Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: October 2019

  • Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Broken, he seemingly fell from the heavens, into your considering view. Into your loving care and concern, he assisted at healing you too. As you nursed him back to health, hand rearing, listening to his joyous, tenuous calls and providing your skills of motherly loving, you watched him and his confidence grow tenfold, in the days you spent together.

    Then disaster would strike, oh, the horror, as differing birds came to sweep your Birdy away. Yet he is now looked after by a larger other, of his own kin; you smile to yourself, knowing he is finally grown enough for freedom with his own kind, with his other hopefully he will stay. Though, close to your heart his memories will forever remain, and you wish for him as a guardian of your land, you know you cannot will him to be anything more than free, as the moment that he flew from your hand.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    You, my dear, are like a bouquet of colourful, delightful fronds. Rare in my life and treasured and adored, I hold you close like this exquisite leafy arrangement, because of our love I am truly assured. Need not there be gifts of diamonds and gold, of precious gemstones set in shining silver — those gifting days have long passed. I caress you, like the bunch of bright and perfumed foliage to my chest, and breathe you in, your precious, peculiar scent. The heady perfume that you create without even batting an eyelid, a resonance felt in my heart as I inhale, then heavily exhale and once more, I breathe you in. I draw in as much as I can from your loving presence in my life, and know intuitively that unlike the glorious bouquet that you happily presented to me, your existence in my life will never be fleeting. You, my love, will always be mine.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: Slipping Through The Cracks – 16/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Slipping Through The Cracks – 16/10/19

    We can, at times, choose to fall into the cracks, to allow ourselves to become lost, forgotten in our life paths. There is a certain way of thinking, defeatist in itself, that will disallow us to keep churning along. Our former dream-chasing no longer ongoing, the once-joyous ribbons ceasing their unwinding, ceremonious unfurling. Because if we permit ourselves to trip and stumble at each possible failure, feeling like we cannot rebuild ourselves upwards from the pains and sorrows from which we suffer, we can forcibly lock ourselves into a dark, dampened place where nothing positive will live. No self-love, no personal acceptance, no sense of real responsibility. No resonating sense of control to be delivered. Where we can wail and drown in our style that is completely differing from the method of being brightened and proceeding through failures triumphantly and swimmingly. If we can’t teach ourselves to rise from the dirt, from the mud when we’re thrown down, beaten in certain circumstances, how can we expect others to look to us for comfort and guidance?

    Realise that your life is not only yours alone. Many of you have others looking toward you, as a prime example. They see what you do, and do what they see, not do as they are told, because demonstration is key. And how these others will praise you, sometimes silently, their eyes speaking of pride that you have once again lifted yourself from a moment of great sufferance or strife, that you have carried on regardless of the shame or embarrassment you may have felt at falling.

    Love yourself, even when you feel your life spreading, unfairly unfolding. Terrible things happen to people: disasters, illness, loss, and we can’t help some of these — they are but truth, occurrence, circumstance, or destiny, and we need to accept that the way we deal with negative moments shows a certain strength of character. Your uprising from the cracks is the key. Allow yourself not to fall in the gaps, but to leap forth, rising like the superhero you truly are, and fly through your life with eloquence and style, knowing that you have done exactly as you have willed, performed what you are capable of and in the manner in which you’d hoped.

    There’s nothing wrong with occasionally stumbling, but healing, recovering or carrying on steadfast and courageously; why, these are methods which make life truly worth living.

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


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  • Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Your eyes dart from left to right. Taking in the view, you know you appear confused. But, what does it matter? Appearances are nothing when you are alone, surrounded by no other living things. The forest appears to breathe though, with life it heaves and puffs, the life within these trees, this shrubbery, this undergrowth, is teaming with a sense of alertness that you are unable to wholly see. You can still feel it though, sense it, quivering beneath the surface, and you heave your breaths along with them, the forest you inhale and exhale with the lot of them.

