Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: November 2019

  • Poetry: Artistry – 06/11/19

    Poetry: Artistry – 06/11/19

     
     It seems we are all striving to be seen creatively
     for our mastery at whatever our 
     hands, mouths, eyes can fashion, shape, produce.
     To be acknowledged for our skillsets at these,
     our desire to exercise the right to be 
     creative and wonderfully delve.
      
     The foundations have already been laid,
     there is no resistance anymore,
     our work and statures are well respected,
     everything is here available to us,
     our talents can truthfully soar. 
      
      
     Edit not your words which have presently flowed,
     tidy not that corner of your painting whose 
     colours appeared to have self-imploded,
     rephrase not that section of vocals which 
     ascended and trembled so delicately that
     your heart felt it too had risen.
      
     Creatively speaking we are in a new age,
     these are times where our artistry is embraced,
     accepted,
     looked upon with praise and as distinguished,
     not shunned or having our practices 
     abhorred or dismissed.
      
     Instead others look upon the creators with 
     wonder at our skills, 
     amazing imaginations,
     imperfect yet perfect construction of our talents,
     the ability to reproduce while avoiding direct replication — 
     this is an age that we cannot dismiss.
      
     For, our artistry and ingenuity are those that make our work 
     wondrous, amazing creations to be venerated and 
     allow others to be
     visually impressed or otherwise 
     placated and pleased. 

     We can impress with our skills with the greatest of 
     excellence and ease.
     
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved. 

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  • Poetry: Like A Child – 06/11/19

    Poetry: Like A Child – 06/11/19

     Sometime he’s like a child,
     he can sit there with device in hand,
     smile across his face,
     technology doing anything but going to waste. 
      
     I casually read to him my words,
     of the former verse he approves,
     not that I was hoping to continue,
     but with this sporadic melody,
     I will proceed, openly and vocally,
     I will allow the awaiting audience an open view.
      
     He sits now in contemplative silence, 
     touching the screen here and there,
     searching for something to amuse him,
     or educate him,
     without a concern, without a sense of care.
      
     Because he is like a thoughtful, learning child,
     growing with his device he becomes brighter and wiser,
     using today’s opportunities to progress, not falter,
     and here is the sense of knowledge shown:
     it will be used, inserted, among his 
     thoughtful, intellectual banter.
      
     But, like a child, 
     sometimes his words will be cast aside,
     by adults who feel they know more than him;
     there is such a great divide.
      
     Their understanding does not encompass 
     their understanding of him,
     and where he lies in reference to his former knowledge
     and where the new technology and understandings are taking him.
      
     Perhaps someday soon he’ll release something of great use,
     something accessible and necessary for a large majority
     of the world to view,

     an invention,
     a contraption,
     with his initials emblazoned on the back:-
     congratulatory words all around, 
     these will be all the world will have to say at that.

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

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  • Poem: Time’s Ticking – 05/11/19

    Poem: Time’s Ticking – 05/11/19

     Time’s ticking, my friend,
     where are you required most?
     Time’s ticking; let’s go,
     down the rabbit hole, 
     and around the bend. 
      
     Into the dark deep labyrinth 
     where we will fall among objects that have 
     quite spontaneously reappeared,
     in the darkness we will swim 
     as we twist and turn around 
     again and again.
      
     Where will this cavity take us?
     Will it lead us into truth
     and wisdom:
     a land of beautiful views?
      
     Or a world of impunctuality,  
     anger and hierarchy,
     where we are beneath every 
     visible and given sets of feet?
     Precious two by twos.
      
     Will we find a world of characters?
     Amusing, learned, wise and tough?
     Humorous and of Imagination’s making?
     Or will we simply fall helplessly into a pile 
     of awaiting dust?
      
     With this wise rabbit who always seems to be
     quite behind 
     the time,
     a pacifist but proactive also,
     if we follow him we’ll end up at the right place,
     at the right time,
     in the correct frame of mind.
      
     Because his watch is incorrectly set
     and he has performed this deliberately
     to make his appearance correct and just so,
     into the rabbit hole we will fall and fall
     and forever in imagination we will delve.

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

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  • No Words – 02/11/19

    No Words – 02/11/19

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


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  • Poetry: Clearing Lungs – 02/11/19

    Poetry: Clearing Lungs – 02/11/19

    With lungs as free as the movement of transformed butterfly wings, allow yourselves to soar. Having emerged from the cocoon, as beautiful as the opening scene of a night’s full moon, sing to the world, despite what you might feel, you are worthy of being heard. And if no one appears to be listening, ears and eyes scorning the truths you have to tell, continue your melodies, and your truthful lullabies, with lungs so clear and free; you have ideas and beliefs to uphold. Never stop creating, even if you know the presence of some are temporarily unseen.

