Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: September 2019

  • Poem: Our Broken World – 21/09/19

    Poem: Our Broken World – 21/09/19

     She came from afar,
     many generations ahead, 
     many light years away.
      
     Her eyes saddened beyond belief,
     because of what she was sent to witness,
     but couldn’t, didn’t have the ability to save.
      
     She was a wandering explorer of the galaxy,
     sent to worlds of dystopian views,
      
     Burning balls of gas,
     reigning down with future fire,
     as the worlds exploded with their blooming ire.
      
     And it had come time for her to visit our world,
     we were raping the land and pillaging it,
     taking advantage and control, 
      
     Without a sense of worldly adherence,
     to the generous earth that had had enough,
     Of our selfish methods to use its resources,
     without a sense of future responsibility to be known.  
      
     This solemn being inspected the result of 
     our greedy hands,
     Observed the damage we’d permitted to occur on our giving land,
     our method of spreading our uncaring concern;
     a human-specific disease.
     
     She shook with dismay at the town raining down with black snowflakes,
     at the Amazon forests being burnt like witches at the stake.
      
     At our water, droughts coming and remaining rather than going,
     soon a lack of fresh drinking water, 
     A sin for our survival, 
     a definite detriment to our health ongoing.
      
     This saddened explorer couldn’t take anymore,
     couldn’t view for much longer,
     She felt the heat rising on the worldly barometer.
      
     How could it have to come to this?
     she wondered helplessly to herself.
      
     This world, this turning planet, 
     could have survived for many more decades,
     Had the humans taken care, 
     not just thought for and about themselves. 
      
     Yet now they are presented, 
     with the real possibility of decimation,
     a ball of burning gaseous mass of obliteration,
      
     Becoming inundated with despair and dismay,
     they’ll have to work mighty hard to make their land last. 
      
     And with that she flitted away many lifetimes, 
     to report on the health of the world,
     Unfortunately for some, 
     the bleak vision may not be able to be overcome.   

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

    Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

     “Quit jivin’ turkey!” she said to me. 
     I most assuredly was not joking in any manner, way, shape or form,
     Because I had a certain need.
      
     A gamey desire for bird’s meat,
     I had quietly asked permission for a slice of thigh or another cut of leg,
     But this little clever Cornish chicken knew how to mess with my stomach and head.
      
     “Quit. Jivin’!” she repeated, glaring and skipping away as she said this to me. 
     I tried to give chase, but she was too nimble,
     Far too quick for the likes of me. 
      
     “Oh, but how I only need one slice, one little piece!” I emphasised. 
     “This you will not miss! As a clever Cornish chicken you will regenerate, 
     The piece will be replaced and this process won’t be amiss.” 
      
     She angrily ruffled her feathers, 
     Shook her humanoid head, 
     And then some screeching from the depths of her,
     I could not fathom how she simply would not share. 
      
     Because as a humanoid Cornish chicken, 
     Her flesh would return quickly, 
     This we should all be aware. 
      
     She was selfish, 
     Or, was I asking too much,
     No. Not at all,
     I grabbed at her thigh and felt her beating heart,
     She scrambled desperately, for me to be overthrown. 
      
     But I realised I was not like other humans,
     I would not, could not unfairly take,
     I had to wait until she offered a slice, 
     Being courteous was awfully nice.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: Living Breathing Wooden Girl – 21/09/19

    Poem: Living Breathing Wooden Girl – 21/09/19

     She was pliable; 
     A living, wooden girl.
      
     Whose heart melded so easily with others,
     Broken umpteen times she’d lost count.
      
     They would troupe, one by one,
     Contort her into something pleasing enough to view,
      
     Into something malleable,
     Useful, warranting their attentions,
     She’d barely need to beckon toward their view.
      
     How her heart beat like a chased wild rabbit,
     Intent on escaping down that hole,
      
     But the viewers, purveyors,
     Liked to amuse and play with certain things themselves.
      
     And this living, breathing doll,
     This girl hung onto perfect hope,
      
     That one day she would meet the hero in her tale,
     With his love, a perfected human being she’d become.
      
     When her joints would loosen, 
     Become like delicate glowing alabaster,
      
     But the hero in the tale is her,
     She will be the one permitting her own true awakening,
     She will be the one to curse away the undesirable curs.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Curiously Hungry Snuffleupa-Gulla-Pallum – 20/09/19

    Poem: The Curiously Hungry Snuffleupa-Gulla-Pallum – 20/09/19

     “Why, would you look at this??” I bellowed to no one in particular. 
     For me, a curiously hungry Snuffleupa-Gulla-Pallum,
     Had happened upon a most delightful scene.
      
