creaking sound behind us.
Once again I tried to warn them.
“Oh Yseult,”
Rille rolled her beautiful eyes.
“Please stop being stupid for once.”
They didn’t think I was right.
We returned to our bedroom
Without further commotion.
When we arrived though
Our secret door would not close.
“Oh Yseult,”
Tieran chided.
“I know you’re youngest, but you can’t be that weak.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Father’s stranger was right in his bed
Snoring loud as inhumanly possible.
I knew it couldn’t be real
So I tried to reason with my sister’s again.
“Oh Yseult,”
Viheke yawned.
“Go to sleep now, you’re far too tired.”
They didn’t think I was right.
When the morning arrived
Father threw open our door.
The anger and happiness
Flowed from him moronically.
In his left hand were branches
Silver, gold, and diamond.
In his right
Was Oskar’s chalice.
Behind him was Father’s stranger
Smug and pleased.
He requested Adali’s hand in marriage,
Just as Father promised.
“Oh Yseult,”
My eleven sisters cried in unison.
“We should have listened!”
They didn’t think I was right.

I’ve got my new sailor suit
my sailor suit
and I’ll  get on a ship
the biggest one on the oceans -
and I’ll sail away, sail away

Far to oceans on
the other side
I’ll sail in my ship
And my crew
they’ll steer us all
to distant lands
and lovely shores

We’ll see strange lands
and we’ll learn new games;
we’ll make new friends
and we’ll exchange gifts -
and we’ll sail away, sail away
with as many more ships
as want to follow

And then I ‘ll return
back home
and I’ll be on the prow
standing tall in my new sailor suit
And all those ashore will cry out aloud:
“Here comes our sailor
Here comes sailor Oskar
Clean and bright
in his sailor suit
as new as the day it was made”

I’ve got my new sailor suit
my sailor suit
and I’ll  get on a ship
the biggest one on the oceans -
and I’ll sail away, sail away

Fantasies, fantasies.
Oh, the options!
Sick ones, lame ones, and boring ones.
I have them all.
Except for little men.  No appeal at all.

Men? Women, too!
Who gives a ****, it's not a real *****.
Not even something I would ever do.

Blowing Oskar Schindler because he had such a big heart.
Britney Spears, I'll tear that ***** ***** apart!
Getting into serial killer's cars, hoping they tease me with a knife.
Smiling in ecstasy as they slit away my life.

Nazis! Nazis! Make me weak in the knees.
***** my family in the old country.
Here I  dream and say
"Yes, please!"

Some Japanese war-time brothel.
Hell, I could even be the runner of a geisha tea house.
These girls better answer to me,
not make a sound louder than mouse!

Dare not ask if anyone else has these thoughts, especially friends.
I know I will never see them again, if it comes out!

Eating ' Grass', achtung! was a serious business,
if you think I was a vegan gone mad, I wasn't
In one go I devoured his "Tin drum", oh! Oskar!
felt enchanted, loved Grass, looked for more,
finished "Cat and mouse" next, sought further,
then"Crab walk"ed through "Dog years", delighted!
with the wish list in front, I continued to
go for Grass, an eating spree unabated.
Now the hullabaloo over my love for Grass subdued.
who wouldn't see what
Guntar Grass in German,  was doing
to my voracious literary hunger.

and who's to stop me?
management
have managed
their time productively.
                                       shudder to think
                                       they'd begrudge a
                                       subordinate the time
                                       to blast their feelings
                                       off the clock.
leaning over window panes
that lack
balconies to catch
their workers.
                                     my 1-1s have started and ended
                                     with a heart in my mouth
                                     making it harder for the words
                                     'i quit' to get out.

can i just pivot off of can i just piggyback can we just swivel can i put a pin in you and sew up the wounded look that face carries to the coffee machine every lunch Oskar take some sick leave or just leave at this point we haven't identified your fit and our culture of inclusion excludes delays in action i just don't understand how personal problems seep into the workplace what its been five months which is half the time you were with him can't it
just be let go?
just let me go
you're being let go
i want to let go.
                                                    ~ HR will be in touch. ~