    You know not to touch though, to seek further, to spread apart the flowering shrubbery or to part the bushes from the trees. There may lay something dangerous inside, and you are not wont to look, you prefer to carry on with your life path, strictly you are on the path of seeking another form of outlook. Each step reminds you that you have turned away from the shudders, the living creatures hidden, hiding well away, because each footstep you take, the vibrations grow smaller and of less frequency, and this pleases you, for you can move on with what you seek.

    What you seek is a place to lay, a place to rest your world-weary cheeks, to reside in a canopy of fronds that will tickle yet cause deep feelings of momentous pleasure-causing breaths, high then lower bounds and leaps. Where you can rest with quiet confidence that you will be uninterrupted, you’d even take an isolated gorge as a place of rest, if this solitude were presented. But now you discover a nook in the canopy, and further below what appears a gnawed-out area within some undergrowth, and here you are pressed for choice, which shall you select? With a firm conviction you crawl, hands and knees, into the tightly hollowed undergrowth perfect for someone of your stature and your stature alone, and you now breathe in the welcoming woody scent. You may have found yourself a warming and protective home.

    Huddled, you rest, knees to your chest, rocking back and forth to generate some extra heat, as well as an expulsion of additional nervous energy, for you feel something is forthcoming. On the horizon there is no proof, no inkling that there will be a change in the view, but you can sense it, and your heart quivers with this truth.  It is as though you possess an extrasensory perception for these kinds of things, and like the breathing of the forest which you also breathed with, you hone in on the sense of trepidation you have come to associate with this futuristic feeling.

    But there is nothing to fear, a brightness appears, heralding something close by, something becoming nearer. Your heart bounces and bounces; with each beat it creates for your life to continue onward, for your life to continue to be held lovingly dear. Then this light draws closer to you, seems to hone in on your presence, as though you are the heated target it seeks to reach its ill-fated doom. Instead of an explosion, the orb attaches itself to you, nestled through the occasionally-jagged undergrowth and now you feel yourself warming.

    Hotter and hotter you become, as if your face is awash with burning shame, and then you realise that you are actually positively glowing. Glowing with the sense of confidence that you had lost for years, a strength of personal abundance that will keep you going and knowing that you are something fierce and mighty to combat, not something helplessly wasting away. That you are strong, you are an almighty being who you can now completely believe in. A sense of personal mystery is no longer vibrating as your aura. You are now glowing perfectly.

    Feel the sense of freedom that comes with being your true self. At believing that you are talented, intelligent, on a path of truthful self-enlightenment. That you do not need to hide yourself away, ashamed at your apparent lacking of flowery traits and self-concepts, because you already possess the formula that life has projected within your mind and heart. You know these experiences better than any crowd who believes they knew the lot of them.

    Possess your self-worth and place freshly bloomed flowers within it as if it were a freshly blown glass vase, because you are now transparent and there is only true beauty to view. Understand there may be slight imperfections, perhaps cracks or internal bubbles, but know this: you are amazing, and you have finally found the right view. It was always sitting within you, your internal mirror, the true reflection of you.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    There was a river flowing from my heart at the point where we first met. Two streaming rushes converging into other, as we assessed and smiled and interacted with one another. I drew pictures on the back of your hand, little symbols here and there, you allowed me to be cutesy and my childish myself, and I so love that about you, that of my personality, you were immediately made aware and you didn’t back away, you didn’t seem to care.

    Your water brings me sustenance and lifts the dehydrating fog; disallows my heart from becoming parched and dry, and nestles me into your hydrating, plumping love. At this rushing river where our hearts were made known of each other’s presence and traits, are where we meet daily, our emotions intertwining together, becoming vines wrapped alongside and with each other. Because that is how we are, our fates are now twisted, into tightly coiled shapes, and the thorns? Why, they’ve completely gone missing.

