Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: April 2020

  • Poem: The Grumbling Instability – 30/04/20

    Poem: The Grumbling Instability – 30/04/20

    Instability,
a grumbling temperament grows,
like rolling waves crashing on suicidal rocks,
the aftermath is broken froth,
a bubbling foam of doom.
 
But there is no true destruction yet,
the cascading curling of blue
promised a cushioned fall,
one where anger and misjudgement
could press or
roll away
those points of migraines elsewhere.
 
The headaches which can coexist
when communication is unstable
can mutually present
persisting annoyance –
how to return to how the moods
once were?
 
The light-hearted livelihood,
the bright, jovial moments
which were frequently had?
 
I can see a path;
I can envisage a line of dance
in which temperamental or
agitated thoughts no longer
need to rise and flit,
 
no reactionary measures,
self-defensive songs or tunes,
just easy going,
casual conversation,
won’t the present tension ease itself soon?
 
Then there can be that wonderful chatter,
banter without being bogged down
by irritation at what was or may have
been meant,
 
alluded to,
insinuated,
perhaps it’s read into far too much –
what is desired is for discourse
to return to how it once was.
 
Then peace making is spoken of,
we lay down our arms,
our bitter, sharp, jaded words,
our underlying sarcasm,
our clipped mannerisms,
 
we relearn how to speak with softness,
with the delicacy that comes with the embrace
of well-chosen words,
we return to being kinder and remembering why
these conversations are undertaken.  
 
A stability now present,
we have combed out the tangles,
the mane of conversation is thick,
lush,
lustrous and wanted,

we discuss the darnedest of things,
shimmer with a joyful, playful mood,
and suddenly gone is the negativity
which had crept into
each other's respective mental rooms.

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

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  • Poem: It is Decidedly So – 29/04/20

    Poem: It is Decidedly So – 29/04/20

    “It is decidedly so,” her mother speaks,
she smiles with warmth in her tone.
A kind welcome
is assured,
the woman’s feelings strong, heartfelt,
well grown.

The kingdom has gathered to
witness and bless this young babe,
her cooing and calling for Mother
draw attention and affection her way.
 
While a wild gust of wind could blow this scene away,
there is hope on the horizon
for this newborn,
society’s requests have not been forgotten,
their blessings for her will be spoken.
 
They wish for her:
long life,
prosperity,
intelligence,
beauty and bravery,
 
but if these wishes for her
were not enough
a grinning godmother approaches,
her eyes lit up –
is she deranged?
Or is she delighted to speak,
moved to promise the child even more?
 
“I wish you the truest love,”
she begins,
with a slight inflection in her tone,
head cocked curiously to the side,
she glances over at the two royal thrones.
 
“Love in its truest form shall make you alive,
cause you to excitedly feel,
and the memories of a childhood will then be lost
and simply fall away.
 
Begone the memories well-constructed,
of timely family events and moments,
of kingdom comes and open loving arms,
decidedly it is so,
decidedly it is… -"
 
And the evil godmother was knocked out cleanly
with one single blow.
 
Who was the babe’s true saviour?
That somebody who temporarily removed the ability
Of Godmother’s intended curse?
The desired removal of the babe’s
future fondest memories,
to be torn from their safety
with the cruellest of feelings?

Why, it is a young boy,
could only be of three,
smiling to himself
shyly, but proudly enough
to see.
 
In his hands lie the sparkles
and twinkles of magical folk,
perhaps he is the babe’s truest love –
we must wait to see this as fact,
or as falsity,
or as truth,
with hope,
in due course.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by PawinG from Pixabay
_____________________________________________________________
A/N: I watched Malificent for the first time over the weekend and really enjoyed it. This poem is inspired by this movie.

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  • Poem: Autumn Leaves to the Air – 28/04/20

    Poem: Autumn Leaves to the Air – 28/04/20

    Autumn leaves fall one by one,
excusing themselves from attendance.
Like warm emotions they peel away,
leaving an unfamiliar, unfeeling circumstance.
 
Soon the branches will be barren,
stark,
undecorated, alone,
with no reminder of spring or summer,
when heartfelt words were purred,
within another’s arms feelings were grown.
 
How differently a season can present
a once near-perfect circumstance,
even if slightly illogical,
the dreamscape was there,
unique to be had.
 
A sense of comfortability grew,
but now the delicate leaves fall and fall,
stripping away layers that once shone –
where is that which once called to me now?
 