I, like any normal human
keep a list of future names
I started it when I was young
then it was Landon and Ashlynn
kids I knew from school
written in gel glitter pen
in bright pink hues

my list is sorted alphabetically
genders separated as well
it’s followed me from Lisa Frank diaries
to pdfs files
sometimes I add to it often
other times I leave it alone

my list is heavily masculine
I'm not quite sure why
I like boys named Max and Marlon
I like Oskar and Gale too
I have a thing for Old English names
like Arthur and Holden
just to name a few
my boyfriend prefers Ash or Astrid
I like those as well
but, my favorite name is Olin
with one or two L's

I discovered this name on a lost blanket
draped over a fence post by the bay
I'd call him Ollie for fun
Ollie Ollie Oxen free! We’d play
he'd have red hair and freckles
I’d knit him many things
I'd sing him to sleep at night
I'd bake him lots of treats
when he cries I'd hold him tight
whisper that everything is alright

tests continue to be ordered
blood, ultrasounds, and more
results are coming forward
I refuse to see the score
It’s the very thing I’m dreading
I worry that it’s true
seems this list is fruitless
seems I am too

Flowers are always pretty,
Lillies and Sunflowers too.
But all the flowers in the world
Aren't half as pretty as you.

Cakes are certainly sweet,
Brownies and cookies too.
We could bake, the sweetest cake
It would never be as sweet as you.

Rainbows are really quite beautiful,
Sunsets and snowflakes too.
Put all those dazzling scenes together,
But they're still not as beautiful as you.

Oskar was pretty kind,
He rescued all those Jews.
But even Mr. Schindler,
Isn't half  as kind as you.

Lepricorns are lucky,
So is the number Three,
But all the lucky charms in the world,
Aren't as lucky as me.

Sports fans love dichotomies
Brady or Montana?
James or Jordan?
The NHL is aware of this
And possesses two generational players
Alexander Ovechkin and Sydney Crosby
Ovechkin plays for the Washington Capitals
And Crosby plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins
One of the most notable team rivalries in sports
So the NHL asks fans to pick a side for marketing purposes
Ovechkin is sold as strength while Crosby is sold as finesse
Which would be a reasonable way to advertise their league
But like every sports league they are dealing with safety concerns
And the NHL is trying to escape the ignorant assumption
That hockey revolves around brutality and is of a primitive nature
So they don’t want to highlight the sports’ physicality
During this delicate and uncertain time
So more often than not Crosby is favored over Ovechkin
Through officiating, commentating, administrating and marketing
Which implicitly sells Crosby over Ovechkin
To the lowest common denominator
Who are interested in those kind of dichotomies

Since the Capitals are the highest profile team
That plays especially physical
The NHL feels the need to treat them with particular austerity
To show they are serious about safety
But this results in massively inconsistent actions by the league

Tom Wilson is one of the Capitals’ best players and their best checker
He was suspended for 20 games for a slightly late hit
He was in proper checking form
Shoulder down and leading, feet planted on the ice
But made incidental contact with Oskar Sundqvist’s head
Giving Sundqvist a concussion so the NHL suspended Wilson
Meanwhile...
Tom Wilson is attacked from behind by Ryan Reaves
On a very ***** hit that had no athletic function or basis in hockey
Launching himself at the back of Wilson’s head on a cheap shot
Giving Wilson a concussion
Reaves was very proud of himself
Selling autographed pictures of an injured Tom Wilson
And the NHL had nothing to say

Tom Wilson received a 20 game suspension
Losing hundreds of thousands of dollars
For an overzealous check
But when he is maliciously attacked with the intent to injure
There is no suspension handed down

A wise man once said
“An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”
And I agree
So I can’t stand seeing someone treated with a blatant bias
If it’s on Capitol Hill or in the Capitals’ stadium
And don’t want to live in a world where that’s acceptable

