A stitch in time…

They say a stitch in time saves nine

But who knows that we are broken

When our smiles catch the light and we mesmerise with our stories of hope

And our lives unfold like a picture book

Full of Princes, Princesses and perfection

No poverty here, no lack of good cheer- no sleep deprived hell

Or whispers of madness.

 

They say a stitch in time saves nine

But who knows we are broken

When we give with compassion

And our public persona is playfully convivial,

Full of charismatic colourful conversation disguising the trivial.

No hidden hopelessness here, no silent solitutude, no depth of despair

Or signals of worthlessness wounding within.

 

We march on.

We playfully tease.

We make small talk

With skillful ease.

 

We wish you had seen our innermost thoughts.

We wish you had been a true friend of sorts.

We wish you had held out your hand to take ours.

We wish you had noticed that whilst we spoke through flowers

We were broken, bereft, beyond all life’s care.

All we wanted was you to be there, to lift up our spirits

Make the sun shine,

And be the stitch in time that saves nine.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

I wrote this for a prompt earlier in the week at d”verse but missed the widget, so here it is for open link night. Love to you all. XXXXX Love for the lost. XXXX

 

 

 

Pakaru

The car is at the garage

The engine is Kaput

Another worry in the bag

And now it won’t stay shut.

 

We appear to haemorrhage money

There’ll soon be nothing left

It isn’t remotely funny

Friends family fortitude bereft.

 

Pakaru and redundant

For all my story’s worth

Broken beyond replacement

Nothing left but mirth.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

Pakaru- broken for Mental Health Awareness week 2018.

 

 

 

 

Fan the flames of love

We are Phoenix we rise above

we fly high against the backdrop

Of a twilight sky

And leave you dead and cold.

Let your sallow soul grow old amongst the bones of those who told

The shallow lie you heard amongst my teardrops.

 

Crystal clear

No malice here

I grace the air with wings of gold.

My heart unfolds with truth and beauty, pure love and loyalty

I am Phoenix.

I rise above.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

Image creative commons free to use from pixabay.

Shades of Betty.

It was damask and silk with woven flowers,

Azure, ruby and evergreen on a backdrop of black velveteen.

Her favourite scarf.

 

She wore it like a shawl

skittered, off-centre a-kilter

slightly syncopated in the spirit of her slightly singular eccentricity.

 

Shades of sublime serendipity

Shades of anguish unfurling

Shades of Betty.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

The image is my own. ©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

Five minutes later…

It was a monstrous mistake

The earth mover mounted the middle barriers and mowed down the Nissan Micra

Five minutes later and all would have ended well.

Instead her bloodied hands on the steering wheel, airbags inflated windscreen broken

Laughter lost amidst the debris of a terrible double tragedy.

 

Can I buy you a drink you look like you need one

She laughed nervously as he set the glass in front of her,

His needs left her glassy eyed and lost at sea

Five minutes later and it would have been someone else at the bar, someone else he would have warmed his hands on

Her soul would have been free.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

 

 

 

 

 

Smallerised….

Infinite capacity to bring love and cheer into lives

Wisdom and wonderment and desire to reach for the skies

Attributes favourable, work ethic good

Meets the job criteria and you know she should

Be the right person for the job, but you know that there are two or three

Much cheaper than she, meets your budget ties

You don’t have to look in her eyes

To see the hurt and disappointment of being smallerised.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Smallerised is my invented word for the day, it is like pulverised but different, it is when you are made to be small because despite your value and worth it cannot be recognised in the current economic climate, so instead you are forced to be smaller and smaller and smallerer….until you are smallerised, nothing left.

 

How little can we live off?

Fragile strands of hope

Adrift at sea, lifeless, mere driftwood in the doldrums,

Dear God deliver us from this desperate dream

Have mercy-throw us a line.

 

Lift us up above the relentless rips that ride us roughshod across the sands.

How little can we live off?

Give us some crumb of comfort

Let us know that tomorrow will bring new hope on the horizon.

 

It is a wild place

No comfort for those who care.

We are foreigners in a flawed landscape

Fettered by our need to belong.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

We have been through much this last year, and it seems like each day brings some new horror but we have no choice but to walk forward still. It is wild and a little unkempt and uncaring and I wonder if it can ever be any better, any less wild.

This is for d’Verse poetics.