I sit by the base of the tree,
dumbstruck, tremulous,
at how things have unravelled,
words may be unspoken,
but as obvious as falling leaves dancing,
the silence permeates,
creates an acidic, sullen mood.
 
A loss, a replacement,
with little care,
I reach forth,
throw handfuls of rejected leaves to the air.

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

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  • Poem: Jagged Picture – 27/04/20

    Poem: Jagged Picture – 27/04/20

    Rivulets of broken seams,
the crackling of irritation heaves and gleams,
beneath a thin surface
a heated secret boils
it festers,
does she wish to be anything other
than what and how her impatient heart can muster?
 
There’s no calm in the desert creek
where parched tongues refused to get along
the sandpaper-like exterior
cat-like,
gingerly, one could prime this picture.
 
But to see this image fall apart,
though long-awaited were those positive dreams,
it is clear that irritation is what
the present promotes,
an ultimatum,
a damned unspoken destruction,
meant to be cataclysmic?
To eventually come undone?
 
The fate lies,
awaiting,
quietly, coercive,
need the ending be spoken of
in bittersweet tunes?
 
A sing-song chorus of
maddening annulment,
shattered pieces,
laid there in their raw glory to view.
 
Are these pieces able to be
pieced together again?
as of yet,
unknown,
the picture’s something still
jaggedly beautiful to behold.

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

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  • Poem: A Funny Little Poem – 26/04/20

    Poem: A Funny Little Poem – 26/04/20

    It’s three in the afternoon,
my tummy begins to grumble!
Time for a snack,
what’s on the menu?
Possible thoughts are tossed and tumbled.
 
A muesli bar?
A chocolate slice?
Caramel latte or a tea?
My stomach further grumbles:
rejection!
It seems these treats are not for me.
 
I open the fridge,
peruse available drinks and snacks,
but suddenly my eyes fall on a package
with a smiling cow upon it
and I know what I’m going to have!
 
Cheese, cheese, on crackers,
yes please,
dairy delicious and fine
and completely, utterly mine!

I’ll munch my way
through this treat and smile,
it seems far too long;
I’ve not had cheese in a while.
 
Now satisfied,
I grin from ear to ear,
my tummy complains no more,
delighted is its mood,
of this I can assure.
 
I'm no longer hungry or temperamental,
those around me should have no fear,
this little afternoon treat has raised my mood,
and that’s a stellar feat.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay  

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  • Poem: Coldness – 26/04/20

    Poem: Coldness – 26/04/20

    the air is icy,
precipitation,
crackles,
I am amazed by the ongoing
incoherence of the
patterns of snowflake icicles.
 
harder becomes the dark night air
with every accumulated breath,
they gather,
layer,
through them I soon
cannot stare.
 
the walls surrounding me
are now thicker than an Eskimo’s igloo,
the protection is not hindered
because all that can destroy it
are heat and brute force towards it,
both things readily unavailable.
 
I stare upwards,
my eyes glazing over the shining surface,
I want to slide my bare hands across the walls
but cold burns do not
appeal to me,
 
instead I huddle my knees to my chest,
internalising the heat that I have left,
powering through,
I need a thermometer to catch
the correct reading,

but I will be fine for the time being,
this frigid air my lung sacs are suckling,
they’re managing,
they are managing.
 
beware, beware,
the negative further drops,
gusts of wind blow through the cavity’s entrance,
my matted, unkempt hair,
a frostbitten decorated mop.
 
it’s far safer indoors than
it is outside in that deep blizzard,
breathe in,
breathe out,
at least inhaling the
warmer huddled air 
is marginally easier.

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

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  • Poem: The Cobra Attack – 25/04/20

    Poem: The Cobra Attack – 25/04/20

    Distortion fills my ears,
the drums,
the drums,
a cacophony
winds its way through,
auditory bombs.
 
I can feel the sound of livelihood
dripping from my ears,
these precious orifices,
here, there is so much to grin and bear.
 
Shell-shocked by the decibels,
I know that others enjoy their cause,
tainted sound waves,
an invisible cobra bites,
inserts everything an attack could possibly entail.
 
And now it wraps its way around my ankle,
my leg,
the constriction a welcome feeling as the venom
swims in my head,
 
the narrowed eyes,
the dutiful cause,
it’s attacked
and now the life it claims
is no longer mine –
would it willingly take yours?
 
Hallucinations swim before my eyes,
I’m held down,
down,
as though an unwilling sacrifice,
there now appears little tiny cobras
scattering toward me,
slivering collectively,
and I know my fate already,
outside my chest the frantic pounding rhythm
of my heartbeat grows.
 