    You are doing this for you; your expression, your world, your passion, tell yourself: “This is for me,” – even though it’d be nice if some of the world could also experience it and see. But how wonderful it would be for them to join you on a journey as you explore the interior and exterior of your world. Together you and they could sing together, your melodies meshing with all manners of ease.

    Their attentions are most appreciated, for really, in the end, all most of the world wishes to be is heard. And in true song, evocative thoughts and feelings can shared with each other. There’s no need to become saddened or undone.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: Hope – 01/11/19

    Prose Poetry: Hope – 01/11/19

    Hope is the feeling of a singing soul, the uprising of a perfectly white dove against the pristine blue sky, tickling its feathers in the tapestry of life. It is when our emotions run free, accepting of openness, love, and crystalline positivity. The promise of something only pure and of sincere goodness, that an individual cannot pull their eyes away from: the vision causes their heart to fill only with gladness and goodness. It is the sound of trickling water splashing quietly from a pond’s waterfall, the gentle and quiet understanding that of one’s future, you will be promised a special kind of scope, a reasoning in the mind and a strength within your soul, because the knowledge that arises is filled with hope for not you alone, but really for us all.

    Reach within and draw forth the seeds and encumbering ropes of a fortune told with supreme justice and knowledge that you will succeed, that lives will always hold some form of glistening and gleams; a perfection that the dove flying overhead can provide for us, yourself, myself, whomever, those who we can encounter in the land of Inbetween. Because isn’t that the point of it all? — to be hopeful even when events present as darkened, depressing, dismal, hopeless even? Allow your light to shine from the dark, and illuminate all that you are. Hope is but a state of mind, a sense of emotion away, embrace the understanding that what is felt will ultimately compel goodness and sincere positivity to flow your way.

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


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  • Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    I lay myself down in that quiet meadow that exists only within my mind. I rest back, against the soft, pillowy grass and I allow myself to keep. To become at one with the scene, the beautiful sunset, the sublimely coloured horizon; it is so glorious, and I know it’s only for me. I bask in the wonder, treating my eyes, my amazed orbs to swell and brighten as the light slowly changes, the atmosphere darkening, into the dusk of the afternoon. And I lay here waiting, for you to come soon. I lie in wait, for your presence, to keep me safe.

    There is nothing to fear in this landscape, for I have created it all on my own, but I wish for you, I call for you, to visit at least, or perhaps to return here and decide to call this home. A land in which you and I can exist, with love and soft-spoken dexterity, our hands, their movements, clutching each other’s, are not at all amiss. We grasp our attentive and longing outstretched hands, linking also arm in arm. But, my love, you have not come, will you ever arrive?

    My careful eyes watch for you, I know you won’t leave me alone for too long.

    But in trots an arrogant fool, one who does not belong in my precious landscaped scene, nothing to compare with you, because he is too proud, he is too haughty, yet I am confused, do I pay attention to him or ignore him completely? After all, it seems far too rude to dismiss another, even though he seems rough and overly boisterous and showy. I am not in the practice of being rude, I dislike the practice and behaviour greatly. So, I make eye contact with this buffoon, who is lauding himself throughout my delicious scene, trampling on the flowery neighbourhood, and I, close to rolling my eyes, acknowledge him if but for only a few seconds. I do not want to encourage him, to have you feeling my eyes treating you as seconds.

    Oh, how he prances, how he dances, before me, his masculinity screams for my attention, begs for it more and more, until I cannot help myself, I start to laugh, he’s amusing, and this encourages him some more. And then suddenly, you appear from the corner of my eye, from behind a dense bush, and your eyes scream betrayal; I cannot do anything but fumble: I wasn’t moved by him, I want to scream, I wasn’t moved at all, not a little. Yet my heart, how it now aches, at having hurt you in a manner unintended, I am filled with guilt, while the buffoon stands to attention, smiling widely, grinning with obvious pride bursting from inside. He guffaws at the problems he has advertently caused me through amusing and entertaining me with his wiles, and all the while he remains there, cocksure, boastful, pride-filled – of him I am reviled.

    I reach for you, but it is too late, you tell me I have made my choice and it is time for you to dissipate. With tears forming in my eyes, you melt back into the horizon, never again to be seen, in this fantasy of mine, you are now gone. You were my only delicate and sweetened portion. I weep for you, but this buffoon has proven his method: a rapid and obvious sabotaging poison.

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


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