inspiration – Hues of Hankinson

And God makes three

Turbulent thoughts keep me awake long into the night.

I hear the church clock chime half past three

I wonder if sleep will come and rescue me from the horrors of my mind.

She is just out of reach, the day is long, I call her name over and over again.

I will her to turn and face me, to know the dangers and the joy that mark the journey ahead.

I will her to collect the gifts that I have left for her in my imaginary trees.

A gemstone, aquamarine to give her courage and strength.

An amulet in the form of a necklace fashioned from a treasured threepenny piece.

An orchid dipped in silver to remind her of her inner beauty and remind her of her feminine strength and stoicism.

She is her mother’s child. Strong and stubborn with a compassionate core and a kindness that cannot be compared.

But she has her own demons, they stare her down and gnash unsparingly at her heels making it hard for her to make headway in the ferocious fetid storm of my mind.

I will her to turn to face them, to burn their eyes out with her own inner fire, to blind them with her light.

My child you have the strength of you, and the strength of me,

And then there is God and God makes three.

We are with you through the long lonely night and into the joy of a new day and a new dawn.

We were asked to think about signs. This came from a really vivid dream I had a while back. I think it was when my Daughter was experiencing a lot of change and the dream felt very real. I think I wanted her to know that it will be what it will be, and that we have to trust that it was supposed to be this way.

Seashore

Watching the waves break at dawn

My past washes away with the tide.

A gentle breeze elevates my thoughts

Some greater force acting as my guide.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Violeta

The scene is set in the Covid pandemic where 100 year old Violeta casts a backwards glance to a century of conflict, upheaval, separation bountiful love, joy and enigmatic existence.

She was born against a backdrop of burning fevers, Spanish flu followed by a caustic double coup.

It was the beginnings of an extraordinary ordinary life. Violeta experienced extremes of early privilege followed by extremes of poverty, prejudice and dislocation. It shaped her into a formidable and compassionate woman.

The curious relationships she encountered throughout her life added a colour and vibrancy and her ability to thrive and survive through family tragedy and disappointment are woven so intricately within the turbulent political tapestry of the time. To walk with Violeta and see the world through her eyes reminded me of the raw incredible beauty of all that is woman, the scars, the suffering the survival and the soulfulness.

D’VERSE for Thursdays challenge. We were asked to write poetry prose about a book we had just read. I read Violeta by Isabel Allende

it is enough

If you have food in the cupboard and a roof over your head, it is enough.

If you have worries that wake you but family that make you, it is enough.

If you have known love, shown love and grown love, it is enough.

If you have dreamed a little, worked a lot and been satisfied with your endeavours it is enough.

If the art of giving is more meaningful than getting, it is enough.

In the dark moments of life if you can still see a tiny flicker of light it is enough.

It is enough. It doesn’t have to be as vast as the oceans or as deep as the sea or as high as the mountain,

and you don’t have to be the richest, fastest, bravest, tallest, it isn’t about how much your worth measures but how you measure your worth.

It is enough. This I have learned.

Whatever I am, whoever I am, wherever I am, if I give with gladness of my heart it is enough.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

When I was about 18 a very close friend of mine observed that I always seemed to be searching for something and that she worried that I might never be happy. I remember because it troubled me too, it was as if there was something missing from my life and I didn’t really know what it was, and I mistakenly labelled it happiness or perhaps even love. I think it took me many years to realise that it wasn’t missing at all that I just hadn’t recognised it even though at times it was staring me in the face.

Sounds of silence

Footfalls through the frost

Whispers on the wind,

Stillness in the stars,

Grubby chubby little hands

Seeking out shells on the shoreline.

Moments of magic in motherhood.

Memories fall like raindrops from the skies

Teardrops in my eyes

as I cherish every second of your lives.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Love you always wherever you may be-Mumma.

I think I have been silent for quite a while and now it is time to break the silence. I realise that so much of what I am and what I have done with my life and what I have become is linked to becoming a mother.

