d’verse – Page 5 – Hues of Hankinson

Morepork

In NZ the native owl is the Morepork and this is the sound of its call- Morepork. We have always loved owls as a family it is perhaps their mysticism or perhaps their association with wisdom. My viewings have been limited to those in captivity but my ears are attuned to their call both at home and in NZ. We had several lived in our backyard bush on Mount Tiger and I would fall asleep listening to their calls most nights, it was as familiar as the sound of the cicadas in summer, but here it was during half term when we were caravanning in Cheshire amidst the trees not far from Arley estate that I heard the familiar sound.

This Saturday I had to get the train to London very early in the morning, 5.30am, before it was light to represent our research project at the Rethink annual conference. As we parked the car at the station I heard the call of a lone owl.

Early morning mist

Lone owl calls- winter darkness

Train leaves the station.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse haibun monday, where we were asked to consider owls.

The images are all my own.

Ray of hope.

It came to me in a dream

light across the void.

Our lives mere moments

fragile fragments of time

thrust into the tumultuous tempest

of a vast and emerging eternity.

It came to me in a dream

light across the void.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

A perfect storm of turbulent gases

Credit: ESA/Hubble; European Space Agency, NASA, and J. Hester (Arizona State University)

This is for d’Verse, poetics where we were asked to use one of the images to look upwards.

Days of loss.

Some days there are no happy ever afters

No pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

Inside the cloud- no silver linings

Some days the tears we weep fill the reservoirs of our soul

The magnitude of our pain and suffering is beyond remedy

Inside our heart is bereft and broken beyond repair.

Some days suffering sadness and shades of sorrow are all there is

And we must carve a new understanding of the world we know

Find a new way to find a glimmer of hope.

I have decided to link this up to d’verse for open link night. I wrote it at a very key low point last year just as I discovered I had once again become ill with a flare of Ulcerative Colitis, the first since 2012. Last week I think I hit an even lower point in my life, the disease refusing to go into remission and being forced to give in and go back on to high dose steroids. I am climbing back out of the hole. I have managed to keep working, and that in itself is an achievement and we take our crumbs where we can find them.

I wrote this early November when despair was at times overwhelming. I still believe in happy ever after- it is in my nature.

Much love. XXX

The Eve of Samhain.

I am crone, blackened, old bones creaking, hear me cackle,

Worldy wise, decrepit and dried-out hag

At Samhain Eve, edge of darkness.

Bring back to me immortality and the light of life.

I am curdling cauldron, spewing orange bile, seething vileness

Cosmic container, holy grail to the gods

I welcome Samhain, edge of darkness

As the sun sets, I descend into darkness, and my transformation begins.

Reborn, I am acorn, I am apple- five pointed star, pentagram

Wise woman, sentinel of soulful strength.

I rejoice at Samhain, beyond the edge of darkness

As day breaks I brush away fear with my birch besom.

It is a new day, new year, a new life.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse where the theme was monsters….I haven’t really got anything in me on monsters….so this is a tale from a witch.

I am away from home, I went out in the dark to collect some acorns for my photo, but the internet is a little weak here and they won’t load….so call back later and they might be here. I saw a tiny little mouse whilst I was out but hadn’t got my camera with me.

Acorns were seen as an amulet…it is seen as strong and protective, they only appear on mature trees and they are a symbol of perseverance and fertility.

Give with a glad heart…

I watched a film this weekend that has left an indelible imprint on my mind. I wept in places as I watched and the story made my heart and soul bleed, partly because of the kindness demonstrated by the one character for the other but also partly for the complete lack of humanity and kindness shown by others in the same instance. The film was called I Daniel Blake.

I cried because of the injustice, I cried because I had felt those things this year too, I cried for the mother’s love of her children and for how she had gone without to ensure her children were well. I cried for the kindness of the old man for helping the family despite his own hardship and loss. I cried mostly for a society that seems to have forgotten how important kindness is. I cried because in my desperate hours of need I have been given kindess. I cried because even in my own desperate hours of need, my needs will have been far less significant than the needs of many others who probably also needed kindness.

Give with a glad heart.

Expect nothing in return

Kindness warms, ice melts.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse Haibun monday. The birds are just because….I feed the birds…all birds…big ones, little ones, brown ones, white ones….The seagull on the roof has a gammy leg…he still survives…

More Magic

Herbs and bits of stick

medicines to cure

gardening lemongrass, hogweeds, valerian.

Rituals and superstitions

lunar chart an astrological schedule

The garden thrived.

Chinese medicine, English folklore

Everyday magic

Layman’s alchemy.

Alison Jean Hankinson

A second contribution for d’Verse MTB, using the erasure style…a second stab at Magic…but from a different source….

Image-spices and herbs by futureshape.

Magic

All the house was silent

Night-light burning on the mantelpiece

Off to sleep.

Spring came

Long days in the garden

Rides in the wheelbarrow.

Long June evenings

The bracken swayed gently

The sun sank lower.

Thicket of raspberry canes growing tall

Tropical jungle in long sunlit hours

Fairy huts in the flowerbed.

Quiet evenings in the wood

A tear fell to the ground

And a flower grew.

A mysterious flower

Slender green leaves the colour of emeralds

Blossom like a golden cup.

The moon had risen

The forest was beautiful, fronds like frosted silver

Tree-trunks wild danced with their shadows.

Velvet grass dancing, the fairy kissed him

Springing jumping whirling

He was real at last.

Alison Jean Hankinson.

This is for d”verse MTB.

I ought to add this is a form called erasure or blackout.

The text was too large to put the whole as a picture….see if you can spot where it came from….The other image might help a tiny bit….it is Emily’s…shh….