Month: June 2020

  • Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Every morning is the same for me,
    I rise, I pad, I create hot water that I stain 
    black with bitterness,
    a substance that does please.
     
    I open my laptop, 
    attend to the various avenues,
    hoping, wishing, waiting,
    for the stats to reveal certain clues.
     
    Is it bad to hope for the 'views'?
    Is it bad to desire more 'likes'?
    As someone who creates, I feed off the sensation
    that my work has some effect upon other people's lives.
     
    But views without likes,
    now that’s an interesting notion,
    they make my heart sink slightly,
    but I shan’t allow any sense of
    commotion,
    angst,
    anguish,
    or weighty rumination,
     
    to permit these existence
    would be unwise,
    something unwarranted,
    better to learn from 
    whichever mistake was performed
    and for my next creation
    strive for something 
    more appealing and perfected.
     
    There is no shame in understanding
    that occasionally one shall err 
    and one will fail
    at being the effervescent, welcoming being
    that appeals to most,
    
    but then again, some enjoyed the darker side of me,
    my prior pain, the rapid rise, 
    the subsequent self-imposed suffering,
    
    they empathised with these moments,
    perhaps because they proved that 
    humankind can fall,
    from my delicate mantelpiece
    I had fled, took my leave before them all.
     
    I suppose it’s better to vary what I show of myself,
    a slow striptease? 
    I'll undress myself to reveal not my skin, 
    not my muscles, 
    not my bones,
    but my inner strength,
    the quiet fortitude that lives within me,
    to reveal the true nature of myself,
    why, this is what I hope others will wish for 
    and quietly desire to read. 
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Hit and Miss – 30/06/20

    Poem: Hit and Miss – 30/06/20

    Sorry about that! I say,
    and scoot out of the way.
    I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.
     
    Sometimes my ideas carry offense,
    fall flat on their face,
    when will I learn to discern?
     
    It’s okay, you reassure, there’s no harm in experimenting,
    but sometimes what you think is entertaining
    is just damned wrong and overwhelming.
     
    I agree, I return, I’ll tell you the truth,
    I try really hard to gain favour from you.
     
    I know, we know, we empathise with your plight,
    better to write something, and not post it,
    instead, sleep on it for the night.
     
    Then awake with fresh eyes,
    a fresh mind,
    and then you’ll be ready to say:
    rubbish bin or approved pile??
    Your post has been published:
    waa-hey!
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Computer Helps You Lie – 30/06/20

    Poem: The Computer Helps You Lie – 30/06/20

    The computer helps you lie,
    it’s a well-known fact of life,
    the ability to dance fingertips
    on keys like the Devil’s never-ending trill.
     
    They fly across,
    a flurry,
    and suddenly, without me knowing,
    fiction has taken over,
    that’s welcome news to me.
     
    No more disguising of one’s facts,
    like bullets shot impolitely,
    rat-a-tat-tat,
    into the abdomen of a reader,
    they no longer feel my hurt,
     
    because fiction can prove softer,
    than truth over fact,
    the computer helps me lie,
    creates a differing life.
     
    A world where I can tell porkies,
    they’re welcome little tales,
    embraced they are
    by pin-pricked ears,
    lulled into a sense of quiet interest 
    that ebbs and flows and swells.
     
    And what say you to my actual truths?
    can I reveal them, too?
    Sometimes it’s better to live fictitiously,
    it’s safer here for you.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Exhausted,
    I roll into bed,
    does it roll back into me?
    That’s a question for myself,
    do you think it does so tenderly?
     
    The doona now wraps himself around me,
    presumptuous, he takes up over half the bed,
    it does not matter there’s nobody laying next to me,
    that space is for me to sprawl,
    not for Doona to spread!
     
    Electric Blanket quietly sizzles to himself,
    cackling softly as he overheats and overwhelms me,
    in the midst of my sweaty nightmare
    that is of my imagination’s frightening making,
    and the heat which he throws from beneath me.
     
    My socks want to escape, one is flowing from my ankle,
    the other is barely held by Big Toe,
    I scramble with opposing feet to Save the Socks
    from becoming redundant -
    oh wait, they already are.
     
    Doona has been thrown down,
    useless upon the ground,
    Electric Blanket is irritated his heat is no longer caressed,
    What about me?
    I am freezing!
    There’s no point doing anything but
    shuddering and trembling,
    sockless, without a blanket,
    it’s below zero degrees in Melbourne tonight!
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Pablo Elices from Pixabay 

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  • Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Loyalty can be twisted in this bitter life,
    one pledges themselves to you,
    through the bitter, through the challenging,
    through the positives, through strife.
     
    A hand outreached,
    a hand to hold,
    to be indelicately snatched away?
     
