Anxiety

Still, as a mouse

If I breathe silently no-one will hear

No –one will be aware

That I live in fear

In this moment.

 

Tick tock tick tock

Pitter patter pitter patter

Boom boom boom boom

Pitter patter pitter patter

Tick tock tick tock

 

In this moment

I hear, taste and smell fear

Of my anguish no-one is aware

I breathe silently so no-one will hear

I stay still as a mouse

Frozen in anxiety.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

Our love- a car crash.

Fear’s icy tendrils caress the nape of my neck

I see the mangled wreckage up ahead

Acrid smoke spewing from the burnt-out shell

That was your car.

 

Carnage.

Plastic bags strewn across the carriageway carelessly.

Empty nest, neglected summer,

Loneliness brandished in the scorched tyre treads.

 

Relief washes over me

I am waterfall to babbling brook

Phoenix from the ashes-you live on

We have a second chance to ignite and burn brightly.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse where metaphor is the challenge.

P1050740

 

 

 

 

Changing Seasons…

Winsome wind

Lifting leaves

From autumn trees.

 

Gusty squalls

Across the reach

Hearty waves crash on a windswept beach.

 

Stormy days unease

September’s short reprise

Before relentless chill of winter.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

 

 

A little bit of Frank…..

She gave me a gracious smile

It lingered on her lips awhile

And gave a subtle taste

Of the magical embrace

That would later take my breath away.

It’s that old black magic has me in its spell

 

It was a meeting of fleeting love

Of tenderness and stargazing above

We held hands beneath the moonlight

Our hearts burned like stars shining brightly.

In heat of desire our lips tangoed a fiery kiss.

That old black magic that you weave so well.

 

I loved her passionately for she had stolen my heart.

With those mystical eyes that had twinkled from the start.

I loved her for all that her kisses had promised to be to me

I loved her beyond the mellow moon we could see distantly

But by sunrise, our love tryst was over too soon.

The mate that fate had me created for.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

For a morsel of Magic over at dVerse tonight. Frank always had the magic….

The image was in the public domain- wikimedia, and is

Frank Sinatra and Jill St. John. From Tony Rome.

The moon tonight- I had to wait…there was cloud cover…it is a harvest moon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Towards Troubled Waters.

 

When I was loved by you I knew who I was

When I was loved by you the sun shone daily

And I could feel the warmth on my face

And there was a seductive security in your firm embrace.

 

When I was loved by you I could rest a while

When I was loved by you I could close my eyes

And hear your gentle breath through my restless slumber

In my turbid life you were my shelter and human anchor.

 

Now I am lost at sea, tossed and torn on turbulent tides

And you have left me for the love of another

Eyes wide open and sleep eludes me now.

 

Whose pillow will support my weary head

As I sail away from the safe shelter of your love

I stow the anchor slowly as the windlass grinds to a halt.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

This was written for d’Verse where Bjorn challenged us to write an Italian sonnet. I have no idea if this lives up to what I understood of the form but I did give it a go. The image was from Wikimedia and labeled for reuse.

carl_bille_-_et_skib_pc3a5_et_stormfuldt_hav

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Any Old Iron

Roaring “Rag and Bone”

Bellowing  “Rag and Bone”

Poorhouse strays, poverty weighs

Pawnshop dray, debtors pay

Loanshark says,

change your ways

Or else….we’ll end your days.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

The challenge that Frank set at d’Verse was to create a poem in trimeter. I had to think and try really hard and I am not sure if it is or isn’t so hopefully it is. Frank said “For this challenge, write a poem that uses trimeter lines. All of the lines in the poem do not have to be in trimeter, but enough should be so that one can tell this meter was used on purpose. The poems do not have to rhyme nor must they have any other sound qualities about them.

The rag and bone man used to come along our road in the 1970’s shouting “Any old iron” in fact we used them a bit like a swap shop, we put things on the cart and sometimes we took something in return. I was a child.

The image was labelled for reuse from Flickr and was actually from Newcastle libraries. this went with the photo:

Tor623, Rag and Bone Man, Newcastle upon Tyne
Description: Laszlo Torday arrived in Tynemouth in January 1940 from Hungary and took most of his photographs of Tyneside during the 1960’s and 1970’s. They reflect his interest in the streets and people of Newcastle especially of central Newcastle and the suburbs of Heaton and Jesmond. : The physical collection held by Newcastle Libraries comprises 100 photograph albums of black and white prints plus 16 boxes of colour transparencies. We are keen to find out more about them.

At the final sunset

In the end

It doesn’t matter what you had

It matters what you gave.

 

In the end

It doesn’t matter what you avoided

It matters what you did.

 

In the end

It doesn’t matter what they thought of you

It matters how you perceived yourself.

 

What joy gave your own life meaning

What peace you found in your own heart.

What indelible moments you left in the hearts and minds

Of the people you loved and who loved you.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Paul Scribbles asked us to write about “the end” for d’verse.