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.

 

 

 

 

 

Shades of 50.

It is done, my fiftieth birthday year finally gone

Kicked the ass out of that, had a bit of fun

Moved house and home,

And now it is done.

Heartaches and happiness all in one.

What a year, glad to move on to 51.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

this is a bit cheesy but all I could muster for this week’s Quadrille at d’Verse. I celebrated my fiftieth birthday in hospital and it has been a roller-coaster of a year and I think some of the biggest dips were in the last week, so I was a bit quiet….So tomorrow I start a new day, and a new year… and I will be 51.

I miss my Ellen though and would love to have her home with me. XXXX

The Eve of Samhain.

I am crone, blackened, old bones creaking, hear me cackle,

Worldy wise, decrepit and dried-out hag

At Samhain Eve, edge of darkness.

Bring back to me immortality and the light of life.

 

I am curdling cauldron, spewing orange bile, seething vileness

Cosmic container, holy grail to the gods

I welcome Samhain, edge of darkness

As the sun sets, I descend into darkness, and my transformation begins.

 

Reborn, I am acorn, I am apple- five pointed star, pentagram

Wise woman, sentinel of soulful strength.

I rejoice at Samhain, beyond the edge of darkness

As day breaks I brush away fear with my birch besom.

 

It is a new day, new year, a new life.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse where the theme was monsters….I haven’t really got anything in me on monsters….so this is a tale from a witch.

I am away from home, I went out in the dark to collect some acorns for my photo, but the internet is a little weak here and they won’t load….so call back later and they might be here. I saw a tiny little mouse whilst I was out but hadn’t got my camera with me.

Acorns were seen as an amulet…it is seen as strong and protective, they only appear on mature trees and they are a symbol of perseverance and fertility.

 

 

 

 

Magic

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….

 

 

Haunted House.

Creaky floors and creaky doors

The haunted house hears me

Creeping along the staircase

Hoping the ghostly ghouls won’t see.

 

Suddenly the silence shatters

Nerves are torn in tiny tatters

A deathly scream is all that matters

I think it is time to flee.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

For d’Verse.….. where creak was the prompt, I had already written two quadrilles today but neither of them fitted the prompt….so this was the result.

Image available in public domain House Cemetry-haunted house- By darksouls1 [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Remember remember the fifth of November…..

Goblins ghosts and ghoulies

Pumpkins at the door

Bobbing apples in a tub

Kids come back for more.

 

Cauldrons cooking winter soup

Penny for the Guy

Bonfire night and fireworks

Brighten up the night-time sky.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

Image in public domain. The conspirators.

 

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.

Ophelia

Heading for our shore

Storm force winds

Drenching rain

Surge alerts for Coastal towns

Fear ferocious winds.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Real toads- Shadorma. Shadorma is a popular Spanish form of poetry using a 353375 format.

Ophelia is headed our way and will arrive 30 years to the day of the violent storm we experienced in 1987.