Jens Olav Magnussen

Picture is the first letter of the alphabet and the first letter from me to anyone, who cares to read .

It’s the house, where I live, the bed where I sleep, the street I walk, the cork in my talk.

I draw when words are on strike
and paint my poems delight under the cirrus of horizon on a canvas of curiousity & cool, cool, cool smoke by the fireside.

Bamboozle simple images of recognition
for plunging into deeper traits in wood, allways finding faces & nudes appearing betveen the annual rings.

There’s an eye for everything, nothing that can’t be seen.

Even the invisible becomes visible to some, and often the clearest vision hides in a joke of plain fun & eternal ignorance, Art’s without pretence by the fireside

There are
eyes for everything,

Nothing,
that can’t be seen.

rings of rule) in an old, felled oak.