Category: inspiration

The west wind…

I heard a whisper across the water

It told of a world where there were wonderous opportunities and all were welcome

Where freedom was valued and compassion was at the core of civilised communities.

 

A whisper carried by a westerly wind washing the waves across the sand-banks

Calling me home, I longed to drift with it, I yearned for its whisper to be true

For it to wrap me in its comforting promises and relieve me from the pain and suffering of the moment in which I live.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

Day 15 Napowrimo

I don’t know if this poem is finished….perhaps it is an unfinished poem.

 

In the space between……

I heard your voice

You sounded distant, a far cry in a deserted hall

Somewhere beyond the silent space that I occupy.

 

You are on the tip of my tongue

A familiar sound, an enunciated vowel

More than a cursory utterance of love.

 

In my dreams my arms reach out to embrace you.

I catch a glimpse of you as the shadows recede and the sun filters in through the shutters

But you have already left, and all I have is the empty space that you once occupied.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

For Day 14 of napowrimo.

With love to all. May you have peace in your hearts and compassion in your soul.

The Poem speaks…..

I exist because you thought me

And I clamoured for my voice to be heard

For my energy to explode across the meaningful void of silence that exists between our worlds.

 

I dance between our worlds

I bring life to the lifeless, lyrics to the song, enchantment to the disillusioned

I am magical mystical moments that separate reality and dullness from freedom and spirit.

 

I lift the conscious to a greater sense of awareness

I create a depth stronger than the deep-rooted foundations on which you build your windiest cities.

I am lighter than air, a whim, a wish, a wistful glance into a wearied past,

A foray into a frozen forest of feelings that no-one else dare explore.

 

You give me breath and life and send me reluctantly skittering into a world of startling sterility.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse meeting at the bar where we were asked to consider ars poetica which I think is the art of poetry. I guess I tried to see what it was like being a poem.

Groundhog day…..

Amidst the hustle and bustle of a billowy day

A thought popped into my head

Imagine that this was all imaginary

And in reality we were already dead.

 

I wouldn’t have to worry about the bills

Or keeping the kitchen clean

Any pain or suffering pulling me down

Would be an unfortunate dream.

 

It seemed like a good idea at the time

And I ran with it for a while

But then I spotted the obvious flaws

And decided the idea was vile.

 

I wouldn’t have made any difference

To other lives great or small

All that I had lived, loved and learned

Would cease to matter at all.

 

I decided that dreary and dull as the day may be

I would rather live my life fully right now

Than struggle for all of eternity

Trying to get back to where I am now.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Napowrimo2018.…..and my early morning thoughts today….Day 12. XXX

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Small moments, meaningful memories.

Dad enjoyed a whisky each night

Said it just seemed right

Helped him put the plight of the world to rest

Before eyes-shut, sleep-tight, God-Bless.

© Alison Jean Hankinson

A short sweet contribution for Napowrimo Day 11.

 

 

Camping in Spring.

Zip me up

Snug as a bug in a rug

Raindrops on the roof

I revel in the sounds and smells of a spring storm

Lightning, thunder puts slumber asunder

Wind roars above

Sleeping bag saves me

I hide deep within

All zipped up.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse quadrille. The challenge was Zip.

The caravan before the rain!

The legacy.

One day this will all be yours my son

When my bones are wearied and my work is done

Until that day I will share with thee

All my wordly goods and hospitality.

 

I looked across the garden lawn

Each rock and boulder, each tree and flower forlorn

Planted and placed by this loving pair

With whom I had been fortunate my life to share.

 

She had passed away in early Spring

A moonless night she earned her wings

His saddened eyes then lost their light

She had been his diamond bright.

 

He carried on though his despair was clear

Determined to spend more time with those he held dear

With his estranged family he made his peace

He shared his stories of the past and his frustrations ceased.

 

The autumn came the nights were cold

His desire to die took a stronger hold.

The clock stopped at ten past three

For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Day 9 of Napowrimo

 

 

 

Basking in the boundless light of thy bitter love.

Be still my beating heart

In this boundless light I bask

In his bountiful love I bear witness

I wear love’s malleable mask.

 

Be still my beating heart

For fear of battles feigned in vain

And swordsman on his shining steed

Did my fragile heart reclaim.

 

Be still my beating heart

For he doth love another

And all the magic in the world

Will not ease my slumber.

 

Be still my beating heart

I must hide my shame and guilt

Give me strength grace and fortitude

And let my broken dreams be rebuilt.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for napowrimo Day 8, the prompt was to write in the spirit of Shelley, which was perhaps a bit challenging at 7am, anyway this is as much in the spirit of Shelley as I can muster.

The image is of St George…I imagine this to be the fair damsel in distress once the rose petals have faded.

It was in the public domain on wikimedia-  attributed to circle of Lucas Cranach the Elder [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Willow- bend without breaking

Through the silence of the night I hear you breathing heavily, the weight of the world on your shoulders,

You have learned to love others and nurture them all as a mother

And sometimes you get washed aside in the wake of a selfless storm.

 

Do not pity me- I am no victim,

I choose to do the things I do, I don’t need their gratitude

I am their friend, their wife, their mother, their lover, the whisper of light in the dark, a comforting sound through the vacuum of silence.

 

Through the years you have drudged and toiled, cooked their meals, held their hands, made their miserable monotonous lives a little less monochrome.

You were their teacher, their challenger, you coached as their mentor

And sometimes you were lost at sea in the current of compassion and a tide of woes.

 

Do not pity me, I have no need for sympathy

I held their lost souls in the palm of my hand and gave them love and space to grow,

I kept them safe in a sheltered harbour. I may bend but don’t break. I am willow.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

The image was in the public domain from wikimedia labelled for reuse.

This is for napowrimo 2018. Day 7.

The Angel of the North.

Emerging from the darkened voiceless void beneath

Embracing weathered wings span the Gateshead skyline

Reflects our transition from industrial to information age

Celebrates the toil and labour of those beneath who mined.

 

Above ground we breathe the air and grasp the light

200 tonnes of weathering steel guards our future still

Hope rises from coal’s scarred and savaged wounds

As we pay homage to the Angel on the hill.

Deep-rooted in its megalithic mound

And anchored down by love and stone.

©Alison Jean Hankinson