    What am I to do with myself,
    you swore to love me evermore,
    upon that magical day.
     
    We may have performed this ceremony
    with little formalities,
    little rules,
    a lacking of an officiant, a priest,
     
    but our careful words were filled with loving intent,
    our adoration was there to be seen.
     
    By the pond in the park,
    where waddled white happy ducks,
    we joined ourselves with love and hope,
    no matter that it was make-believe,
    this signalled our time,
    our moment,
    when our lives became so close.
     
    Entwined were our destinies,
    we were meant to meet,
    our fate so rich, so true,
    no matter the circumstances,
    you promised to cherish me,
    as I will always cherish you.
     
    As our friends and family
    stood by,
    so chuffed,
    so proud,
    a voice called from behind everyone,
    a bitter, demon-like sound.
     
    Did you realise what he did to you?
    Do you realise what he’s done?
    
    Open mouths,
    everyone turned,
    agape,
    to view this evil one.
     
    Her eyes were crazed,
    she was proud to show her wretched face,
    she screamed on and on
    that you have been unfaithful,
     
    you pulled your hand from mine,
    stepped forward to confront her,
    but with a sly grin,
    she dashed away on her own accord.
     
    Is this the truth? I demanded.
    It was something I could not believe,
    all nights spent together,
    You’ve always been with me.
    
    You shook your head frenetically,
    you would not humour that ‘basket case’,
    She’s an old flame, you explained,
    who was jealous when I left.
    
    I sighed with relief,
    surely this was the truth,
    you wound your arm around my waist,
    yet my mind knew what to do.
     
    I would not question you further,
    but I will investigate her details,
    what kind of a person with a mouthful of lies
    ruins an unofficial, yet heartfelt union??
    
    After the ceremony, you quietly pulled me aside
    to say...
    
    My heart is so devastated,
    my life will never again be the same.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Window Shopper – 29/06/20

    Poem: Window Shopper – 29/06/20

    Unsupported in this insubstantial lace,
    it is only here for the vision,
    the sensation,
     
    I may look ridiculous
    but I’m performing my utmost to spice things up,
    in a bid to improve your vision.
     
    I wrap myself tightly,
    thrusting hooks into greedy eyes,
    I cinch myself into place, 
     
    a glance into the mirror,
    surreptitiously take a few pictures,
    delicious, delicate attire destined
    for lonesome retail hangers.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Caroline Hummels from Pixabay

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  • A Quick Question for You…

    A Quick Question for You…

    I was wondering, is anyone is experiencing any problems playing the SoundCloud embeds I have placed in my recent posts?

    If you could please let me know yes or no in the comments, that would be great, thanks, and I will hopefully be able to sort out the problem if there is one.

  • Improvisational Poetry: “The Cacophony Cease!” – (Poem, Recording, Discussion) – 28/06/20

    Improvisational Poetry: “The Cacophony Cease!” – (Poem, Recording, Discussion) – 28/06/20

    Click image to listen to “The Cacophony Cease!” in browser or on SoundCloud.
    Method discussion below poem.

    "The Cacophony Cease!"
    
    I feel the reverberation
    through my fingertips,
    through my bones,
    into my marrow,
     
    a source of quiet vitality in which I encase
    certain memories,
    certain experiences,
    so potent and noxious
    they should only be for me.
     
    I won’t allow others to see or feel them,
    to experience the anguish,
    the pain,
    the ecstasy,
    that would prove far too much, you see.
     
    Besides, it would be untoward.
    it would be unwise,
    to share everything with everyone
    because there are moments
    in our lives which we must keep private,
    we must remain quiet,
    these need to remain secretive, you see?
     
    And suddenly here appears a character,
    she’s beautiful,
    dressed in lace and organza,
    her dress flowing,
    tulle behind her,
     
    as she twirls and twirls and twirls,
    like the fallen angel that she was,
    
    she is,
    she was,
    she is,
    she WAS!
    
    She is?
     
    Which one is it?
    It shouldn’t really matter.
     
    She’s on show and she knows
    that she needs to put on her bravest face
    that will ever be worn,
    because this dress, this petticoat, this tulle
    is just the theatrical,
    she’s hiding something
    but she twirls and twirls just as she knows how.
     
    The cacophony is growing louder in my head,
    ordering me to be quiet,
    to not dare reveal as much;
    not all needs to be shared.
     
    Because attention is not always as important
    as retaining as a sense of dignity,
    the reputation of oneself,
     
    and while dragging one’s experiences up and out,
    back to life, can be contentious,
    it’s not something which should be realised,
    it may not leave the best impression.
     
