Tag: Love

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.

Mary Queen of Scots, hypothetical questions to Darnley on the murder of David Rizzio.

I crept silently to the stairwell

Lest my footsteps be heard by the strangers outside

And I wondered who was with you on that murderous night?

 

My lover and husband whom I had trusted

Child and heir to the throne growing steadily in my belly

And yet I wondered if this would be enough to still your tongue?

 

Your jealously simmered and boiled

Bubbling over into bloodletting at my feet

And I wondered did you love him, or did you love me?

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

Questions for d’Verse.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia. from an etching 1791 Mary, Queen of Scots witnessing the murder of David Rizzio.

Shall we sit on the park bench at sundown…?

Shall we sit a while,

Watching the sun go down over yonder?

Shall we share our bravest thoughts and dreams

Express in silent contemplation

Our sense of wonder?

 

Shall we watch the night unfold

Hold hands and watch the day grow old,

Pause a while, dream a little, share a smile

Knowing that the stars meanwhile

will always serve as a reminder

 

Of the love we shared?

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse  where Bjorn has challenged us to write a poem of only questions…my first effort was very questionable….this is my second….

Our love- a car crash.

Fear’s icy tendrils caress the nape of my neck

I see the mangled wreckage up ahead

Acrid smoke spewing from the burnt-out shell

That was your car.

 

Carnage.

Plastic bags strewn across the carriageway carelessly.

Empty nest, neglected summer,

Loneliness brandished in the scorched tyre treads.

 

Relief washes over me

I am waterfall to babbling brook

Phoenix from the ashes-you live on

We have a second chance to ignite and burn brightly.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse where metaphor is the challenge.

P1050740

 

 

 

 

At the final sunset

In the end

It doesn’t matter what you had

It matters what you gave.

 

In the end

It doesn’t matter what you avoided

It matters what you did.

 

In the end

It doesn’t matter what they thought of you

It matters how you perceived yourself.

 

What joy gave your own life meaning

What peace you found in your own heart.

What indelible moments you left in the hearts and minds

Of the people you loved and who loved you.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Paul Scribbles asked us to write about “the end” for d’verse.

 

 

 

 

Water-lilies.

Lilies fragile and fragrant

Nymphs at the water’s edge

We danced daringly amidst the emerald damselflies

Bathed bashfully beneath the Buckwheat moon

Love smouldered and we stole each other’s hearts

Pleading troths of love and intimacy for eternity.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

Photo own- this month’s Buckwheat Moon. Submitted for Toads Tuesday platform.P1050371