Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: June 2020

  • Poem: When Normalcy Returns – A COVID-19 Poem – 14/06/20

    Poem: When Normalcy Returns – A COVID-19 Poem – 14/06/20

    The shopping centres
reflect ‘normalcy’,
how shopping trips
used to be,
 
no swerving or dodging,
people now calmly walking,
going about their
business leisurely.
 
I see less face masks,
less pairs of latex gloves,
fewer irritated frowns,
 
the pace of shoppers
is an amble,
some a happy stroll,
no harried eyes
and frightened demeanours
like during the restrictions of old.
 
I am so pleased that
things are returning
to normal,
COVID frightened,
caused panic,
and that’s seemed to recede,
 
we can go about
our business with
less fear,
even go to a restaurant,
sit down for a hearty meal!
 
Though there is
still a need to be cautious,
we’ve earned the right to
somewhat relax,
 
our heavy restrictions
stopped what could reflected
other nations' 
extensive, terrifying outbreaks, 
our swift shut down
controlled COVID’s potential mass spread.
 
Now with numbers
reflecting mostly containment,
we can cherish our
newfound freedom,
gratitude shining
in our eyes,
our confidence in being outside
has been building.
 
Ever thankful,
ever gracious,
a simple shopping trip
has opened my eyes,
we live in a land so blessed,
I hope we understand this,
I hope we realise.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

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  • Poem: Pretty Little Sparrow – 13/06/20

    Poem: Pretty Little Sparrow – 13/06/20

    Warbling, a pretty sparrow,
she’s come to visit thee,
to spread wonder and good tidings,
perfection uttered,
pure beauty to be seen.
 
She scratches around
the back garden,
throwing her head back,
intelligent eyes glinting occasionally,
 
she is here with great promise,
her effect is really something that
needs to be felt
to be believed.
 
Suddenly, inspiration flows through
your left hand,
images, metaphors,
swim in your mind,
 
she’s here to inspire,
you suddenly realise,
her presence within yours
a desirous prize.
 
How lucky you feel
that upon you she’s bestowed
her ability to assist you
with poetry, prosody, and prose,
 
the great joy you feel,
as electricity flows through your very being –
she flutters her wings now,
it appears she wants to be wholly seen.
 
No more scratching among the shrubs and twigs,
no more blending in with the boughs and leaves,
she warbles,
she tweets,
the triumphant beauty of her song
almost brings you weeping, to your knees.
 
But you’re unable to pay homage to your muse
because your left hand,
primed with pen
is moving erratically, furiously,  
injected with the power of thoughts
and their mystical clouds and threads.
 
What have you created? I wonder.
Is there something amazing across the page?
Your quiet sense of knowing,
the struck inspiration,
running cursive which shall be typed and saved.
 
And now our beauty flits,
flies high,
up and away,
we will sit here waiting together
for Sparrow’s next arrival
to inspire you another day.  

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

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  • Poem: Your Place in This World – Spoken Word and Text – 13/06/20

    Poem: Your Place in This World – Spoken Word and Text – 13/06/20

    Please listen and read along…
    Have you ever thought to yourself,
have you wondered:
where is my place in this life?
Does my existence matter?
What is my calling?
Where do I belong?
 
Though you may have been
floundering in the shallows,
the seabed unfamiliar, 
grainy sand particles
your feet know not of,
 
one day, perhaps soon,
you’ll be standing
on your own two feet,
watching the calming ocean
all around.
 
You may have felt
as though you were
treading water,
your head bobbing dangerously
up and down,
 
at times gasping
for air –
sweetheart, you’ll never drown.
 
For within you
is such quiet strength,
you won’t be surpassed
by these coming waves,
 
they will relinquish
their drive,
their fury,
their abominable war cries,
behold here:
 
they dissipate all around,
there is no need for
their tumult,
your internal power has been captured,
it has been grasped,
it has been found.
 
So, sway in the pristine blue,
arms open
either side,
your place in this world
is here and now,
of your journey
you will decide.
 
Now, wonder to yourself,
why was there any need for panic?
Your cheerful form
playfully bobs,
you move freely to and fro.
 
Your place is where
you make your mark, 
the settled sediment
as feet firmly plant themselves
in the grains,
 
I welcome your arrival,
your destiny awaits,
go forth,
explore,
challenge yourself,
make your own fate.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by stokpic from Pixabay
Music: "Opus One", by Audionautix

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  • Poem: Returning to the Strings – Spoken Word and Text – 12/06/20

    Poem: Returning to the Strings – Spoken Word and Text – 12/06/20

    Spoken by Lauren M. Hancock.
    I feel inept,
my instrument
has not been touched
for months.
 
