A year ago…dark satanic mills

800px-mcconnel_26_company_mills2c_about_1820

A year ago we were on our way… we had driven to Auckland, boarded the plane and we were probably somewhere around Australia now…mischief is sat on her cushion and she is thinking…mmm a year ago we were at the cattery…

School had finished and it was CHRISTMAS…. we still have a week to go this year…no wonder we are all grumpy.

A whole year ago…it felt so good, we were so excited, it was the holiday of a lifetime, funny that a trip “home” could be classed as a holiday of a lifetime but it was. The girls were 16, old enough to appreciate it and we had been gone for 10 long years. We took them back and helped them to reconnect, we took them to visit people and places that were part of their history and heritage. We wanted them to know the buildings and the customs and the language and the meaning of what it is to be English.

We love all that they have had and experienced here in Whangarei. We love all that they have learned and the friends they have made but we also wanted them to know their roots, they stand on the shoulders of giants and they need to know that part of the story too.

We come from the mill and mining towns of Lancashire, our forefathers were immigrants who came to build canals and railways and they gave blood sweat and tears to make Britain great in the Industrial revolution. They were working folk, the wives and women were brought up to be strong and steadfast. They men eked out an existence in the Pit or the factory and they found their strength and support in the Church, the Union or the Alehouse in no particular order. They lived loved and died amongst the bricks and the dirt, the smog and the soot, the dark dismal days of winter and the bracing breezes of brief summer days.

I wanted them to see the bricks, and feel the warmth of the hearts and souls who walked before them-whose existence they owe their own story and fortunes to. A year ago still feels like yesterday.

 

Image: Ancoats, Manchester. McConnel & Company’s mills, about 1820. From an old water-colour drawing of the period. Scanned from A Century of fine Cotton Spinning, 1790-1913. McConnel & Co. Ltd. Frontispiece. Scanned by Mr Stephen.

 

 

 

Love in Sonata form.

Spring

He saw her across the room and his heart stopped for a subtle second

She was forbidden fruit from the garden of Eden

A thing of beauty and innocence with an overtone of darkness and despair

He knew that his love could make her brightness soar and bring light into her soul.

Summer

Their love flourished under the summer sun,

He  brought warmth into her life

There was colour in her speech and

He offered her a freedom and release

That before she had not known.

There were infinite possibilities

An eternity of love that would nourish

And heal from within and banish

The spectres of solitude and silence

He would be her sanctuary.

Autumn came and darkness cast it’s cloak across their days

His light across the room was dimmed by her shadows

Her innocence tarnished by forgotten promises and the broken bonds of love

He knew that his love had enslaved and condemned her to an eternity of pain.

Their love had died with the embers of the sun.

Winter won.

 

Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’verse

Make Music of Those Words–dVerse MTB

 

Influence of music through Sonata Form. As a trombonist I have always had music close to my heart and soul. I learned through classical genres and one of my favourite forms is sonata form. If you listen to something like Beethoven’s Pathetique it is very clearly written in sonata form. The first movement is the Exposition and contains the themes in their melodic infancy, they grow through major and minors in the second movement or development and in the Recapitulation, the final movement there is a conclusion with developed references relating to the the early themes. I find Sonata form is a good analogy for life, love and pretty much everything. I tried to capture its essence in the poem through the development and then loss of the relationship and use the season to represent the movement of time.

Recipe for a meaningful life

Be humble

Recognise that whilst we walk similar paths we all stumble

Be kind

Recognise that in moments of despair it is the hand that we hold

that makes us blind

To the pain.

Be giving

Recognise that it is our contribution to living

That ultimately counts.

Be brave

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

Be mindful

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

http://wp.me/p1GTyJ-3Ba

Alison Jean Hankinson

Mother’s Love

13411939_10209544645598467_2234712537344072344_oMy tiny treasures

Look at the scar that you created

I wear it for you with love and pride.

I wear it with stoicism

Disfigured permanently for motherhood

We call it an apron

It hangs loose and saggy like an old washed out jumper.

Alison Jean Hankinson

 

This was written for the quadrille at d’Verse. Hope it is okay.

Quadrille#22

 

Elders and their sacred knowledge.

Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win a war

When God closes a window somewhere he opens a door.

I can kill two birds with one stone but if I am too bitter and too full of hate

I will cut off my nose to spite my face.

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,

But if I take myself too seriously pride is bound to come before a fall

These pearls of wisdom, this sacred prose

Demonstrates and shows

How the old folk prepared the new

Passing their sacred knowledge on to me and you.

Alison Jean Hankinson

Daily Post Prompt
Sacred
japanese-women-by-flickr-user-mrhicks46-creative-commons