     A plentiful shrub, spotted with desirous berries,
     Seemingly here only for me,
     Was begging, aching to be taken.
      
     I shoved those berries into my wanting mouth,
     An eager pawful at a time,
     Dripping streams of sticky, sickly berry-wine.
      
     But how the juice became thickened, 
     Tacky, firmer to the touch,
     Until my mouth was simply tightly fused together,
     The jaw held firmly, unbreakable with any well-intended touch.
      
     How I wailed internally at my situation,
     These deathly berries had betrayed me,
     Lured me in with their filthy lies and deceit!
      
     “It’s time for punishment,” I thought to myself,
     As I hacked, hacked, swiped and slashed, 
     At the discourteous ill meaning shrub.
      
     Lying in pieces,
     Branches aside, flung forward and back,
     I grinned at my great decisiveness. 
      
     Now onto fixing myself,
     I ran home, opened my medicine cabinet,
     And generously applied acetone to my mouth tight as a vice.
      
     Freedom was nice,
     But the knowledge I’d destroyed the evil bush was even better,
     It would never cause any other an ill time,
     And for this we can rejoice all together.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Dancing Genie – 19/09/19

    Poem: The Dancing Genie – 19/09/19


     The dancing genie has released herself this time,
     A flowing effluence of movement and truths.
     Serene, eyes closed, she strikes a pose,
     Replicating the stilling of time as she once knew.
      
     Because, when she is free, her world does not turn,
     No longer does her current captivation of life feel as if an err,
     She has not been summoned, she has permitted the escape herself,
     The dancing genie who flows with a perfected 
    consciousness and a warming sense of wizened mental wealth.
      
     How she’d been slighted by her past summoners,
     They were purely propelled by greed,
     At meeting this genie with recorded, positive history,
     To make meaningful and real their inner dreams.
      
     They used and abused, didn’t accept her for what she was,
     Used her for their gains, and ignored her flowing, ethereal thoughts. 
     But with time she learned to associate the rubbing of her lamp
     With the selfishness of the summoners of their outer land.
      
     And she stopped allowing herself to be forcefully beckoned from her hideaway,
     Instead remaining still, quietly resting, 
     Until she could remove herself from the lamp
     For another expression of her emotions through the freedom of contemporary dance.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: Squid on a Stick – 19/09/19

    Poem: Squid on a Stick – 19/09/19

     Squid on a stick?
     Urgh, it makes me sick!
     Who thought it wise this appalling culinary treat should be presented to me?
      
     I cannot fathom how he is still living, breathing and smiling,
     Snackery with a pleasant, calm expression,  
     Projected toward me. 
      
     What will I do?
     How will the host comprehend? 
     That the meal she is serving is better off without its sublimely grotesquely living head?
      
     Boy, it creeps me out,
     Ever-so-much, that I’d best throw this treat in the dust of the street,
     From the street food vendor who sometimes we cannot trust completely.
      
     Now Squid wriggles from his stick,
     Freedom to him!
     With a sly glance over his shoulder, I know he’s thanking me.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Creature in the Red Sneakers – 18/09/19

    Poem: The Creature in the Red Sneakers – 18/09/19

    Aghast was he, an appalled creature was he,

    because presently he could see,

    he’d been fitted with horrid red sneakers during his waking dreams.

    It seemed as though he’d barely zoned out of reality, temporarily,

    and now here he was encumbered by tight cumbersome footwear upon his fine delicate feet.

    Greatly unamused was he!

    He tried to rid himself of them, kicking his tootsies this way, that,

    But the laces were too tightened, and his hands were malformed,

    What could this creature do to escape this undesired scene he abhorred?

    How he wailed and how he shrieked, for attention to be brought his way,

    It seemed like he needed one of those nasty self-serving humans, to help him with obtaining freedom and

    Be on his way.

    One happened upon him, saw his piteous state and hung about to diagnose his pain source,

    “Silly human, cannot you understand my shrieks, my words?” he said in creature-language, a babbling talk.

    Attempting to again kick his shoes off, it was seemingly hopeless,

    A lost cause.

    His rapid screeching frightened the human, she hastened away from him,

    He ran after her, squealing for assistance, then,

    Tripped on his laces, fell flat on his face.

    To his joy and astonishment, one of the formerly secure ties was now loose,

    Enough to be able to undo and slip off the cumbersome ugly red shoe;

    he was now partially footloose.

    He rose from the dirt, half flat-footed and sprinted to trip over the other,

    He succeeded in his mission, now,

    he was able to slip out of the unwanted other.

