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October Ombre

October ombre- Autumn’s hue

Halloween pumpkins and gourds adorn dank doorsteps

Milky early morning mist. In the air-a crisp clean chill

Abundance of Fall apples falling to the leaf-carpeted floor,

Russet leaves of the Japanese maple, October ombre, Autumn’s hue.

Coffee, chocolate, cinnamon and nutmeg aromas wafting through the alley

Mixed with mildew and scent of leaves rotting, sweetly pungent against the early morning dew

Woodsmoke, whispers of the winter ahead billows from suburban chimney pots

As my faltering footsteps softly crunch the leafy path anew

Stagnant stench of acrid coke smoke, chokes

October ombre- Autumn’s hue.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This was for the d’Verse challenge to write a poem about Autumn in the Fold style, which is new to me, and I had a go, but not quite sure I really did it right.

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In the doghouse.

It had adorned the bookshelf for thirty years,

The beautiful lover’s rose sealed in the long-stemmed glass that he had given her on their first anniversary.

He had slipped,

CRASH

glass…

Fell to the floor

SMASH

Broken beyond recognition.

He was in the doghouse.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse quadrille night. We were asked to write about SMASH.

The glass with the rose has travelled halfway round the world and back in shipping containers, spending weeks at sea….so I have no idea how it remains unbroken.

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Just a moment…

Each moment is distinct

it may or may not relate to the preceding moment

it may or may not be followed by a moment of equal or even greater magnitude

it is what it is- a moment.

It will pass

It will be superseded

It will be vanquished, resurrected, redefined, it will shine redolent as the star in its own story

And then be gone….to make way for the next moment.

Always remember this.

It is but a moment. 

unremarkable yet remarkable

It will pass.

© Alison Jean Hankinson

I first published this in 2018 for Mental health Awareness week, but have made some small edits. It was World Suicide Prevention Day on Sunday 10th September. Suicide has a profound impact on all whom are touched by it, and I certainly don’t have any answers, but I know in my heart of hearts that what looks just so in one moment, can look entirely different in the next moment.

I think this is what I was trying to capture.

This is for Open Link Night at d’Verse.

And God makes three

Turbulent thoughts keep me awake long into the night.

I hear the church clock chime half past three

I wonder if sleep will come and rescue me from the horrors of my mind.

She is just out of reach, the day is long, I call her name over and over again.

I will her to turn and face me, to know the dangers and the joy that mark the journey ahead.

I will her to collect the gifts that I have left for her in my imaginary trees.

A gemstone, aquamarine to give her courage and strength.

An amulet in the form of a necklace fashioned from a treasured threepenny piece.

An orchid dipped in silver to remind her of her inner beauty and remind her of her feminine strength and stoicism.

She is her mother’s child. Strong and stubborn with a compassionate core and a kindness that cannot be compared.

But she has her own demons, they stare her down and gnash unsparingly at her heels making it hard for her to make headway in the ferocious fetid storm of my mind.

I will her to turn to face them, to burn their eyes out with her own inner fire, to blind them with her light.

My child you have the strength of you, and the strength of me,

And then there is God and God makes three.

We are with you through the long lonely night and into the joy of a new day and a new dawn.

© Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for https://dversepoets.com/

We were asked to think about signs. This came from a really vivid dream I had a while back. I think it was when my Daughter was experiencing a lot of change and the dream felt very real. I think I wanted her to know that it will be what it will be, and that we have to trust that it was supposed to be this way.

Violeta

The scene is set in the Covid pandemic where 100 year old Violeta casts a backwards glance to a century of conflict, upheaval, separation bountiful love, joy and enigmatic existence.

She was born against a backdrop of burning fevers, Spanish flu followed by a caustic double coup.

It was the beginnings of an extraordinary ordinary life. Violeta experienced extremes of early privilege followed by extremes of poverty, prejudice and dislocation. It shaped her into a formidable and compassionate woman.

The curious relationships she encountered throughout her life added a colour and vibrancy and her ability to thrive and survive through family tragedy and disappointment are woven so intricately within the turbulent political tapestry of the time. To walk with Violeta and see the world through her eyes reminded me of the raw incredible beauty of all that is woman, the scars, the suffering the survival and the soulfulness.

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

D’VERSE for Thursdays challenge. We were asked to write poetry prose about a book we had just read. I read Violeta by Isabel Allende

Bowness on Solway

They come in flocks, to pay homage to Hadrian.

It is a pilgrimage of sorts, they walk, they cycle, they tread the Roman way,

Along Hadrian’s wall.

All the way from Tynemouth in the East

Coast to coast, a formidable trek,

But it was our home long before it became their rite of passage.

Mum loved it here. The Solway, Port Carlisle, Bowness on Solway,

St Michaels Church- in all its 12th century glory,

Magnificent against the backdrop of late summer sun.

She would wander through the gravestones,

And ponder on the lives of those laid to rest.

Listen to the birdsong and the lap-lapping of the incoming tide.

Dad and I take her flowers, more of an amble than a walk,

We sit a while, feel the onshore breeze, look for driftwood,

Taste the salt of the outgoing tide

And wonder if Hadrian’s footsteps trod this hallowed ground before us.

