It was a dreary dismal day
The drizzle spilled like tears down the kitchen window.
What have we become? We of so little value,
Worth not perfunctory care and consideration.
Has hope hidden itself under some far-flung rock?
I will leave no stone unturned.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’Verse quadrille on the subject rock.
The image was taken yesterday at Lake Windermere.
I guess it is treasures like the one on this rock that remind us that there are always moments to be valued.
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Hues of Hankinson 
I think the act of turning the stones says it all.
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I think we can only keep trying… there are always new stones to turn
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Oh, this feels painful. But it is worth turning those stones…
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Leave no stone unturned to find the hidden hope.
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Hope is like a virus; nearly indestructible as it clings to the bottoms & backsides of so many things. It may spring out upon discovery, or have to be peeled out laboriously.
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I can feel the sighing in this one…and the thunderous upturning of every stone!
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It has to be there somewhere…..
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I hope we can find that rock and turn the day from dismal to a cheery one ~
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And we shouldn’t! We have to keep moving forward and turning over those stones. Hope is always there.
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I like this brave poem of yours Alison. Keep hope alive.
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Much love to you. We face turmoil at every turn in this current part of our lives. XXX
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It seems we face turmoil at any point of our lives. We just have to keep hope and faith alive.
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Always keep looking for hope. 🙂 Also, I like the vivid imagery of the “drizzle spilled like tears”on the window.
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I consider it hopeful that stones can be turned! Your poem has a ache to it; deeply felt by the reader. More so by the writer’s voice. That there is a range of responses to your poem (differing points of view) puts me in mind of the facetious rephrasing of “behind every dark cloud” that states “ahead of every silver lining is a dark cloud.” Both of them overlook the rainbow promise that only comes when precipitation is somewhere present in one’s life. A promise that others read, hear, or somehow become aware — and are lifting up the distressed one in supplication.
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A troubling question: What have we become? Makes us ponder…and keep turning over stones, looking for hope!
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I Hear the sadness and resolve in your words. Nicely done.
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Powerful, Allison!
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Hope is there, Alison, in your poem and under a stone that you haven’t yet turned. xxx
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Love the idea of not giving up on hope.
Dwight
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