Ghosts of Heysham past…

Heysham

Vikings village

Basking, Brawling, Battling

Deathly deeds at Brunanburh

Vanquished.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

The Vikings at Heysham may well have allied with the Scots and Britons at the Battle of Brunanburgh but the English were the victors.

Wintering down

So barren and bare

Sacres me with its sense of isolation

Leave-less trees, dead shrubbery scars the landscape

The wind bites through the boulders that shield me from the sudden snow flurry.

 

Old Man

Sits atop the slate,

Spoil heaps spill still from the rugged ruins of derelict mines.

Firm footsteps back toward the lake to see the sunset skim the surface of the water.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

I used the image called “Winter trees at Coniston” by Fay Collins. 

This was written for poetics   d’Verse

It is also Day 17 of Napowrimo.

Spring lingers long….

It feels as though it is winter that has lingered. I look around me daily and wonder at the daffodils just peeping through and everything seems to be a month behind where it was this time last year. The order is the same, but the flowering has been delayed, the rosy red tulips are only just nodding their heads toward the sun and yet April is past midway and almost done.

Then just a sprinkling of sunshine and an early evening stroll and we have stolen moments of pleasure to treasure as the daylight lingers and the smell of spring scintillates the soul.

Pebbles underfoot

Ripples of lingering spring

Sunsets in the west.

 

© Alsion Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse haibun monday.

 

 

Three minutes to midnight-1984 revisited.

In 1984 at BRGS I was the editor of our School magazine “Squirrel”. I wrote a nihilistic editorial referring to Orwellian disaster, and the truth was the clock was sitting at three minutes to Midnight, something not to be taken lightly.

I suspect most of my friends in the same or similar age-group reflect back on what were perceived to be good times of the eighties despite its obvious flaws. The information age was just beginning to emerge and everything we did in the eighties was bigger and better than it had ever been before. The eighties gave us Top Gun wings and we flew, Gloria Gaynor and Sylvester Stallone made sure we would survive even if times were hard. I sent more than one failed relationship out the door in my pink legwarmers. I didn’t get swept off my feet by some Richard Gere, Officer type but I had fun trying. I am still convinced I owe a little bit of my own fortitude and resilience to Goldie Hawn’s performance in Private Benjamin and accepted my own quirks and foibles because of characters like Ally in the Breakfast Club.

Perhaps the ra-ra skirts and Club Tropicana were our own way of shaking off the pervasive doom that had settled on us throughout the previous decade,  which had been punctuated by strikes, unrest, fuel shortages and the three day week. We had come together as a nation to celebrate the Silver Jubilee, to protect our territory in the Falklands and to see our magical Princess wed her Prince and yet still the Cold war raged and the doomsday clock ticked on.

The dystopian nightmare of the nuclear propaganda machine, the make-shift attempts at fall-out shelters for Panaorma documentaries and the secret world beneath our cities seemed to be a dark shadow of a murky past once Gorbachev came to power in 1985 as I moved away to University. The cold war was over and just after my 23rd birthday, the Berlin wall came down, to me the very symbol of the spies and lies and iron curtain and all that we had feared.

Have we now come full circle, is this the return of the nightmare that was. What time is it now Mr Wolf?

©AlisonJean Hankinson

Link to the original Squirrel 1984.snip_20180416191113

There is only one video clip I can think off to celebrate/acknowledge both then and now:

 

 

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.

 

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.

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.