Missing- Who moved it?
It wasn’t where it was supposed to be
It should have been there for all to see
Someone had moved it carelessly
Author: alisonhankinson
Walking tall whenever I can.
Treasure
Love in Sonata form.
Spring
He saw her across the room and his heart stopped for a subtle second
She was forbidden fruit from the garden of Eden
A thing of beauty and innocence with an overtone of darkness and despair
He knew that his love could make her brightness soar and bring light into her soul.
Summer
Their love flourished under the summer sun,
He brought warmth into her life
There was colour in her speech and
He offered her a freedom and release
That before she had not known.
There were infinite possibilities
An eternity of love that would nourish
And heal from within and banish
The spectres of solitude and silence
He would be her sanctuary.
Autumn came and darkness cast it’s cloak across their days
His light across the room was dimmed by her shadows
Her innocence tarnished by forgotten promises and the broken bonds of love
He knew that his love had enslaved and condemned her to an eternity of pain.
Their love had died with the embers of the sun.
Winter won.
© Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’verse
Make Music of Those Words–dVerse MTB
Influence of music through Sonata Form. As a trombonist I have always had music close to my heart and soul. I learned through classical genres and one of my favourite forms is sonata form. If you listen to something like Beethoven’s Pathetique it is very clearly written in sonata form. The first movement is the Exposition and contains the themes in their melodic infancy, they grow through major and minors in the second movement or development and in the Recapitulation, the final movement there is a conclusion with developed references relating to the the early themes. I find Sonata form is a good analogy for life, love and pretty much everything. I tried to capture its essence in the poem through the development and then loss of the relationship and use the season to represent the movement of time.
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Recipe for a meaningful life
Be humble
Recognise that whilst we walk similar paths we all stumble
Be kind
Recognise that in moments of despair it is the hand that we hold
that makes us blind
To the pain.
Be giving
Recognise that it is our contribution to living
That ultimately counts.
Be brave
Have courage to stand tall and speak truths
and lift up the spirit and soul
of young and old
Leave silent footprints
That others may follow
In their own time and at their own pace
Be mindful
Recognise and respect each moment for what it is
It is your live to be lived
Make it meaningful and worthwhile.
© Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’verse Poetics recipes
Alison Jean Hankinson
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Mother’s Love
My tiny treasures
Look at the scar that you created
I wear it for you with love and pride.
I wear it with stoicism
Disfigured permanently for motherhood
We call it an apron
It hangs loose and saggy like an old washed out jumper.
© Alison Jean Hankinson
This was written for the quadrille at d’Verse. Hope it is okay.
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Elders and their sacred knowledge.
Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win a war
When God closes a window somewhere he opens a door.
I can kill two birds with one stone but if I am too bitter and too full of hate
I will cut off my nose to spite my face.
Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,
But if I take myself too seriously pride is bound to come before a fall
These pearls of wisdom, this sacred prose
Demonstrates and shows
How the old folk prepared the new
Passing their sacred knowledge on to me and you.
Alison Jean Hankinson
Daily Post Prompt
Sacred
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Christmas Voices continued
This is a continuation from Christmas Voices that I began for d’Verse last week
Dec 6 and 7. The rector and his wife
In the beginning
Was the word and the word was
Pray for us sinners…..
We gave all we had
There was nothing left to give
God took it all
Dec 8th. The Teacher
Christingle service
Carol singing in the snow
Childrens faces glow
Dec 9th and 10th The homeless man and the girl from the store.
There was no room at the hostel
His predicament was momentarily magnified
by the similarities of their story on this cold winter night.
She offered him her last note
Crisp and clean in the crystal clear light of the moon
He received the yuletide offering with gladness for she had given with love.
Alison Jean Hankinson
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Christmas Voices
I think this is a bit of trial and error…I wanted to create some kind of advent calendar in “writings”…. so this I will add to, and I am going to say the inspiration was from Gemma, my visits to Rimu Park from d’verse openlinknight-185. It asked for a poem, but I hope that I can do 24 that will all become one if that makes sense.
Rimu Park is the retirement home and as I visit I often learn new things about both the residents and my own outlook on life. I love Christmas dearly and I think I want to demonstrate through the full piece that it means different things to different people at different points in their lives. Whilst it can be a time of family and of love and sharing it can also be a time of loneliness and grief not just for people loved and lost but also for Christmas’ past.
December 1st. The Optimist
Christmas lights twinkle
Full of festive hopefulness
Heartaches falter fast
December 2nd. The Sage
Shadows and sorrows
Embers echo-Christmas past
Silent separation
December 3rd. The Giver
Secret Santa gifts
Friendly fun festivities
Given from my heart
December 4th. The Abandoned
You left without saying goodbye
My spirit was broken
Mistletoe mocks
December 5th. The Charlatan
Love was lacklustre
Was the food mixer the gift
To bring severance
Dec 6 and 7. The rector and his wife
In the beginning
Was the word and the word was
Pray for us sinners
We gave all we had
There was nothing left to give
God took it all
Dec 8th. The Teacher
Christingle service
Carol singing in the snow
Childrens faces glow
Alison Jean Hankinson
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Deserted
Deserted
“APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.”1
I waited and you didn’t come, it got colder and darkened days rolled into darkened nights
The numbing loneliness consumed my every optimistic thought
Extinguished every light that burned within.
The embers of our love were dying as the frozen ground began to thaw.
It should have been a time of hope, snowdrops heralded the spring’s swift approach
But these bones are old and our love is cold- but a distant memory
Cherry blossom parades her poignant pinks for a newer generation.
- This is a direct Quote from TS Eliot, “The Wasteland” I didn’t take it from a book, I carry it with me in my head.
- I think it is one of my most favourite poems – I love the Thames maidens.- I like the changes and the desolation, and the history and the symbolism. It reminds me of the wind blowing dust over the landscape and burying the present.
- This is for Poetics at d’Verse.
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Francie
Haibun/Haiku on Nature
Write a haibun at dVerse on any subject- I wanted to capture the power of nature. This weekend there was a terrible tragedy at sea over on the other side of the coast where the seas were very high and powerful. A fishing charter boat- The Francie capsized or similar crossing the bar, there were 11 aboard, three survived and the bodies of 7 recovered,one is still missing. The power of nature is not to be scoffed at. I hope I did them justice in my short Haiku. God rest their souls. XXXX
In terms of rough seas in summertime I have experienced the terrifying forces of nature, a long time ago 1985 I was crossing the English Channel from Deauville to Poole with my parents in a 26ft yacht, a Dufour, very skittish even with extra ballast. There was a ferocious storm and the waves were very powerful and we were knocked off course and struggled for more than 12 hours to stay upright, we finally made safe harbour near Brighton after 36 hours at sea, the last 12sailing up and down a 5 mile stretch trying to locate where we were, there was a dangerous sandspit called Selsey Bill that we didn’t want to run aground on. We survived though, harnessed to the boat. We were fortunate.
Francie
Darkened seascape
Heaving, the Boat braves the Bar
Spills her load to death.
© Alison Jean Hankinson
Hues of Hankinson 