They attack from all angles,
oh, the grief at knowing this may be the end,
suddenly a super, herculean
strength becomes of me
and I rise,
triumphant,
throwing and grabbing them off my body,
where they had suckled
and rested their vicious hungering heads.
 
I peel myself off the ground now,
escape is no longer difficult,
rushing into the wilderness,
away from the crazed cacophony
and altered visions
where I will hopefully find,
rediscover the safety of my herd.

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

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  • Poem: Crystal Gazing – 24/04/20

    Poem: Crystal Gazing – 24/04/20

    I gaze into the crystal ball,
eager fortunes and fierce dreams to find,
the smoky scene is quartered,
into sections the interpretations are spread,
their great divide.
 
There is something special about these areas
that makes one tingle and shake,
the magical moments of being able to envision
another’s hopeful future,
though occasional destitution features,
their saddening fates.
 
The vibrations of the visions,
they tell me to absorb them,
then move along, along,
there is no point in lingering past my welcome,
the spirit world assures me of this,
to remain longer would be inherently,
entirely wrong.
 
The spirits’ fleeting presence seeps
into and around
the crystal ball’s view,
telling me to reveal?
No, to withhold,
at most,
I understand this is the correct thing to do.
 
May the querant’s hopes be as receptive as
naked skin upon electrified flesh,
a certain truth he wonders,
or when she says,
“Fortune teller,
tell me old, 
share my fate determined ever
softly or bold.”
 
But, I cannot,
even if I am paid for the service,
a true teller obscures,
does not specifically state one way or another,
and all in due course.
 
Instead I smile and dote upon their
accompanying card reading,
positive traits,
and unwind-unwind,
they don’t need to continue
their obsession as to what their fortune might be,
unworthy of pursuing,
little point in trying to find.  

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

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  • Poem: The Path – 23/04/20

    Poem: The Path – 23/04/20

    Weariness, Weariness,
rests upon my head,
where cobwebs and stilted cogs lay well rested
in their beds,
the machinery’s movements have ceased,
Weariness allows me to take that break,
but behind the scenes I’m still ruminating,
I simply disguise it from him.
 
Aptitude, Aptitude,
once carefully measured with closely observed time,
makes me wonder now whether the path was worth
the efforts to propel me so far,
because what am I doing here with this life?
 
I know,
I know,
that intelligence comes in many forms,
not always those tested,
skills, handiwork,  
of Aptitude, many are assured.
 
Desire, Desire,
to be something more,
to perform something else,
to rise to the challenge and advance myself,
it is not only in the mind that Desire does seek,
a change,
a triumphant case,
in which I can alternatively speak.
 
Knowledge, Knowledge,
have I sucked you bone-dry from the pages
I have to tend to?
The parched paper with its annotations and highlighted markings
grins at me,
resonate reminders of hard work and times oh-so studious.
 
Whenever I am down on myself,
I simply need to glance at my words,
my interpretations,
the violin fingerings,
the sheet music’s markings,
 
and I understand that I have worked arduously
at several crafts,
and have returned to the original craft of my own.
 
Conclusions, Conclusions
are like cadences softly spoken,
the melodious cessations of my
quiet contemplation,
I’m not performing at Life so badly,
according to my efforts
I’m trying to better myself,
there is no need to sink, sink down,
to aim a tirade toward myself,
 
I am improving,
daily,
through the efforts of no one other than myself.  

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

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  • Poem: Emotional Flight – 22/04/20

    Poem: Emotional Flight – 22/04/20

    Triumphant whispers heard along the plains
as dire circumstances wane,
they express newfound freedom to be had.
 
Their softly spoken words
envelope like kid gloves,
they speak of goodness,
of hope,
of reinforced love.
 
Because with the returning of others
to another’s open arms,
the reuniting warms them,
it has been so terribly long,
 
or so it seemed,
the removal of allowance of
physical expression.
 
Heaven has now descended,
their adoration has been placed
into motion.
 
The duration’s away,
for some so painful,
though for others
they could cope better than their matches,
 
but here we are,
slowly reuniting again,
a scope of positive circumstances,
a veil now lifted to all,
feelings patched,
on the mend.
 
The control which was so utterly necessary
is gradually being withdrawn
and in the eyes of others
like them, us,
you and I,
we are able to express desires,
for simple touch, for embraces,
for everything able in company.
 
This period has made important,
a great highlighting,
of what may have been taken for granted by
you and I,
but for now,
we allow our hearts to be free,
emotions to positively fly.

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

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