If I could say something to Tom Wilson
I’d say thank you for handling the situation with grace
And not to pay too much attention
To the biased elite or the mindless masses
Because all they try to do is dip you in molasses
They’re not going to protect you on the ice
That’s something you must do on your own
And there’s a lot of people who’ll try to give themselves importance
By eliminating those of higher value
You just have to be able to take their hits
And hit back harder than they ever could

Two Stars shining brightly above
Two Stars shining with gods love
Two Stars related by birth Oskar and Ted my beloved Grandsons
Missed very much by your Mummy and Daddy on earth
We did not get to hold you and whisper your name
We did not get to watch you run rings around your brother and call his name
We did not get to be proud Grandparents and watch you grow
But  Two Stars came and shone one day the result is one that did remain,  now Alfie has an earth brother Roman's his name
Two Stars your family still think of you dearly and cherish your memory
We wish we could have held you and kept you in our care
All we asked was for God to love you until one day we can all be there
Your life on earth was short and brief but  Two Stars you shine on in our memories

i appreciate the
connection. Did you
see the speaker? The way they
gave it everything in this conference
really resonated with me. My names Oskar
by the way what's yours? Oh really, how lovely
are you from a different department? Maybe one day
I'll come and visit. Oh yeah definitely, what's your Linkedin?

If a rainy day was every day
Then every day would be mine.
If every day, was a rainy day
By me, that would be just fine.
But if a rainy day was every day.
Would it still be special to me?
Or if every day was a rainy day
Would that dampen the joy for me?

-Oskar roux

A huj ci w dupe tym hujem sądzącym na oklask... co, ja twą matke harmonijką zabiłem? Na "porozumienie", kiedy wracam do kraju na czas świni-ęta, to rzygam, i staram o oskar, albo pytam: zuzel, mini, hwasty, **** mini eseja... ja downo ni pol, ja pseudo udo.

für poesie
seinen widerlichen
lebenszweck:
seine autobiographie /

    for poetry
      his disgusting
      purpose in life:
      his autobiography

    (to borrow from
ernst jandl)

lazily: a thought
experiment -
    the front drive:
more like a patio...

deweeding
trimming the shrubs
and most certainly
armed with a hook
working at
the miniature canyons
in between the
brick-o-slabs...

chaos at first...
before i actually managed
to relieve myself
of a self-conscious body
and the prospect
of the other making
inquiry: which did happen
at the beginning of
the task...

   an old man with a grandson
passed me...
inquiring with delight:
you'd get this chore done
with a iron bristle brush:
what joy emanated
from his face as if i had
a promethean rather than
a mediocre attempt
at: boulder upon a hill...

in all honesty i was chaotic...
i could have attempted
at a systematic:
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓

i did get there in the end,
but at first it was more
like

↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↔ ↔ ↘ ↔ ↕
↓ ↓ ↓       ↓ ↓ ↓ ↙ ↓ ↓ ↕
↓ ↓ ↓      ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↙ ↓ ↙
↓ ↓ ↓       ↓ ↓ ↗ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↕
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↗ ↓ ↘ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↔
↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↔    ↓ ↓ ↓ ↘ ↕

i wish it was a thought
experiment -
                 but...
before reaching a ******
of automation and a variation
of pristine methodology concerning
such a base posit of: use...
no... not talent...
              if i were a bricklayer...
hell! if i were a surgeon!
not today: not this life...

    but once the hedge trimmer was
out and hanzel und gretyl
was blasting in my earphones...
well... a running theme as
if borrowed from: texas chainsaw
massacre:
        just the odd chore outside
the house in full view of
a public in transit turned
into a would be horror flick...
but not really:
i tamed the self-conscious
body with a borrowed mind
and some sponges and
some electric fishy-things
of the oceans -
    
               by god: so much easier
to borrow snippets of life
for life from these
"mediocre" underachievers...
i agree: one might appreciate
focusing on a pillar or two
from the yawning aeons
of literature:
   but oh god: the crushing
ambition to go against
more than a status quo...
      
