Going out to dinner
Romantic you and me
I forgot my wallet
Hurry let us flee.
Image- Wikimedia- Portpatrick- Photographer Arnold Price.
Sorry it probably isn’t the slightest bit poetic. We accidentally did this not once but twice in the same pub/restaurant…
It was New Year’s Eve and a group of us would brave the weather to travel to a tiny place called Portpatrick to experience a real Hogmany. We would arrive and were usually relatively “not sober” by dinner time and wandered around the few pubs and eating establishments rather merrily……my husband and I always ate our evening meal in the same hilltop restaurant on NYE, the first year we accidentally left without paying drunken and happy beneath the stars- we went back and paid later in the stay. The second year we were jovially recounting our tale-drunk as skunks in the harbourside bar when we suddenly realised we had done it again. We did return to pay the next day.
Grief rolls over me
In huge tumultuous waves
leaving you behind
This time of year it always feels like the end of something and the start of something new. Even though we are in summer it is the end of the school year. It is always a time of reflection and it has also been a time of leaving for our family. I left my parents behind in Jan 2006, my last living visual memory of my mother was seeing her crying in the rear view mirror as we drove away to our new life here in New Zealand. It was only supposed to be a see you later, but it was a goodnight.
This year I am returning to spend time with my family and I have to say goodbye to some colleagues and friends after a very complex 11 years and it is very very difficult, they have walked beside me when I needed them. However the most difficult thing I have to do is to leave my eldest daughter here, and I sincerely hope for both of us it is simply a see you later and not to all a goodnight. This might not have been how the prompt was intended to be interpreted but it is what it spoke to me.
Haibun Monday: And to all a goodnight
She’s my secondborn
Cherubic smile, big blue eyes
Churlish Elfin charm
Nymph divine hides within her
Magical mystic manner
Alison Jean Hankinson.
This is my contribution for imaginary. My elfin child who has always been able to mix the imaginary world with the real world.
This is her in a film made recently:
Grace’s Award winning film
We were still waiting
Yellow ribbons fluttering
on a light sea-breeze.
You should have been home
Instead you were shards of war
In Basrah Palace
©Alison Jean Hankinson
Paul Scribbles asked us to write about “the end” for d’verse. I will write one too, but I also wanted to submit this one.
I wrote this last year. I was fortunate in that Dave returned safely on my birthday 2003. He was one of many Lancaster and Cumbria Volunteers (TA) that were sent into Iraq (Basrah Palace) with Queens Lancashire Regiment in 2003 on a compulsory call-out- the British public were generally unaware that this happened. I couldn’t see how he could survive, there were attacks, riots insurrection, IED’s, he was recovering vehicles from dangerous places. I used to pray he wouldn’t die alone. He survived but his colleague Captain Dai Jones wasn’t so lucky. The girls were four, and he missed their first day of school, but at least he came home even though at times he was definitely shards of war. We had an old fashioned lamp-post in our garden and we tied a yellow ribbon round it to demonstrate we wanted him to come home. We still have the ribbon somewhere.
Image of tree from wikimedia
by Ildar Sagdejev
Bird takes spring steps- sings
Love songs from bare bough of tree
Winter is long gone
The stilted shrill calls her home
To nest in cherry blossom.
Alison Jean Hankinson
Tanka for Carpe Diem #1091 Sonata in E, Op. 1/3 by Cecilia Maria Barthélemon
Image: Bird amidst the cherry blossom/https://www.flickr.com/photos/freedomiiphotography/8366458291/
Response to the daily prompt.
Image creative commons-Sunrise in Joshua Tree California 01/05/12 Jessie Eastland
Treasure of the sun.
From the east comes the sun,
Her mantle red and gold
Her smile and nurturing warmth
In summer days unfolds.
Recognise that whilst we walk similar paths we all stumble
Recognise that in moments of despair it is the hand that we hold
that makes us blind
To the pain.
Recognise that it is our contribution to living
That ultimately counts.
Have courage to stand tall and speak truths
and lift up the spirit and soul
of young and old
Leave silent footprints
That others may follow
In their own time and at their own pace
Recognise and respect each moment for what it is
It is your live to be lived
Make it meaningful and worthwhile.
This is for d’verse Poetics recipes
Alison Jean Hankinson