Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: February 2020

  • Poem: New Morning – 29/02/20

    Poem: New Morning – 29/02/20

    It is a new morning,
Nothing has dared stirring,
Not even the motes of dust in the corner,
The silhouette of the boogie man made of laundry,
All is calm and reposed,
The way I like it,
A city of sleep,
Muck between the eyelids,
Snoozing town,
A new morning for me,
But for everyone else,
Quiet, relaxation,
Disarmed
And ultimately free.
Slowly I awaken my muscles,
My limbs,
My well rested bones,
It is time to rise,
To begin the day as it should be detailed of,
How it should be told,
And carefully I stretch,
Making certain not to disrupt the sleepy spiderweb
In the corner above me,
I smile to myself,
This day will be everything my dreams have
Promised them to be.
One leg into the other,
Pants on,
Shirt on,
Shoes laced and tied,
I yawn loudly,
I displace those dust motes now,
It’s time for them to also rise.
And I sing to myself,
Then hum happily,
As I go about my morning tasks
Knowing the rest of the rested world
Is slowly waking up with me.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Leo_65 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Everyone May Be Busy – 28/02/20

    Poem: Everyone May Be Busy – 28/02/20

    Sometimes I enjoy being on my own,
Meditating on my thoughts,
Or lack thereof.
The feeling of openness which can be brought forth by
Simple introversion,
Viewing what is within.
 
While I could be content with such a mode,
Often I yearn for the compatibility of others,
My close friends,
My living champions,
Those who were always there to hold my hand
During illness,
During pain,
During loss and strife.
 
The meaningless banter is not so meaningless at all,
For through the eyes of an outsider,
My bond with others may seem thin,
Weak,
Something which can underwhelm,
 
But they don’t see beyond the front of our projected image
In fact, they see nothing at all,
Because what is occurring beneath the surface
Is like duck’s feet whirring –
From the surface,
The effort you cannot tell. 
 
Everyone may be busy,
And I’ll be bereft with my intent,
That understanding I must cope by myself,
To allow these hours to pass by,
Tick, tock, slowly spent,

But when I’m in the glory of the light of my loved ones,
We shine, shine, shine,
No one is busy anymore,
Except with one another,
We’ll grow and laugh
And shine some more,
This is our time.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by fancycrave1 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    The others watch me lazily,
yet with intent,
from their quiet area of silent judgement,
it is as though I am being assessed for living
and breathing,
such a scoundrel I am,
I must turn the tables,
to impress!
 
Yet why bother
when these individuals are perpetually displeased?
There seems little point in exacerbating the situation
with a further moment that would actually come across as amazing,
divide the divide!
 
Indifferently though, they blink,
what is the generational gap between us three?
nay I bother now for assessment and
tidings which are built upon comeuppance,
because I’ll sell you this: --
the image is quite diseased,
and its feelings explore me from within,
it wants to attack with ease.
 
The virus enters my system,
wreaking, ravaging,
I am now one of them,
how I wish to breathe freely
without a chest full of bricks,
and now I understand the truest meaning
of a vice-like grasp and grip,
I’ll tell you this:
my spirit will go on,
despite the others’ who belligerently sit there,
stroke their chins,
and sip special tea with posh leafed airs.  
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Purple Girl – 27/02/20

    Poem: Purple Girl – 27/02/20

    He tells me he has seen a girl,
with vivid purple hair shining in the sun,
according to him she walked with great presence
away from him,
her face was hidden,
yet her aura shone,
with flecks of blue,
and green and gold,
if I cared to know I would look these up,
the energy, the auric balance of this being,
who captured his heart this very day.
 
He brings her up in conversation,
several times, likely unintentionally
but because he is compelled,
I remind him of the girl in rainbow garb
who I saw around my house many years prior,
like her, he would never lay eyes upon this purple haired girl again.
 
No, these are the people we view once in a lifetime,
for some reason they bless our day and our minds,
filling us with their memories,
that there is something spiritually inclined,
that far off in the distance their presence really
isn’t as far away as the colours may seem,
near us,
holding us,
are the thoughts we have,
of our desired, wholesome dreams.
 
One may state I should have been affected by
the idea she mesmerised him,
completely took his breath away,
although he did wax lyrical about this vision,
I knew that she meant something to his day.
 
I cannot permit a sense of jealously,
a sense of misery because she captured his heart,
for in the mere seconds he watched her
leave the station and head north-east,
his heart enlivened,
and she can be thanked for this,
she managed it in her departure.

In fact, I am pleased
he has had this beauty to lay his eyes upon,
not in the sense that he appreciates her wantonly,
but accepted her presence wholly and for what it is,
something exceptional,
something worthy of speaking and sharing.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

Image by SilviaP_Design from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Gateway – 27/02/20

    Poem: Gateway – 27/02/20

    I’ve come to a stark white marble gateway
where I have the choice,
presented with left or right,
which path is moral,
which path is exploratory,
which will help reach a state of divinity?
 
I pause at the crossroads,
unsure of which road to take,
because the truth of the matter is
I’m barely guided
I’m doing this on my own, it seems.
 
Each path is covered with a looming arch,
veins of tiny grey riddle the white, I discover,
and they remind me of varicose veins,
little interfering modules that stain the perfection
of the set stage.
 
I wonder to myself what would occur if I chose no path at all,
would I reach my desired goal
on my own?
Would I attain that which I seek
without the standard paths of known?
 
I decide to stray from what is before me,
I have always been known to explore,
to test the waters,
the rivers so deep,
I do not need to follow many others,
I’m already here on my own.
 
I instead backtrack,
it may look like failure,
that I have given up,
but the irony here is I’m redoing the procedures,
I am here,
I am there,
I am gone,
into the air.
 
