Time passes.


Her hand frail against the withered fronds as she rearranged the flowers

For time had sold them short.



Her youthful stance and gaze, as glorious bride in the gaily painted photo-frame

Captured in the stillness of time framed by the care-home mantle-piece.



Forgetting fettered fragile moments of family-time,

Lost forever in the timelessness of a fretful mind.



Her pain receding as the hands of time hold her soul

Serene against the backdrop of a moonlit sky.


© Alison Jean Hankinson

This for poetics at d’verse. We were asked to explore something we couldn’t touch. It is coming up for the 10th anniversary of my mum passing away and she never got to be old so she never experienced losing her memories.


Sometimes I just want to shout man overboard

I wonder if they notice me drowning in my sea of despair

The waves washing over me eroding my will to rise above the tide

of hopelessness.


Sometimes I just want to shout man overboard

It as if I have been listing too long

I can’t hold on anymore and I am driftwood at sea

Destined to become seaweed and seashells for beachcombers in the longshore drift.


©Alison Jean Hankinson

It was a man overboard kind of week. This is for Napowrimo18. Day 27. Fragile.