women – Page 4 – Hues of Hankinson

Recipe for raising daughters.

Ingredients
A cup of love
Add in a large measure of compassion
Stir in resilience, rays of hope and a little bit of awe and wonder.
Mix with manners, humility and respect
And leave to prove in a warm and welcoming kitchen

Method

Encourage courage and a brave heart
Give support and hope through times of hardship and self-doubt
And demonstrate that with careful consideration there can be a useful lesson learned in most experiences of failure.

Teach that family and friendship can be more fulfilling than fruitless feuding
That money doth not always maketh the man
That the road can be long and winding but however heavy the burden and load we must walk on with a glad heart.
Give them wings to fly and heritage, culture and connection to ground them.
Give them a handbag full of handy hints and useful tips and tools for everyday survival.
Ensure they are secure in the knowledge that your love will always be there at the end of the day and that without a shadow of a doubt you have got their back,
And that one day they will do the same for their own offspring.

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

To Ellen and Emily love Mumma. For International Women’s Day 2018. I am offering this also for d’Verse open link night, sorry I have been a bit quiet recently folks.

Mum’s last letter.

Handwriting didn’t come easily to me, my words tumbled out across the page as fast as my thoughts would carry them but with no time for neatness clarity or punctuation. Laborious lessons trying to perfect a precise clear-cut style between the lines, the endless lines, my sister’s handwriting remains the same as it was in those joined up lessons at school. Mine still resembles ducklings charging towards some azure blue lake with all the joy of momentum, joy and not a care in the world for how it looks to the rest of the world.

Her last letter, heaven only knows why she posted the parcels so early for Christmas, perhaps she knew. Her last act of love. She died on the Sunday half a world away and by Friday I held her last letter in my hand. Her writing cut through the void, the years the tears, the fears.

Precision and care

Her words carefully planted.

Snowdrops cut through snow.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Shades of 50.

It is done, my fiftieth birthday year finally gone

Kicked the ass out of that, had a bit of fun

Moved house and home,

And now it is done.

Heartaches and happiness all in one.

What a year, glad to move on to 51.

this is a bit cheesy but all I could muster for this week’s Quadrille at d’Verse. I celebrated my fiftieth birthday in hospital and it has been a roller-coaster of a year and I think some of the biggest dips were in the last week, so I was a bit quiet….So tomorrow I start a new day, and a new year… and I will be 51.

I miss my Ellen though and would love to have her home with me. XXXX

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.

Leaving it all behind…

There are days when the tragedy of life is too great to bear

When win some, lose some just won’t cut the mustard.

Winsome-wearied, weathered and worn

She hailed a taxi.

Time to get the hell out of this hateful hole

Before it swallowed her whole.

Bright skies before her, burning sun

Radiant beauty of migrant birds in flight-heading for a warmer winter shore.

Leaving was the answer of this she was sure.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This painting from Artistic Interpretations at imaginary garden with real toads. I think this one reminds me of the place she was leaving.

Halloween

Puffball potions

Toadstool faeries

Ravens guard the graveyard.

Harbingers of untimely death

Old Witch

Wizened

Haglike

Demdike

Whispers on the wind

Caustic curses

Widow wastes away.

All Hallows Eve

Wakening the spirits of the dead

Old souls rising.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This time of year is a time of remembering youth and stories of old as we head towards Halloween and Bonfire night. This is for d’Verse where we were asked to focus on one thing that this time of year represents to us.

Emily is still in hospital so it is a short visit and I shall do all my reading later in the week, so bear with me.

History- Old Demdike was one of the Pendle Witches she died in custody in 1612 at Lancaster Castle. The other 10 were later hanged. It was a time of great superstition and James 1 was greatly concerned with treason following the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. At Halloween when we were young it was traditional to walk up Pendle Hill in memory of the witches.

Serenade to a misspent youth…..

Pink organza dress

A sea of roses in her hair

Undercurrent of sensual sorceress.

Scents of love promised

Followed by adrenalin rush.

Temptress divine

A moment of indiscretion

That claimed you as mine.

Followed by a tsunami of regret

And a lifetime of commitment.

Image:

Raimundo-de-Madrazo-y-Garreta

Aline with Flowers, Free to use for non commercial use.

I have decided to submit this poem for d’Verse open link night. I wrote it at the weekend. It took me a while to find an image that I liked, and I actually discovered a lot of images by Garreta that I liked, so that was a bonus.

Mary Queen of Scots, hypothetical questions to Darnley on the murder of David Rizzio.

I crept silently to the stairwell

Lest my footsteps be heard by the strangers outside

And I wondered who was with you on that murderous night?

My lover and husband whom I had trusted

Child and heir to the throne growing steadily in my belly

And yet I wondered if this would be enough to still your tongue?

Your jealously simmered and boiled

Bubbling over into bloodletting at my feet

And I wondered did you love him, or did you love me?

Questions for d’Verse.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia. from an etching 1791 Mary, Queen of Scots witnessing the murder of David Rizzio.

Are you going away with no word of farewell?

Mother

Died suddenly

Bereft beyond belief

I mourn her untimely passing

Tears shed

Still night

Stars beguile me with their beauty

My heartfelt loss immense

Grief engulfs me

Silence.

This is for d’Verse poetics. It is a reverse cinquain? My song choice was Tom Paxton. “The last thing on my mind”.

Tom Paxton

It’s a lesson too late for the learning
Made of sand, made of sand

It will soon be the anniversary, she passed away in 2008, suddenly without saying goodbye, she was 64, and I was on the other side of the world and didn’t even get home for the funeral. We all feel it still. She was my mum.