Beer-tinted glasses.

He was only happy when knocking back the beers at the bar,

His raucous laughter would peal though the open windows of the snug in the pub,

He was everybody’s hero and everybody’s friend and everybody loved him.

 

 

Until he made it home, up the garden path

The key would turn in the lock of the old wooden door.

Behind closed doors through beer-tinted glasses he was everybody’s fiend.

 

 

His temper flared, his anger rising like bile from below his belt

Buckle undone he would wield his weapon and exert his ire

Until the sun rose and the dulcet tones of the dawn chorus could be heard.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

 

Meeting at the bar tonight for d’Verse and we were asked to explore the demon drink. This is my offering.

 

Dystopian grey….

It was a very grey holiday, there were some bits of bright blue sky and sunlight reflecting on the freshly fallen snow but the background theme and feeling was a dreary dismal dullness of the darkness felt too long,  and the sludge and slush of snow left to linger after a cold and brilliant winter.

We went to Leith -one of my dad’s favourite songs is sunshine on Leith by the Proclaimers and I wrote about it once in They Sing For Him. So we took a winter trip to see the sunshine in Leith. It is a suburb of Edinburgh on the coast and this is what mesmerised me most, the fact that it was on the coast. I had been to Edinburgh several times to the Castle and the sights and never really thought of it as being coastal. The architecture was grey and mesmerising, It was like waking up in a different time and a different place, a truly dystopian setting. It had its own unique beauty.

Shapeshifter sky

Solitary crocus speaks

Winter’s dirge recedes.

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

The Proclaimers version

2016 cup final version

Chortle- been away too long- forgot to add the link. This is for d’Verse haibun Monday. Love to all.

 

 

These Bastions…

These bastions of hope

Hunkered hulls

Iron wrought girders-tentative tendrils of tortured souls

Granite greying lies portraying

Sandstone hewn and lives pervading

Rugged landscape molten measures

Of love and labour and dreams unfettered.

Firth of Forth,

Sunshine on Leith

Grotesque, glib, grand

Bastions of strength, courage and hope hide beneath.

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

 

 

Refreshed and rejuvenated.

I took a short break from writing as it was important to regroup, reflect and re-energise. I return now for the onset of spring hopefully refreshed and rejuvenated.

It seems as if the world has gone mad in recent months, and I am not sure that at 51 my life has followed the path that seemed inevitable or appropriate. I do know that at 51 in the UK wisdom and experience count for very little in the current cut and thrust of an austere economic climate. I find myself overqualified and overlooked for less complex jobs and career options and “too expensive” in my own line of work. We were led to believe that if we worked hard and demonstrated dedication loyalty and good work ethic it would lead to justified rewards this appears not to be the case after the age of 50.

Anyway enough whingeing. I must cart on. I must continue to believe that somewhere someone will give me a break and continue to be thankful for the understanding and support of my two current employers for giving me the opportunity to contribute in a productive and meaningful way.

I did need to take a break though, and I have done jigsaw puzzles, walked briskly, read a book, played scrabble and gone for a winter wander in our little caravan. I return to find the crocuses blossoming and the fresh scent of spring on the doorstep. Life continues to astound in its ability to restore order through and after chaos. There is a natural order that somehow continues to exist, first there are the snowdrops, then the daffodils and crocuses, soon it will be the cherry blossom and the tulips.

Onward and upward. Tally-ho.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

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

Moo Indigo-the ballad of Doris and Flo.

We are the trailer cows

Feel free to have a browse

It’s so fine to have you near.

 

Whenever you are feeling low

Take a breath real slow

And know we are here to cheer.

 

We munch and chew our cud

Wherever we are stood

We have no worries or fear.

 

We like it by the trailer

From here we can see who mailed ya

And our presence brings you here.

 

We like to swish and moo

We’ll always make room for you

Just don’t stand too near our rear.

 

Moove over Duke-love from Doris and Flo…

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is intended to be fun. It was written for d’Verse poetics and inspired by the beautiful and emotive photography by Sharon Knight. This image was entitled Trailer Cows and was from https://sunearthsky.com/

We were given permission to borrow the images.

I liked all the images and would have enjoyed writing about many of them but this one captured my imagination the most. I was taken by the two cows, whom I named Doris and Flo.

 

New Year rises

It was a turbulent week just like the weather. We saw the wolf moon shining bright in the New Year sky and it brought tidal wrath to the coastline. There were forecast to be High tides and they arrived at the same time as storm Eleanor. Around Cumbria and the Furness peninsula storm surge brought debris and made some of the roads impassable.

As we return to work and tried to re-establish the pre-Christmas normalcy in patterns of life and leisure we know with certainty that we are walking forwards into a turbulent future likely to match the week and mayhem of the wonderful wolf moon. Two supermoons this month, I wonder what the next one will bring.

High tide storm rising

Whispers of windswept dreams fly

New Year, wolf moon chides.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse haibun monday.

Whilst I am here this is the wonderful d’Verse anthology that has recently been published and is available to purchase on Amazon.

  1. Chiaroscuro – Darkness and Light, dVerse Anthology, 2017.

This is a collaborative project between the dVerse poets and dVerse team.   Over 100 poets from around the world contributed to this anthology.   We selected not only the best poems but also those poems that take the reader through a journey from the darkest places to the brightest. From the deepest sorrow into happiness and love. From the darkest streets to woods in spring. Come enjoy our journey.

Now available at Amazon North America and Amazon Europe.