One day perhaps I will walk the full length of the wall

To make my own final pilgrimage.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is my offering for Poetics, still blowing the cobwebs off. We needed to think about a walk. This was my outing with my Dad last week on Mum’s 15th anniversary.

d’Verse Poetics with Lillian

A Sliver Of Courage.

In a very small moment,

right before the crack of dawn,

I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I saw a sliver of courage,

a small glint of steel in a hopeful eye

and knew that everything would be

just as it should.

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Hello to Kim, it is a long time since I have done this, so it took a sliver of courage.

For D’Verse

2021 gave me a lot of life lessons- These things shall be.

I actually spent a lot of 2021 overcoming a variety of somewhat self-caused health adversities. I began the year with a goal of completing a 5km park run, it was a rollover goal as the Covid pandemic had thwarted my efforts in 2020 and it certainly continued to do so for the first six months of 2021.

I adopted what I thought was a sensible regime for a person of my age and health status to get to the required level of fitness, speed and stamina to achieve my 5km goal to be completed in under 40 mins. The first two months I suffered with shin splints and invested in good running shoes and compression socks and then for a couple of months there was no stopping me.

I did really well in the first five months and got to a place where my base run was 3.4km and I could comfortably complete 5km in the 40-minute bracket but just as the summer sun began to shine my desire to hit 20km per week with 4 main runs saw me acquire a hip strain which put me out of running for a full six weeks, just as the park runs opened their doors. I wore it well and used the bike and cross trainer and began a journey into pilates to strengthen my core so that as soon as possible I could resume my running journey. 

It was August 4th and it was the day of reckoning, I donned my shoes and out the door, but after a mere 2.1 km had to stop as my right calf was seriously hurting, I limped all the way home, and did every variation of raise ice bathe through a full shift at work before dissolving into a heap of tears at the end of the day and getting hubby to take me to A and E. I explained that I thought I had stress fracture in my tibia, they were busy and triaged me standing in the corridor and thought my story laughable especially as I was still standing and sent me home to go to the urgent walk-in centre the next day.

Xrays, one MRI and 10 days later it was confirmed and they finally gave me a pair of crutches and sent me home with a moon boot. The recovery was slow and I was told in no uncertain terms that running was off the cards for the rest of the year.

What did I learn, I learned that I should have been content with the fact that I was able to run 5km and kept a regime that was suited to me, and not the same regime that everyone else seemed to have adopted. I was part of a FB running group for more mature folk but they were all notching up marathons at weekends and managing the likes of 5km a day and they all had stories, and yet they weren’t natural-born athletes. I didn’t need to run 20km a week though or a marathon at weekend. I liked the fresh air and the rain and the scenery and the exhilaration, the challenge, the sweat, the sweet joy of success, all of which I could easily achieve in what was my base run of 3.4km. I could run 3.4 km two or even three times a week and it was working wonders for my cardiovascular health and self-esteem and I didn’t need to feel that this was inadequate or not good enough. That goal of competing in a 5km park run is still a goal  I can still aim for it, but maybe I have to recognise that at my age with my bone health there is no shame in a little bit of jeffing along the way especially if that means my bones won’t break.

2022 is going to be the year of acknowledging me as myself and not as something that needs to be compared to anyone else. I am going to run because I enjoy it, but get to a physical point first where it is going to be possible to do it safely. I have started by looking at running off road as the shock through the bones from tarmac is significant and I am going to ensure that for every amount of running I do I give my body the right amount of time to recover. I have started by gradually increasing my walking and by researching and finding some good off-road routes, they are better walked at this time of year when the winter has rendered most of the local terrain boggy sludgy. Walking takes a little bit more time so I need to make sure I plan accordingly, but already it is bringing its own joys, in my late afternoon walk today I encountered a Hare, some pheasants, two Highland cows and witnessed a beautiful sunset. 

In 2021 I learned that it is now time for me to learn about me, the me that lurks beneath. I had pineapple juice with my tea tonight because I like pineapple juice, I have gone back to playing in a band because I enjoy music and I love playing in a band. So much of my life has been centred around caring for and pleasing others that I have had to actually physically take stock of which few moments are mine and which are because they are expected or belonged to someone else. It is a time of experimentation. I have never really had a big sweet tooth, and I can finally verbalise that it is largely because I do have a preference for darker chocolate. I like after eight mints, dark gingers and walnut whips. I like smoky bacon crisps and eggs on toast. I like tomato soup and spicy food. I like a glass of Port and Wensleydale cheese with cranberries.

I like listening to music, making things and learning new things. Today I have been teaching myself how to use formulas in spreadsheets and that’s okay, because I enjoyed it.

So 2022 is a year of liberation and freedom, I don’t have to be an instagram post, I don’t need to be the best at anything at all, I don’t need to win at anything, I don’t need to measure myself against anybody else. It really doesn’t matter. Every moment where I derive pleasure in some aspect of my own life, no matter how simple is a win for me. I have absolutely no idea why it has taken me 55 years to work this out.

We were brought up as hard-working, strong working-class women, we had access to a good education, these things shall be, but there was also a great deal of passivity that was ingrained in our very being and that boiled down to the fact that we always deserved less, somehow we were never worthy enough and someone else always deserved more. The truth is though that we never deserved less, and we were always worthy enough.

ⓒ Alison Jean Hankinson