    He hadn’t needed any assistance after all, he was resourceful enough to have escaped,

    The only thing that meddling, unhelpful human had performed was

    Walking away from him, without any provided assistance,

    without a single word emitted.

    That was why he kept mostly away from humans, they didn’t know how to assist correctly or well,

    Because for this complex creature,

    he didn’t appreciate his feet being dressed by some well-meaning human, while this creature was under a daydreaming spell.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Comical Tragedy of the Dismayed Clown – 17/09/29

    Poem: The Comical Tragedy of the Dismayed Clown – 17/09/29

    To some it might be ironic, to others who are cold-hearted and cruel,

    The comical tragedy of the dismayed clown, will, once told, play on your mind for many moons.

    He wanted to be a clown soldier, to fight for the continued freedom and rights of his fellow hilarious women and men,

    Yet,

    When it came to enlisting at the docks on those given days,

    His entry was

    strangely

    unpermitted.

    His grandfather had left behind a courageous legacy, dying many years before at the hands of the serious cut-throat businessmen of Shanty Shore,

    It was his grandpapa that this clown wished to fight the bravest for, and his family he wished to show his allegiance for.

    Yet,

    One look at him, and the government officials

    rudely slammed

    their

    doors.

    Now red faced and highly embarrassed, the now-comical clown burned from within, such mortification and dismay,

    He couldn’t face the other clowns, now successfully enlisted,

    He wouldn’t dare

    show them

    his

    face.

    Once home, he bypassed his mother, flung himself face-first onto his bed,

    Wept for hours,

    At the dismay of his confused mother,

    She hadn’t known what he had set out to achieve that day.

    Yet,

    After the violent battalions,

    Where bloodied clowns and bloodied men were found lying, injured or deathly ill on the fields,

    A formerly dismayed clown was living,

    Positively thriving,

    He was thankful for his near miss, his rejection from the troops.

    And didn’t he learn that whatever had turned the officials off had likely saved his life,

    The irony of the situation would remain with him

    Until

    his

    dying day.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    See this giant hot air balloon? my darling asked of me. It’s all yours for the morning, he smiled.

    Me? What about us? I queried. He wanted me to enjoy myself wholly and without distraction.

    But darling, you are not by any means a distraction, why, you are my star attraction.

    He blushed deep crimson now, rarely was he used to receiving compliments, mainly playful little cute insults which he knew were full of love and meant nothing of which others would use them as.

    Run along now, he urged me, run along and have some fun, enjoy yourself. I’d never been in a hot air balloon before. I had always come up with some excuse: too expensive, I would have to awaken too early, it would be too cold, what if the weather turned dreary? And other some such, or whatnot, excuses which masked the true reason: a fear of flying.

    I’ll be right here, he reassured me, pointing to the grassy knoll by the evergreen trees. I’ll be reading and researching, it’s important I do so, but I’ll be watching out for you.” He reached forth, pulled me into his grasp, placed his lips full upon mine, passionately. Surprised at his action, I withdrew slightly, then warmed to his embrace. I melted into him because it was rare we expressed ourselves physically.

    Thank you, my love, for thinking of me, I said and reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp.

    The hot air balloon operator was incredibly kind. He could see I was tremble profusely, that my hands could barely hold onto the edge of the basket which held us as we ascended into the perfectly blue sky, tinged with coloured clouds that twinkled with differing shades in our eyes.

    It’s okay, he said reassuringly. First trip in the air? he inquired with a warm smile.

    First trip in the air in anything, I replied, I’ve not even been in a plane. What got me the most was the noise as we rose, I was frightened but I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Balloon accidents were very rare, and this operator seemed to know his methods and flying to a tee. I glanced down at my love, he was reading on his phone, making notes in a pad to his right, his mind set upon certain equations and problematic formulas all of his own. I called to him, waving and attempting a false smile. He looked up, delighted that I was enjoying myself and fervently waved back.

    Then, something seemed wrong, there was more strength from the flames which allowed us to rise, we were on an errant path, rocking from side to side. With horror I looked up and realised that the lower flames from the burner had extended far past where they were meant to be and were situated up near the exit hole of the balloon, exposing the likely flammable material to excessive heat, now what could I do? I was too high in the air to jump, but above it showed that we were going to fall anyway, what could I do but scream for my love, to tell him how I felt once more, before I might become gone, gone, gone, away my life would go, crushed or flown away.

    I shrieked for him to hear above the burners that scolded the air for listening on its firm intent on destruction, I stared at his bowed head and willed him to raise it, to captured my attentions, but I could smell the acrid scent now, a certain plastic-like melting odour in the air, then a rapid whoosh, and away we dropped, into a group of sharp, gnarled bushes.

