Ode to the town hall clock.

The town hall clock, hands of time

Counting the minutes, measuring the moments

Of our paltry lives.


We don’t look up enough

Sometimes we don’t see beyond our own story

Yet still the hands move round.


That same clock struck 11, sixteen years ago.

Same minute, same location, same season.

The leaves fell to the ground in remembrance.


Synchronicity in those hands

You were so small then in your red coat.

Time stood still for that one moment.


I captured your essence in early digital perfection.

The father, the child, the moment

Beneath the town hall clock, the hands that never stop.


©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse. It is my ode to the town hall clock which seems visible from just about everywhere in Lancaster. The theme and timing is appropriate as it will be Remembrance weekend. The feature image was taken after the service in 2001 where ironically my husband was in the remembrance parade before he became a veteran of war.






November frost.

City skyline

Frosted borders fringe the kerbstones

Mist mysteriously rising from the River Lune

Castle walls clear against the backdrop of a steely blue sky

Last umber leaves sombre against the sun’s glistening rays

Beautiful day to breathe.

Indeed we are infinite.


© Alison Jean Hankinson.

We are infinite came from the perks of being a wallflower– one of my favourite film scenes, the tunnel. This morning was so beautiful and fresh that it reminded me of this, especially travelling across the bridge. I was driving though so couldn’t get a photo. This one I have used under creative commons. Credit below.

Image- credit:

© Copyright Paul Harrop and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.


More Magic

Herbs and bits of stick

medicines to cure

gardening lemongrass, hogweeds, valerian.


Rituals and superstitions

lunar chart an astrological schedule

The garden thrived.


Chinese medicine, English folklore

Everyday magic

Layman’s alchemy.


Alison Jean Hankinson

A second contribution for d’Verse MTB, using the erasure style…a second stab at Magic…but from a different source….

Image-spices and herbs by futureshape.

blackout 2


All the house was silent

Night-light burning on the mantelpiece

Off to sleep.


Spring came

Long days in the garden

Rides in the wheelbarrow.


Long June evenings

The bracken swayed gently

The sun sank lower.


Thicket of raspberry canes growing tall

Tropical jungle in long sunlit hours

Fairy huts in the flowerbed.


Quiet evenings in the wood

A tear fell to the ground

And a flower grew.


A mysterious flower

Slender green leaves the colour of emeralds

Blossom like a golden cup.


The moon had risen

The forest was beautiful, fronds like frosted silver

Tree-trunks wild danced with their shadows.


Velvet grass dancing, the fairy kissed him

Springing jumping whirling

He was real at last.


Alison Jean Hankinson.

This is for d”verse MTB.

I ought to add this is a form called erasure or blackout.

The text was too large to put the whole as a picture….see if you can spot where it came from….The other image might help a tiny bit….it is Emily’s…shh….



Charlie the pheasant…

Charlie was a pheasant

Who lived out in the bush

He came out when the sun shone

Eating insects in a rush


His wife was rather drab

In plumage next to him

She strutted across the garden

In sunshine frost and rain.


Mating calls would echo

Springtime rooster ruled the lair

Sometimes he had a harem

For the pheasant chicks to fare


Charlie was a pheasant

Who didn’t live for long

But in this time brought happiness

Despite his awful song.


©Alison Jean Hankinson

Submitted for d’verse open link night.





What am I?

A nagging doubt

As my footsteps dulcet echo across the darkened dismal cobbles of a dreary street



A whisper of solace

As our lives we share, and you weep and ache with despair



A cacophony of cheeriness

As we stride with gusto into growing uncertainty



A melancholy melody of metamorphosis

As I struggle to flutter and fly, reaching for the stars in the sky and knowing that I

wore the mask of the chameleon.


A rich and colourful cadenza of congeniality

As I reminisce and retreat

Into my own colourless void.


© Alison Jean Hankinson


This if for poetics at d’Verse.

The image was labelled for reuse and was in the public domain- wikimedia-

By Nic McPhee from Morris, MN, USA (Corn and sunflower (butterfly is optional)) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons


Butterfly jitterbug

Scantily across the mildewed road

Sordid sounds of rank and file

Perturbed the air

Candyfloss tears

Mistaken identities

Purriri moth in damson tree.

When the wind blows cold

I shall wear my purple hat

Forgive me.


© Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse.….mmmm have no idea if this is right…

The image is from flickr by Pamela Kelly.