For me there was never any doubt that it was a fundamental part of what I held as important-not excelling in a sport or becoming a great leader or even the top of my career but giving and nurturing as best I could new members of the human race. I didn’t always do the job well, but I mostly did my best with the time and resources that I had at my disposal at the time.

I was always clear in my own mind that each would become their own person and make their own way in life and that in some respects all that I was doing was giving them some tools for their life basket and a safe place to grow. So it was a sprinkling of knowledge, a touch of high spiritedness, add in resilience backbone and compassion for others. I always wanted them to fly the nest and soar in the winds in their own little worlds build their own castles in the air and thrive and survive and have soul.

They have moved into their own lives now, almost effortlessly without a backwards glance and yet I know that they will always be connected. I don’t think the umbilical cord is ever truly broken and just as I will always carry my own mother in my heart even though she is long since gone I think they too will always carry a part of me in their hearts and so the story goes, the ebb and flow, mother to child.

The legacy of a superhero.

Hopes and dreams like ripples across the water,

The moon casts it light surreal across the surface.

An abundance of voices remember and connect.

Your existence and your inner beauty left a shadow on my life

You reach beyond the grave and you continue to create your magic

Through my footfalls and my hands.

And through the light that continues to shine in the eyes of all those whom you touched.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

We had a prompt on d’Verse and it was about “super” and of course I think our lives and pasts are actually littered with so many superheroes and I think they leave a living legacy in that they touch our lives and change who we are and what we become.

I learned about the heroes of the cotton famine this week, and it made me proud of my ancestors, we stand on the shoulders of giants, and it is sad to say goodbye to Prof Hawking who has been a true superhero to so many. This poem was written about Princess Diana. The images at the bottom relate to the heroes of the Cotton Famine the Lancashire Cotton Mill workers.

The image of Diana was from the public domain and able to be reproduced.

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Count your blessings…

Here it is- (I’m sorry- I tried)

The moment of realisation

That we didn’t make it big.

But on a day like today, I count my blessings,

It is good to be alive and thrive inside

in spite of the complexities of life.

Why worry? Why ruminate

On what could have been,

When we can celebrate the beauty and the bounty of all that we behold.

With fragile threads we weave our stories

Try to fasten our futures on to what we hold dear

We take so much for granted, and we often fear

The void, the loss, the loneliness, the finite ending.

We should instead let our spirits soar and hold this beautiful moment

In our memory for eternity.

I wanted to use this for OLN at d’Verse as it is something I need to remind myself about. The sunset tonight was simply magnificent and no matter how complex and difficult life is there is still much to be thankful for. Perhaps this year that is what I shall have as my resolution “Let our spirits soar.”

The beauty of imperfection.

In d’Verse we were asked to focus on imperfection for our haibun Monday Wabi-Sabi. My haiku isn’t a proper one as it is human.

Today I started my new job and met some new work colleagues. One beautiful lady was in the office with her baby, she was on maternity leave but had come in to share the joy of this young man. He looked beautiful and his arms were so open and he looked so uncurled and yet it took me back to the arrival of my girls. Ellen emerged in a state of perfect relaxation, but Emily’s arrival was more stark and primaeval, the screams were of real anger and short-lived. She was whisked off to the SCBU within the hour when I told the nurses it sounded like she was barking. Unbeknown to us the damage was already done.

Emily was diagnosed with cerebral palsy in the November on my birthday, was classed as having spasticity in all four quadrants and we were told she might never walk. Ellen and Emily worked together on this and she walked at 16 months old. We just carried on as best we could and she has achieved so much in her 18 years so far, and her imperfections are actually just a part of her surreal beauty and magical character. What she has achieved so far in her young life is way and above what many people without such obvious imperfections achieve. I told some of my story and was horrified at the irony-all is not what it seems and this little fellow had a similar story, but my little girl with her imperfections is nothing short of inspiration for others who are treading these uncertain imperfect waters.

Winter frost beckons
Stiff frozen imperfections
Sibling love melts ice.