despair – Page 5 – 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

Crossing over

Here I stand cap in hand

A lifetime before me

And a lifetime behind me

And in the lamplight the path isn’t clear.

Here I lean upon my wooden bridge

Subdued memories ripple downstream in the wake of yesterday

And if I cross- hail what tomorrow brings

Shadows or sunsets in the evening?

Alison Jean Hankinson

For poetics d’Verse

d’Verse poetics abridged

Image– my mum and my daughter Ellen at St Annes, Lancashire. Mum was called Anne…

The lifetime behind me is my mum, whom I left behind and lost when I came to NZ, the lifetime before me is Ellen my eldest daughter whom I leave behind when I leave NZ to return to England.

Remembering Wormwood

Chernobyl’s children still suffer the sentence of their parents malefaction

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Chernobyl’s children
Still suffer the sentence of
Their parents malefaction,

The ruins remain ruins
Decay covers more decay
Destruction and despair draped

in pure white blanket
The crystal cloak of winters’
season salves not purifies.
As Earth still revolves
And snows of winter still fall
Burnt out remains lie buried
Will never be forgotten.

Alison Jean Hankinson

Image: By Clay Gilliland from Chandler, U.S.A. (Wormwood Star Memorial) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

This was a response to d’Verse Meeting the Bar; the Choka

I have never attempted this form/format before and found it quite a challenge. Anyway this was my first ever attempt at a Choka..I tried to understand the form.

d’Verse Meeting the bar

Footprints in the snow.

footprints_in_the_snow_in_minnesota Christmas lights glitter and glow as the festive season is in full flow

An unexpected and unwelcome visitor steals through the shadows

Puts prime of life on ice and she is gone too soon.

Shattered souls weep amidst the shards of broken glass.

Alison Jean Hankinson

image: By Gina Paulucci (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

World gone mad.

colorful-572279_1280 Inside my head

Spinning around

Dreams and aspirations gone awry

Future peace mocked by the war-torn pieces

Of a world gone mad.

Alison Jean Hankinson 20/12/2016

Christmas Voices continued

alison H 103

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

Christmas Voices

12391404_10208127104120816_1741191061834227705_n

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

Deserted

17107122477 (1).png

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.

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.