    I heard him scream my name in the background of the silence which was the result of our inevitable, heard him breaking through the bracken of the bushes, clawing to see if I was alive, for himself. The operator and I were shocked beyond belief, he now was shaking, his hands trembling, telling me over and over,

    This has never happened before, this has never happened under my attentions, it has never happened before.

    My love finally reached us, I was not damaged, but I was frightened beyond repair.

    Oh, my sweet, how did this happen on my watch, my choice, I’m so glad you are here, alive, I will never leave you again, remain by my side. I am so sorry, for this stupid, idiotic choice, in leaving you in there without me. I am glad this operator was there to guide the balloon down somewhat safely.

    After helping out myself and the man from the wreckage, my love and I walked away from the scene which never would cease to amaze me. So thankful I am that he was there keeping watch, but never again shall I ride into the air, no matter within what contraption, not even under another expert’s watch.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Mrs Marmalade was known as such because she liked to have marmalade as the main ingredient for her lunch. Not only that, but it was the same for her tea, and breakfast might I add, of course, Mrs Marmalade would agree. She held a great love, a fondness for this condiment, jars and jars filled her cupboards, to fetch more was not required, stockpiled they were, of her house she hardly ever left!

    My, was she ravenous, for this delightfully sweet and zesty treat, that in actual fact I will tell you the truth, the only ingredient was this sweet preserve for her meals. She didn’t mind only consuming the sweetness, never had she recalled missing savouries, because this woman only needed one item on her grocery list. Do you get the point, do you understand, that even though she was risking malnutrition she was adamant at only consuming this condiment similar to jam? She couldn’t help it, but she’d never admit it was an addiction, poor Mrs Marmalade didn’t understand that this was a dangerous predilection. Her teeth were nearly all rotten, she could barely chew the zest without experiencing overwhelming pain, yet she would not make an appointment with the dentist; last time she’d presented, he’d told her to throw all her jars of marmalade away!

    “Preposterous!” she had yelled. “Why would I do such a thing?” He sadly told her if she continued eating only marmalade her teeth would soon need to be removed rather than replaced with fillings, and given dentures that were uncomfortable and wieldy. But she had not listened, and a pain was present basically in every single tooth, she couldn’t afford the dental service for dentures, but she knew what to do. When it came to having tooth aches, she knew that the first line of advice was to eat soft foods, and my goodness, didn’t she have that in excess: her marmalade was the best item to consume! How she laughed to herself as she continued to eat her favourite delicious item, her delectable treat. What would she do in the future though, who would hold her hand as her teeth either fell out or were yanked out by the dentist man? She didn’t care about the future, for now she was too happy to give a damn.

    And so, she continued living only on the condiment, her teeth continued rotting away, she didn’t notice though, for she took pain killers to ease the growing pain. She continued to order her treats online, on the supermarket website. She didn’t need to leave the house at all, no judgement would anyone pass for the massive amounts of jars she had to have delivered by freight.

    The potential ending of Mrs Marmalade’s tale is not all that sweet, in fact, it is fraught with disaster, because over time, quickly, her tooth ache peaked. The cavities and gums throbbed with great insistence, and soon there came a time where she couldn’t even chew the softened zest of her favourite treat. Saddened, she knew she must return to the dentist, where he was shocked, horrified, to see the damage she’d allowed to develop when she avoided seeing him regularly.

    “You knew I asked you to return late last year, why didn’t you, Mrs Marmalade? Now I have to remove nearly all of your teeth, because you refused to e more aware.” He could talk to her in this tone because they were old family friends, but she didn’t’ appreciate being addressed in this manner, so she built up a wall of defence.

    “If you don’t speak to me nicely, I’ll just leave and eat more marmalade!” she threatened.

    “Please yourself,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d better remove your rotten teeth to save the few others while you’ve still got them.” Excruciating though the pain was, once they were removed, she felt so much lighter and less in pain. She thanked the dentist and went home again to do what? Exactly what she always did, and wasn’t this a crying shame. Some people never learn their lessons and Mrs Marmalade was a perfect example. Her addiction to this sickeningly sweet treat was her failing, and she felt no need for behavioural correction. 

    Nowadays, Mrs Marmalade is the proud owner of a set of perfect dentures. The dentist felt sorrow for her and fund-raised until he’d had enough to aid her. Mrs Marmalade enjoys them because they’re perfect for appearance, but easy to remove when it comes time to eat. There is no worrying about whether her teeth with suffer, because, with the dentures out of her mouth, she can eat all day, throughout all meals, without any chance of decay, no need to suffer! She can consume her delights from morning to supper.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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