creative – Page 8 – Hues of Hankinson

On the edge.

October gold rolled down across the valley

Set fire to the moorland putrefied the summer roses

Cut the Lifeline.

I somnambulist walked the moors, saw the hues

Tasted the mists, breathed the rancid air- embraced it in my lungs

I welcomed the ritual of the seasons, I had no fear of death

Death is nothing to be afraid of my friend, see it not as the end, merely as the beginning.

Strange voices whispering through the boughs of an ash-dead spruce

Had October gold severed my lifeline.

Yea though I walk- first it was a voice whistled on the wind

And the valley of death come unto me

the voice strengthened until it became a choir of heavenly angels

Fear not thy destiny-lay down the misted shroud that marks the path to the golden sepulchre.

Stop the voices I cried in terror

Stop the voices! Stop the Voices

I am too young to die

I have no staff to guide me through this cavern of darkness.

I shall not succumb to my fate- Give back to me

The light of life.

The hands that first betrayed me-

The human hands that cut the cord at birth

The hands reached out to embrace me.

I clung to the naked flesh and was received.

The breeze softened for a moment

The hypnotic trance was broken

October passed swiftly over the valley

And my destiny was fulfilled.

Alison Jean Hankinson

Image from Wikimedia- Title: Moorland above Attadale With Lochcarron across the loch, left. By Toby Speight

http://www.geograph.org.uk/profile/608

For d’Verse (d’Verse expressionism ) meeting the bar an attempt at expressionism? Bjorn stated “The simplest and most effective way to define expressionism is that you present the world in a totally subjective perspective. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality.”

So I have revisited something I wrote many years ago and attempted to do this.

Social Media and the crimes for our times.

21076290500_4ebb2cc8e4_b

(If it was the Whales- we’d save them)

When Shep died and we were still young

We cried for our loss- not Shep’s

Now we have grown up and walked forward

But to our shame our souls have slipped backwards.

Rape, pillage and plunder, massacre and torture

Genocide, legalised murder and organised crime.

We can turn a blind eye if it’s not on our doorstep

There’s always a scapegoat, someone to blame.

If it’s not in our country then it’s not our problem

We can share in their loss without suffering the shame

Of committing the crime.

Voyeurism isn’t a crime.

Let him who is without sin cast the first stone

Are any of us without sin

When we are the ones allowing it to happen?

Alison Jean Hankinson.

This poem is for d’Verse open link night. #189 Open link #189

The image is from Flickr and is of Syrian refugees. This is the link:

Syria refugees

Heversham Head

hh-2017-5b

Burnished brambles soft

underfoot on winter hike

brisk I catch my breath.

Returning to England after eleven years in New Zealand and finding the immediate transition from summer soaring heat to winter chill more than a little breathtaking the temptation to hibernate has been more than very real, so it was with some trepidation and a whole lot of zealous determination that made me venture forth on Sunday to conquer Heversham Head post Sunday roast in Sunday best with hiking boots. I managed to avoid face-plant in mud..and was rewarded with landscapes beyond imagination.

Alison Jean Hankinson.

This is for Haibun Monday with d’Verse in response to the challenge and guidance provided by Bjorn. The image (my own) was taken following a brisk walk up Heversham Head on Sunday afternoon and is from the descent at Fluster Gap. It was rather chilly and bracing.

#d’Verse haibun Monday

Nostalgia

And so we came home to Eden

But Eden wasn’t home anymore

And we had grown out of it.

Seedlings nurtured by parental love

Branching out reaching out towards a world

Where Eden wasn’t familiar

And we had no place to call home.

Just an intimation an emotion

A security which represents home.

And then we asked the question

From the sudden realisation

Is home synonymous with kindred love

Is kindred love home?

Alison Jean Hankinson

many-paths

This post/poem was added in response to d’Verse Poetics which took a closer look at the work of Ally Saunders.

d’Verse Poetics

The image that I responded to was this one, which is entitled Many Paths. I believe that I have travelled along many paths and have stumbled many times and however hard it is to journey down -my latest path is leading towards my kindred home.

#d'Verse-Poetics: Ally Saunders – A Closer Look

The Road to Wollengong

Comradeship a sculpture

in memory of Michael Dwyer

on the road to Wollengong

A tribute to an extraordinary man

with compassion and a care of others

With whispers of lives past

Hopes and voices of futures yet to be dreamed

amidst a sunny seascape

Alison Jean Hankinson

For d’Verse Quadrille #24

d’Verse quadrille #24

Sculpture Comradeship by Didier Balez

This tells you a little about the life of the man the sculpture commemorates:

Blog-honour of Michael Dwyer

The Nature of Leaving

Colossal mountain

And you know it is hard to climb

Sitting in the starlight,

Carboniferous days

And love turned to stone

When you left the valleys behind

And all that you can do

Is smile at the moon

And start the climb

Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse open link night.

d’Verse open link

So today on Friday 13th of January our furniture is scheduled to leave Whangarei exactly 11 years to the day we arrived. We drove over the Brynderwyns on Friday 13 Jan 2006 and saw the vista of Whangarei and Mount Manaia for the very first time. I actually began to write this poem many years ago when it became clear to me that when leaving to pursue our dreams we inevitably leave behind places and people that we have grown to love and cherish.

Arohanui. Great love to all. XXXXXX

Infinite Wisdom

What if we had chosen the other road instead

Would our lives have been any less complex

any less full of stress, fear or dread?

Would it have been an easier journey with more laughter and mirth

Would our achievements have been of any greater worth

If in our infinite wisdom we had taken the other road instead.

Alison Jean Hankinson

Produced for the Daily Post:
Infinite

I did look up the meaning of infinite wisdom and it does state that it can be sarcastic/sardonic.

We have asked ourselves this many times in the last 11 years and we will never know the answer, however infinite our wisdom is or isn’t.

Image from Flickr

Sage Advice – Randy Heinitz
March 21, 2013 – Words of Wisdom on the Open Road… and playing around with Photoshop

Te Matau ā Pohe

It was a crisp clear winter’s morn

The town was still waking

The bridge was awash in early morning glory

Breathtaking beauty in a moment

Of luxury and peaceful contemplation

These moments are cherished

The moments where our existence

However minuscule is in perfect harmony

With the world around us.

Alison Jean Hankinson

Te Matau ā Pohe is the name of the bridge in Whangarei, it was opened on Saturday 27 July 2013. The bridge spans the Hatea River from Pohe Island to Port Road. Its name means the fish-hook of Pohe.

The symbolism of the fish-hook, it represents strength, good luck and safe travel across water.

This was written in response to d”Verse poetics. Link here:

d’Verse poetics abridged

I took the photos on the morning described, I had taken Ellen to work very early one winter’s morning and just had to pull over and take in the beauty of the moment.

#d’Verse

For Ellen

michaela-sagatova-new-beginning-at-the-ends-of-the-earth

Pre-empted vision

And what stands between us

Is only time and space.

Meaningless when you consider the vacuum

That we have already crossed.

Alison Jean Hankinson

We were asked to use visual prompts to be inspired- the idea of new beginnings, this particular image spoke volumes to me- as we are just about to embark on a new journey and leave behind our precious daughter Ellen. We will be worlds apart but I believe that love, all love-especially a mother’s love can span the abyss of any darkness, cross any void and penetrates the cavern of eternity. ( The same Ellen as in Ellen has a fever., but she was only 18 months old then and now she is 17…)

Image-New beginnings at the ends of the earth- by- Michaela Sagatova, see web link below:

Visual prompt

This is for “beginnings” at d’Verse Poetics, hosted by Mish

Beginnings d’Verse