    Because there is no longer any room for personal barbed pain or undying senses of loneliness to be noticed, harped upon, and saved. Because together we are stronger, in charming and less charming circumstances we will remain with great ardour, and in saying this I will strongly ascertain that our love for one another will remain as long as our forevers.  

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


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  • Poem: Hollow Eyed – 13/10/19

    Poem: Hollow Eyed – 13/10/19

     She hides between the curtains and the window
     from nothing in particular,
     allowing herself to view the wide-eyed smiling moon
     casting its dancing light upon the dew dotted grass;
     a nightly view so familiar.
      
     The brightness is expansive in her vision
     compared to the darkened room which she calls her home,
     where upon the walls
     she sketches blackened and angry or 
     haunted hollow-eyed figures
     whom dance within her dark.
      
     She aches inside for she feels
     another’s soul-destroying pain,
     unknowing how to assist,
     to disallow this being from suffering
     their despairing depression sunken,
     their once-free heart
     their once open wide days.
      
     And knowing this other being is suffering 
     assists her to meld easily with him,
     with her distress and unknowing
     they speak well late into the nights
     of sadness and pain and hurt upon the hours,
      
     while living in this cocoon of black sombre wall faces and figures 
     and speaking of desires to once more be free,
     from the wretched pains and emotional strains this being and her speak of
     they were intertwined through their suffering.
      
     There came times of poetic injustice 
     of teenage clichés and hidden wrists,
     but they are not so commonplace with their 
     assisted wept sufferings.
      
     These were simply times where these vulnerable beings
     melded as one
     to provide support, young love and concern,
     and express their fluctuating emotions thereabouts. 
      
     For the brief moment in time
     their stars and signs aligned 
     and they were both correct for one another and dangerous to be with each other.
      
     For if the other one fell,
     the other would surely fall deeper,
     how far could one drop before reaching a void that one is not meant to visit nor seek?

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    I sail the seas, high and low, searching for someone to come save me. To hold me tightly, embrace me, and breathe in my scent. To accept me with my flaws as well as for what they might view as perfection sent their way. I ride the seas and find many sea creatures, in many shapes, forms and sizes. Some are kind, heavenly, nice, others, well, not so subtle in their devices. The crested waves they slam onto shore, throwing myself and the others with now-less strange faces onto the rocky peaks making us scream for no more, and it is here I realise I should be accustomed to weathering these waves by myself. It is time to assume there is no need for me to be saved.

    Now mermaids and mermen come out from beneath the deep, their glittering, glistening scales, tails and fins are so delightful for me, that I cannot speak. They guide me into the open shores, build a protection, a fort, with their arms and hands then once having assisted me, their presence is suddenly naught.

    The seas now calm, the water’s surface pristine and now the colour of a deep blue lagoon, and I wonder to myself have I imagined those former moments out of my reality? Have I imagined the sea creatures and merpeople with an imagination too excitable and prematurely ready? But thinking about it, I once again experience that forlorn feeling, that yearning, of needing another in my life, to whom I can make an offering, a promise to be the one in their life that they can always trust, love and rely upon.

    Then out in the corner of my eye, I spot an enormous spouting, a large body of water fountaining in the distance, and I take this as a kind of heralding, that something or someone important might possibly be arriving. It just seems so out of place, for I am used to the waves crashing around, not reaching straight up and down; I know I must remain to witness the arrival of the being worthy of wearing a certain crown. Because I have that feeling, that this is a sea creature whom I will be most blessed to be meeting. A creature whom I will hopefully have the pleasure of calling my own.

    I lie in wait, for the moment to arrive. I lie in wait and the nervous anticipation and the trembling takes over outside of me and inside. I lie in wait, and then I meet You, my merman of the deep. The one who could view me as I harness my energy, and not be intimidated when I show all facets of me. The anger, the joyous, the contemplative, my sadness, my irritatingly frustrating habit of being focused on details, details, details. But you are the one who can and will promise to cherish my love, and love me in return, wholly, with your precious heart. My sea creature of the deep, my merman of the sea, understand that you are here to play beside me, to walk through life with openness, laughter and brightness, and to shine, shine, shine, all day and every night together, so freely.  