It is now my choice where I shall place my feet
or spread my wings,
seek forth,
seek right,
seek left,
I am but a frugal queen.
 
I shall seek my king and my kind
because I know they are waiting for me,
I’ll reach them in time,
resurrect the past,
I’ll no longer become lost,
and I’ll traverse until I become wiser than I’ve ever known.
 
Then I will know the true meaning of what I seek,
what is it?
The answer is within me.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Girlish Dreams – 26/02/20

    Poem: Girlish Dreams – 26/02/20

    fairy bread and toffee apples and Barbie dolls and cupcakes
pink princess outfits and friends' prematurely planned weddings
and skipping rope
and playing-house games
 
a little girl’s dreams
so simple and easy to please
those years in primary school
where we danced on the rocks like sprites with ease
 
but then my dreams grew stormy
I became complicated
the family's black sheep
depression set in and I never really knew
how different I was
I just felt so old,
unlike anything I’d ever even known
 
a tortured soul I felt myself as
a failure in friendships
yearning for relationships
good tidings rarely seemed to be brought my way
though talented it appeared the self-aggrandising nature
of my achievements and success bore me into the ground
nailing me
pinning me
driving me
down
down
down.
 
how I rose up was anyone’s guess
histrionic and glib?
I was never these.
but I smoothed over the rough edges of my undesired life
and made myself into something more,
for if I couldn’t be accepted as I was,
then by all means, I would exemplify my strife.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by peridotmaize from Pixabay 

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  • Poem: The Hummingbird – 25/02/20

    Poem: The Hummingbird – 25/02/20

    The hummingbird buzzes quietly,
She is home at last,
Without the combative competitive bees
Whispering in her ears
Deafening her as closer and closer they come
Because she is set to feed and sudden aggression
Comes over her
As she desires the delicious dining within the precious feeder
She needs
She requires
She must collect
She must consume
And these hissing whispering busy bees
Insist on playing in her outside room
Where she is meant to work
Never abstain
But be precise and retrieve
Her life is antisocial
But she must work around others
To achieve that which she yearns for
The truth
Her feed
Her sweetness
Dripping beak.    

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by ArtTower from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Geraniums – 24/02/20

    Poem: Geraniums – 24/02/20

    I glance at the geraniums,
It seems they glance sideways at me.
Some are happy, bubbly, cheery,
And others, they carry a known disease,
Of negativity among the cheer,
The mirth,
The banter,
The geraniums are not completely innocent,
No, some were willing to barter.
 
Some have exchanged their good looks for power,
The ability to glare and stare at us while we
Glance back and forth with horror,
At having come upon the enemies of the majority of these beauties,
Who have gone through struggles to rise above their
Common duties,
These beautiful flowers are not all cast in the light
Of wonder,
Because some made a willing trade,
Their morals and appearance have gone under.
 
Why would a flower trade for power?
What could a flower possibly do?
I do not know,
You do not know,
Perhaps the mystery here lies in the shrivelled petals
And leaves which are dying,
Silently begging to be pruned.
 
I suppose the deception coupled with the power that
A geranium has traded their beauty for
Could be simply this,
A rising,
A surging,
An engulfing whiteness,
An ability to make a viewer come completely undone.
 
The geraniums smile and smile away
And there are only a few within the bunch which
Could ruin our day.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Mermaid – 23/02/20

    Poem: Mermaid – 23/02/20

    Searching, seeking, waiting,
As though pressed against a boulder by the shore,
Awaiting a mere glimpse of a mermaid,
Even a speckle of her tail,
To prove her reality, that she truly exists.
This mermaid shall not,
Cannot be a myth.
 
Waiting,
Quietly tempted by the rolling water,
Gentle yet unique in its miniature tides,
Perfect for disguising the mystical creature that she is.
 
Her hair will be thrown back,
She is gorgeous,
With her brunette barrels,
Strung together loosely with her 
Salted watery waves of hair,
And I will smile to myself as I know 
It is wise that I have remained
Searching, seeking, waiting,
For this creature to be seen,
Her presence saved.
 
I do not know what else to do but carefully,
Stoically wait,
I’ve been here for hours it seems,
Even though minutes tick,
They do remain.
 
Then out of the corner of my eye,
A flash of turquoise blue-green,
Was that it?
Is that all she will allow me to see?
A moment of truth that of her world she also exists within my reality?
 
Everything is interconnected, this is how it seems,
And bright scales glistening in the sunlight prove to me,
And enhance my knowledge that beauty and wonder
Do in fact remain.
 
It only takes a keen eye and patience to unravel
The secrets that are hidden beyond within the static starkness of the air
And the depths beyond mankind’s drains,
Is where we will find her,
It’s where she now will temporarily remain.  
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Those Few Hours – 22/02/20

    Poem: Those Few Hours – 22/02/20

    If only for a few hours,
I felt stable,
grounded,
calmed.
 
I could attribute it to absolutely nothing,
or I could attribute to it to something new.
 
Either way, there is significance in the repose I experience,
a chance from the unquiet,
the river that no longer runs untamed,
the stream that moves with whispered breaths,
gentle hums upon the page.
 
I am now not highly strung, irritated by the smallest stressor,
taking everything so seriously,
or allowing poor behaviour of others run free
in a manner ill and dour.
 
I do not permit others to speak to me as though I am nothing,
I forcefully admonish, without the wild anger flung about,
designation now of freedom.
 
I am a cheerful totalitarian today,
nothing will wear me down,
I am neither negatively affected by poor, misjudged humour,
offensive, though it may be.
 
My addition in my life, I’ll carefully hush the words to you,
may be creating a fictious approach, a solution,
or perhaps something real from me to you.
 
Either way,
I am cured of the results of insensitive speech which had become,
my amulet,
my strength,
my assessment of the moment,
I can clasp it in my wanting hands.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash

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