Someone had to do it…. Take 5.

Brubeck Blues

Sax to the beat

wilful wistful wily

Drifting down the street

Repeat.

 

Piano vamping

Blues scaling

E flat minor Brubeck stomping

Five four time, once more

Five four time.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

For d’Verse….TAKE 5…..

Image Wikimedia

 

 

 

 

 

Halloween

Puffball potions

Toadstool faeries

Ravens guard the graveyard.

Harbingers of untimely death

 

Old Witch

Wizened

Haglike

Demdike

 

Whispers on the wind

Caustic curses

Widow wastes away.

 

All Hallows Eve

Wakening the spirits of the dead

Old souls rising.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This time of year is a time of remembering youth and stories of old as we head towards Halloween and Bonfire night. This is for d’Verse where we were asked to focus on one thing that this time of year represents to us.

Emily is still in hospital so it is a short visit and I shall do all my reading later in the week, so bear with me.

History- Old Demdike was one of the Pendle Witches she died in custody in 1612 at Lancaster Castle. The other 10 were later hanged. It was a time of great superstition and James 1 was greatly concerned with treason following the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. At Halloween when we were young it was traditional to walk up Pendle Hill in memory of the witches.

 

 

 

In peaceful sleep.

With patient love he watched her as she slept

She who had held him close to breast as child

Deep within his chest his aching heart wept.

Whilst she appeared contented in her dreams and smiled

As though her fears and troubles were finally reconciled

For soon the relentless punishing pain would be gone

Yet in his memory-this moment of love would linger on.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse where we were asked to write in Chaucerian stanza. First time I have done this.

The final slumber….

I am not sure I got the meter right.

The image is my Grandmother and her eldest son Frank.

Killing me softly with her song…memories of mum.

Sunshine over Shap

Last embers of summer smoulder

Leaves linger lazily

Brittle against the breeze.

 

Once upon an autumn sunrise

We hung our lives out on the washing line

Pegged our pain and memories side by side

Peeled back the layers revealed the years of anguish

Aired the past and put it out to dry.

 

The gentle winds of autumn swept away the tears we shed

We both knew who we were and we collected all our worth

And meaning in one basket of crumpled washing.

We folded and sorted it and stuffed it back in the drawers

So no-one else could see.

 

Brittle against the breeze

Leaves linger lazily.

Last embers of summer smoulder

Sunshine over Shap.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is my contribution to Open Link Night at d’Verse.

 

 

I change not…

As a leopard cannot change it’s spots

I cannot change, no matter what

I am that I am and was

I am a sea of hope

Wave of salvation

Breathing new life

To your dreams

Follow

Me.

 

Alison’s response to Vivian’s opening of the nonet.

 

This was for Jilly’s challenge- Casting Bricks to Attract Jade.

The first part of the nonet was from Vivian and this is my completion…

 

 

 

 

Whispers of madness.

White walls, empty Halls

Echoes of silenced pain and lives put on eternal hold.

Unmarried asylum seekers in days of old

Imprisoned indefinitely to save their souls.

 

Families wanted them hidden away

To arrest society’s decay

Often damaged not decadent

Guilty of innocence rather than indolence.

 

Incest often lead to childbirth and illegitimacy

They were declared insane because of forced intimacy

What madness masqueraded within

When authority had power and victims powerless remained?

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Image- Woman In A Psychiatric Ward With Two Dolls. Stock Photo, Picture in public domain.

 

 

 

 

 

The Four Last Songs. Music and Chaos.

A cadenza shrill and sharp

Pizzicato from the harp

Andante and legato

Swan song from the cello.

 

Clefs, chords and counterpoint

From fiery exposition to development

Magnificent muti-tonal orchestration

Tumultuous recapitulation.

 

Finally four last songs

Lamenting loss,  lyrical and forlorn

Musical maverick Strauss is gone

The garden mourns.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Real Toads, where the theme is Chaos. Bjorn talked of physics and mathematics, and it brought me round to music. Music is very mathematical and can be very precise and beauty and precision is borne from weaving together many delicate strands. It reminded me of two great twentieth-century composers who pushed music to its chaotic and mathematical limits. Alban Berg and Richard Strauss. Alban Berg’s Violin concerto is a masterpiece of mathematical precision, but  I opted for Richard Strauss’s Four Last Songs. The final line is from these and is the first line of September, written by Hermann Hesse.

These are my late September images…