                       just a life where
i can live with myself:
that's enough...
   just a life where thinking can
relapse into the old truth
of narration for the limbs
to move with... synchronise
themselves with:
   i hardly think about literary
ambition: once a hard-on
now a burn-out...
   thinking of those days:
a litre of whiskey a night...

now a strict diet of circa 500kcal
of whiskey...
and what is a litre in kcal?
    2000 kcal... one can almost be
envious for ******* models
and champagne socialists...

    anything to let me
live with myself:
                   perhaps a way
to imitate some 20th century
dictator and how they
managed that incredulous feat...
because in my little
world of mediocre and
only being above average
with my 6ft2 posture...
    which is still pretty average...
no lungs to be a olympic swimmer...
no springboard
ambitions for a basketball player...

at best: self-deprecating
humour to sanitize me with
a blameless insanity...
                
   because i can tow long
a funny tickle of a day when
i reach a ******:
cut down on the whiskey
to only compensate cutting
down with three cigarettes -
and... some talking heads on
the headphones...
           is it safe? is it copping out?
burning with a fade...
well: simmering then...
the chemistry of metaphors
when fame is in play...
    it's such a terrible rouse...
unlike a fame of a plumber:
practical fame...
                    implying:
by reputation by the intricacies
of perfecting a trade...
by recommendation:
by excellence...

          nothing's ever excellent
about starting at poetry
afresh...
           it's not like:
         don quixote was a lightbulb
in that if don quixote was:
not-expected -
                         some would
argue... the lightbulb was
intrinsically seeking status of:
awaited-ness...

one "thing" led to another...
and that... the argument follows...
if it wasn't Edison...
then someone else would have
conjured up a lightbulb...
like that first and last eureka!
i guess:
no one went looking for
don quixote...
                or leopold bloom...
or mr. pickwick for that matter...

   poetry and gems...
of note of late?
       well... if it wasn't that i chored
over finnegans wake:
then...
      i would spare myself
with something
like fliegen eintag polyglott
              (oskar pastior)...
which pretty much reminds me
of having cross the european
continent only a month prior...
passing france, belgium,
holland, germany and ending
up somewhere
that teases Ukraine...
       wow! english is spoken
by the english!
not everyone speaks english!
it was obvious that
the french speak french...
less so concerning
the belgians and the dutch...
but that... germans are not
bilingual?! imagine my shock...

well... it's not really a shock...
it was a fake superstition
of tourism: which i never really
held... i just wanted to stand-on-pretend...
notably in germany...
i would think this lie and find
myself awe-struck: not all germans
speak english...
like the 20th century never happened...
i hardly think it was naive:
it was an evil joke for
the entertainment of one -
notably when we were stopped
at the Germany-Poland border
by the guards...
and asked in german and broken
polish (but not english)
whether we were smuggling
guns or drugs...
   or foreign currency...

     aghast... the german border
guards thinking it was necessary
to even search my wallet
to see how much spare change i had...
true story...
   it just so happens after enough
time has passed and someone
might ask: formally or informally...
'so, what have you been up to?'
my atypical reply is always
the same: 'nothing' / 'nothing much'...

perhaps i am writing a book...
but i hardly think i am...
    i am riddling a concept of bed...
i'm getting ready to lick
a stamp with this worded
doodle before i send a postcard
from the life of the believably living
to the filing cabinet of either
the Land of Nod or Nox:
wherever grand-grand-grand-grand-etc.-
father Cain has become
the reformed archetype of -
   returning to keeping buggies and
other parrots... something:
that sort of -esque.

Time lasts long in Portugal

Got up early had a shower and close shave
Put a white shirt on, bank people like it when
Their clients look prosperous.
My bank is in a nearby town I followed
The coast road has fewer cars a strict speed
The limit is vigorously enforced.
The bank was closed.
A man told me banks are shut on Sundays.

for contact: Jan Oskar. hansen@gmail.com