Windchime

I hear your voice in the morning as you call me

Beckons me to follow you home.

Where your voice lingers.

 

I gather trinkets that are reminders of you,

A windchime, a plant pot, a word unspoken

A feather, a seashell, a stray thought.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for Day23 of  napowrimo18

The first line is loosely taken from Country Roads, a song I hear in my head often that makes me think of my mum and dad. It will be 10 years this summer since mum passed but I still gather things that she would have liked, and I still don’t know if I gather them for her or for me. Love my family. XXXX

This is also for d’Verse quadrille and the challenge word/thought was gather.

Wintering down

So barren and bare

Sacres me with its sense of isolation

Leave-less trees, dead shrubbery scars the landscape

The wind bites through the boulders that shield me from the sudden snow flurry.

 

Old Man

Sits atop the slate,

Spoil heaps spill still from the rugged ruins of derelict mines.

Firm footsteps back toward the lake to see the sunset skim the surface of the water.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

 

I used the image called “Winter trees at Coniston” by Fay Collins. 

This was written for poetics   d’Verse

It is also Day 17 of Napowrimo.

Winter boogie-woogie

 

Starlings on the rooves

Hip-hop hopping, tip-tap tapping

Snow stomping flappy happy

Getting in the winter mood.

 

Fiery looking foxes putting on their groove

Foxtrotting through the frosty frozen fauna

Racing hastily through the forest

Working on their festive foxy moves

 

Red squirrels with dancing shoes

Snowy soft shoe shimmy shuffle

Acorn tapping troubadours

working the winter wonderland blues.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Getting the groove on for d’Verse...

 

Crunch

It was pride,

I wore my heart on my sleeve,

shared my hopes and dreams.

 

You brushed them aside

they scattered like confetti

and shattered as you trod on them.

 

One by one, I heard them break

under the crunch

of your negative footfalls.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse quadrille where we were given the word Crunch.

I had a difficult few weeks and took a bit of a battering in a very bizarre job interview. I did speak up for myself(and cried on the way home…) but I do worry that somewhere in this current climate we seem to have lost our values, our compassion and sense of humanity.

The photos are intended to be the opposite- the restoration of the spirit and soul.

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

What am I?

A nagging doubt

As my footsteps dulcet echo across the darkened dismal cobbles of a dreary street

Dutiful.

 

A whisper of solace

As our lives we share, and you weep and ache with despair

Comforter.

 

A cacophony of cheeriness

As we stride with gusto into growing uncertainty

Supporter.

 

A melancholy melody of metamorphosis

As I struggle to flutter and fly, reaching for the stars in the sky and knowing that I

wore the mask of the chameleon.

 

A rich and colourful cadenza of congeniality

As I reminisce and retreat

Into my own colourless void.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

 

This if for poetics at d’Verse.

The image was labelled for reuse and was in the public domain- wikimedia-

By Nic McPhee from Morris, MN, USA (Corn and sunflower (butterfly is optional)) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

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