Kestrel

common_kestrel_in_flight

Virtue her’s is beauty

She hesitates then pounces

And in a flounce of majesty

A reverie of gracefulness

Swoops to savage the delicacies of a dew-sodden dawn

Reap the rewards of a cold rancid morn.

 

Narcotic silence

Renders love unto my soul

Removes the talons from my heart

Her beauty numbs the pain of death.

 

Alison Jean Hankinson

d’Verse open link

This is for the open link night at d’verse.

The image is  Common Kestrel in flight from wikimedia.

Sunset on Mount Tiger

A house is not a home if it isn’t in your heart.

A house is not a home if it isn’t the place that lifts your dreams

And makes you smile and puts the gladness in your eyes

When the sun sinks in the west and the summer lingers on.

 

Our Mount Tiger home was filled with love and kindness

They all belonged, the children laughing, the turbid teens,

The thieving possums, lonely pheasants and quirky quails,

The irritating huhu bugs, mesmerising puriri moths and startled skinks.

 

Our house was small but wore a warm place in our  hearts

Our lives were kneaded and fashioned and left to prove in the sun.

Going home at the end of the day was like a long slow sigh

As the work was left behind and we were back where we belonged.

 

Alison Jean Hankinson

 

d’Verse poetics

The challenge for poetics was to write about a building and we were really supposed to create it. This was our home on Mount Tiger, a small rectangular box atop a hill with a steep acre of bush, and we were the visitors the custodians of the land, we shared our home and landscape with all who had come before us and thrived around us. We had lavender for the bees, wildflowers for the butterflies, cabbages for the caterpillars, and I think the birds and rabbits lived off my vegetable garden. It was a beautiful home for my family to grow up in. We didn’t build it but we did grow it.

 

Williamson Park

 

Today was a beautiful and delightful segue into Spring. The sun shone, the snowdrops have given way to Crocus and the trees are beginning to bud. Early flowers on cherry blossoms. We took a walk through Williamson Park, to blow the cobwebs away and drink in the beauty of Lancaster and the Bay. It was a trip down memory lane and fourteen years since we had last walked here.

We made our way to the Ashton memorial and the butterfly house to relax in the sunshine in the outdoor cafeteria, our last visit had been as Spring gave way to summer in 2003, it was May bank holiday weekend and the sun had shone and whilst it wasn’t quite warm enough for short sleeves we had no need for coats. It had been a poignant stroll as my husband was about to embark on a six-month compulsory stint in war-torn Iraq. We absorbed everything we could from the moment and the natural beauty of the vista in front of us knowing that it was a place of special significance to us- I had been able to see the park and the Ashton memorial from the maternity ward when the girls were born. It was energising to return and see it anew having been away for so long.

The Butterfly house
our stunning memorial
Cherry blossom sings

Alison Jean Hankinson

d’Verse

For Haibun Monday at D’Verse. Toni challenged us to immerse ourselves in nature. I know my nature also has buildings but to me buildings are part of what I see as a natural landscape.

Transcendental Glory at Morecambe Superdrome

Echoes in our heart and footprints in the sand

Staccato and tremolo of Tijuana brass

Morecambe Superdome with Don Lusher, a silver black Scirocco

Alan Tomlinson Conductor and lead of our bluesy big-time band

Children of Sanchez, superb shrill of trumpet solo

Transcendental glory in times gone by.

 

Alison Jean Hankinson

This was my treasure for the poetics challenge. I wish I could let you hear Alan Tomlinson playing Children of Sanchez…. mind you to hear him play anything was a gift. His repertoire and range were exceptional and his passion for music and desire to pass it on to anyone especially young people were equally as exceptional. I played with the LCBB from about 1981-1985….

It was the most magical period of my young existence. As a young trombonist and big band member it was the pinnacle and zenith of my life and career. We played at the Morecambe Superdrome and supported Don Lusher…Stardust was his melody… and I had made it. This was the moment of exaltation when you know that it just doesn’t get any better and Alan Tomlinson hit that note in Children of Sanchez and you know this is the moment in life that you were born to notice. Transcendental Glory at Morecambe Superdrome.

Prose poem at the bar….all at once….it was a complex week… my memento..

Web about Alan Tomlinson…

Stuart GRILLS AND ALAN tOMLINSON

memento

prose poetry

 

For both poetics and prose at the bar…

 

Re-integration

We are treated as vagrants

worthless souls with no right to belong

It feels like someone is playing with our lives

having a giggle at our expense

One step forward ten steps back

and even though we were born here there is no recompense.

 

Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Monday Quadrille at d’Verse

d’Verse quadrille