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


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  • Poem: In The Springtime of Your Youth – 11/10/19

    Poem: In The Springtime of Your Youth – 11/10/19


    It’s like in your life the season is spring, 
     everything is regenerating;
     all is coming to life again.
      
     The flower buds protrude,
     the birds in their nests become
     obsessed with their new fledgings.
      
     Parents anxiously feeding,
     fussing,
     brightness and flock of a feather becoming.
      
     Your heart swells at the feeling that you too
     are appreciated,
     looked after,
     cared for with great gentleness and self-assurance.
      
     Not by another but by yourself,
     you almost feel as if you don’t deserve these
      moments here in this peaceful, blossoming world
     where you have assigned a place of love,
     a place of comfort,
     a place of personal growth. 
      
     Because here you will know of this more,
     soon when you realise that you are overdue for everything
     brilliant,
     because for you, my sweet,
     there are many open doors. 
      
     So do not cry at the notion that you are less than deserving, 
     do not allow a single tear to fall unless it is from
     your personal feeling of a blessing.
      
     And please love yourself
     within the headiness of this springtime air,
     embrace the birds, the circling bees,
     the hanging trees with their veils to avoid 
    their hidden passageways being seen. 
       
    Your heart needs to be open and willingly prepared for this care.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    There was that special moment, when you first reached for and clasped my hand. Do you remember, darling, as we sat outside on my back porch, in those “King and Queen” deck chairs? You hesitantly, tentatively asked me if this was okay, I smiled and beamed inwardly to myself – of course it was fine! I wished that you could stay.

    Worried that others would return to find you here, an unknown, holding onto my hand, I calmed myself, told myself it would be alright, that we still had some precious time. And side by side we sat, smiling to ourselves, the silence comfortable, not awkward at all, with the overwhelming feeling that you might be the right one for me, after all.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Routines – 10/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Routines – 10/10/19

    We have little routines. You have little routines. Routines as far as the eyes can see routines. Some are tiny, insey little habits, others are irritating to oneself, grating on our sense of selves if we do not perform them. Some may say a certain amount of these ingrained habits are obsessions, our preferential predilections. That if we don’t follow through with what our minds and bodies intend, we will feel catastrophic inside, a lack of feeling and control to be had. But why do we need to do these tasks? It’s not as though skipping them here and there will hurt ourselves, make of us pariahs, make us social outcasts. In fact, these routines, these niggling habits, are simply just there to control our minds, in a manner which calms them, a substitute we’d better hurriedly find.

    Because being calmed by performing strange habits can deter one from living in the commonplace world, a sanity to find within it. There is no point living in a land of delusions and grand thoughts, when no one essentially understands what you’re going on about. Those movements, those thoughts, those inherent tics, those ordered movements, verbal spouting, your jagged sense of speech. The over-cleaning of your environment, the rapid words and speech, control yourself – forgive the pun – allow the moments to be.

    Your little routines may do some good, but others, why, others in themselves are better off out of our mental neighbourhood. Because if overt sense of control calms us, what does that say about our spiritual and mental health, when we cannot allow ourselves to be free, even for a moment, just a special and quiet sense of self? There is positivity in the posterity of all when it comes to becoming calmer and relaxed, to loosening up our minds and souls, at realising that these habits do not do us justice at all.  In fact, they merely impinge and take away from our sense of self, by their wanting desire to control us and our behaviour, wherever we might go.

    Loosen the noose, and open the hatch, come down from that attic in which you were hiding yourselves in, and cast aside the antiquities of errant thoughts at that. Be pure, be wise, be true, and live for yourselves, be yourselves, don’t allow strange behaviours to continue to control you.

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


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