    It’s important to understand that where one has been
    is not where one is,
    and is not where one is going,
     
    the future is where we should be flowing.
     
    And that’s what I need to understand, always,
    to look to the future,
    to not always look behind to the past,
    for sitting comfortably in the present and
    aiming toward the future
    is what I want,
    is where I want to be.
     
    These violent noises:
    will the cacophony cease?
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock (Recording: Words, Music and Artwork)
    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/the-cacophony-cease-spoken-word-poetryimprovisation-by-lauren-m-hancock
    My Process of Experimenting with Improvisational Poetry
    
    When it comes to recording my poetry, usually I start with the words first and then record with or without a backing track. But I thought to myself last night, “Why don’t I start with a backing track and then just say whatever I want, on the spot and see what comes out?”
    
    It really was an interesting process. I came up with many different concepts to accompany the chaotic piano key bashing I had recorded many years prior during the height of a bipolar relapse. 
    
    In these improvisations, I spoke of my condition, I spoke of interrupted dreams and nightmares, I spoke of the sense of self, I spoke of creation. Many things. The problem was, there were parts of the recordings I liked, but others which I did not, such as when I would fumble, or when my ideas didn’t flow nicely, or were rather unimaginative. Within the errors though, were some great ideas I could have reused, but I just kept recording on and on without noting down the phrasings which I did feel were successful.
    
    As you might have noticed, as of late, I have been exploring my life by taking steps backward and assessing what has been, what should not have been, and now, what is, and what could be. Letting my words flow through my consciousness like a river or stream allowed me to explore what's on my mind, and what I deem as important at this current time for my work. 
    
    I finally tentatively settled upon one recording and put it up last night just as a draft to review it in the morning. I felt it was good, but not quite strong enough, so I set about writing out the script of my words, then adding and editing and subtracting. There was not much rewording. 
    
    Thus, here is the result of my improvisation efforts from last night and this morning. Please have a listen to “The Cacophony Cease!” I hope you enjoy it.
    
    I enjoyed the creative process myself. 
    

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  • Poem: A Second Wave? – 27/06/20

    Poem: A Second Wave? – 27/06/20

    The world is tense,
    while some are
    carefree,
     
    double digits daily,
    this is gravely worrying.
     
    Have we become
    too lax
    with social distancing?
     
    Family gatherings
    with warm kisses
    and hugs,
    entering personal territory?
     
    Outbreaks in
    differing neighbourhoods,
    participation in
    public protesting:
    some finger-point the blame,
     
    as they fought for
    rights and beliefs,
    making strong, fervent points,
     
    while some unknowingly
    spread coronavirus,
    while maybe mildly
    or completely unaware,
     
    are there truthfully
    some who should wear
    the blame?
     
    Did anyone detect early sickness
    and hold little concern for others,
    and show no care?
      
    Why didn’t they
    stay at home?
    Those with symptoms,
    but those asymptomatic,
    how could they have known?
     
    Retreat into
    the safety
    of your house,
    we don’t want
    firm restrictions
    back in place,
     
    although at this point
    it’s becoming
    seemingly necessary,
     
    isolation impending,
    for me, you,
    us and them.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Thank You – 27/06/20

    Poem: Thank You – 27/06/20

    Sometimes I don’t feel like writing,
    but something compels me
    to create,
     
    to dig deep beneath
    the superficial,
    to find something meaty,
    or rich like marrow, 
    a delicious read to taste.
     
    Something tantalizing,
    that the reader will
    hunger for,
    whetting the appetite,
    will palatable words soar?
     
    What can I create?
    What can I make?
    That will appeal to others
    evermore?
     
    It is my duty
    with this pen,
    to detail something
    both truthful and meaningful
    that cannot be ignored by them.
     
    But, I can fail in this measure,
    no matter the arduous
    work and time
    I put into a piece,
     
    some works are destined to 
    have little success,
    some untoward qualities that
    won’t beckon to thee.
     
    I can’t please everyone
    with my daily content,
    although I will
    thank you all,
    those who remain,
    those who decided to stay,
     
    even those curious,
    for a fleeting look,
    I am so grateful
    for your presence hereupon this day.
     
    Please visit another time,
    when you view the moment opportune,
    to share in my thoughts,
    up, up, and away.
     
    I know sometimes
    my words may be stale,
    perhaps for you
    they do not ring true,
     
    but I’m only human,
    with imperfections 
    just like you,
    and my words can
    carry fault with them, too.
    
    But I thank you for
    your attention,
    as I happily reflect
    or share bittersweet disconnect,
     
    and for allowing yourselves
    to be an audience,
    I am utterly thankful
    that my words you continue to peruse -
    
    I hope to see your inquisitive faces 
    again very soon.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

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