I blow aside the proverbial dust,
hold my violin up,
my fingers grasp it somewhat awkwardly,
how could I have allowed
my practice to lapse?
 
No excuses of being
too busy,
but rather lacking
the motivation
to allow my fingers
to become less lazy.
 
I try to drag the bow
across the strings,
skating sounds,
harsh tones,
this should not be how
the heart speaks.
 
I try an improvisation,
a fast, hindered passage
ensues,
 
no delicacy,
no tones so loving,
where are the docile tunes?
 
I am disappointed in myself,
if I had kept up the hard work
there would be less difficulty
for pleasing notes to be heard –
 
time to dedicate myself
to the hard work
once more.
 
But the recurring scales now,
with their tedious requirement,
because of my returned boredom
they will be ignored.
 
Best to explore,
regain my interest
in this beautiful wooden structure,
let it return as a dedicated pastime
my skills, will they shine bright?
When will they return?
 
With time, they will,
I am sure,
I will work arduously
at acquiring and fostering them again.
 
Soon enough, wonderful melodies
sing from the strings,
I sway with the rhythms,
the emotions,
the feelings,
 
though it took time
to return to a level of skill
acceptable for my high standards,
there’s always room for one
to progress even further.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Walter Wellborn from Pixabay 
Music "I Don't Want To Do This Without You", by Midnight Feeler, from YouTube Library.

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  • Poem: Unreachable – 11/06/20 #Fiction

    Poem: Unreachable – 11/06/20 #Fiction

    Intermittent beeps,
one through three,
Why can’t I reach you?
It’s devastating me.
 
Engaged signals
as my frantic calls go on and on,
I need you,
I want you,
can’t you consider what I want?
 
I resort to messaging,
walls of text,
unanswered,
unseen,
forever to be unread?
 
Can you forgive me
for what I’ve done?
Not everything is as it seems,
 
the thread in our
tight line has unravelled,
will you answer me, please?
 
My desperation grows
the longer you won’t attend,
anger,
I’m raging,
vicious thoughts run through my head.
 
Everything you think
and thought I have done
is all hogwash,
it’s nonsense,
borne of gossip from a jealous throng,
can’t you consider other possible circumstances?
 
I thought you loved me,
“eternally”, you did say,
now left unreachable,
my explanations ignored,
bittersweet,
you’ll not hear what I have to say.
 
And the tragic facts
of this debacle
are that they only saw me with him,
at an unplanned meeting,
laughing at a silly joke of his.
 
I may have brushed his hand briefly,
a few too many times,
but darling, oh, my darling
know I need you,
please remain forever mine.
 
So, forgive me of my shortcomings,
my thoughtless, flirtatious behaviour that day,
I meant no harm,
I should have smiled,
and walked the other way.

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

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  • Poem: A Flourishing Rose – 10/06/20

    Poem: A Flourishing Rose – 10/06/20

    Creation, creation,
how could we have created a love
so pure?

Inklings of adoration,
a potential pink,
a potential blue.
 
The resonance of a
tiny being,
held within,
encased so true, 
 
a monumental revelation:
we didn’t mean for your making,
but darling, how I already adore you.
 
In my heart of hearts
I know the journey will be rough,
but I am prepared, I know myself,
our bond will be perfect,
I feel the connection already;
it is more than enough.
 
You’re growing every moment,
germinated from a seed,
flourishing into a rose,
perhaps you were quietly planned,
exceptional,
subconscious desires grown.
 
And I understand the implication
your arrival will have on
our and other’s lives,
 
a bundle of beauty,
a bundle of joy,
your face serene and sweet
and bright.
 
I will watch you grow,
lovingly attend to you
during your years,
 
our lives changed for the better,
unconditional love to bestow,
upon you this we will give.
 
Though a rose is a rose
by any other name,
I shall hold you
in my arms,
anonymous though you may be,
you will be precious all the same. 
 
You are my creation,
our pride and glory,
Rose you shall be,
by your very own name,
 
so tiny in my protective embrace,
I draw you close,
inhale your fresh scent,
 
united our lives are,
you’re the missing piece of our puzzle,
it’s so wondrous to welcome you on this day.

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

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  • Poem: The Inspiring Nature of Silence – Audio and Text – 09/06/20

    Poem: The Inspiring Nature of Silence – Audio and Text – 09/06/20

    Melodious but intrusive tunes,
notes pummelling my head,
I need serenity,
a sense of quiet,
for my thoughts to develop, to process
and later be said,
then shared.
 
The music, though in the background
it is rude, unintentionally evicts,
any chance,
any sense of imaginative words
to be brought to life,
with the distraction
they fail to exist.
 
The notes,
the rise and fall of melodies,
they are truly terrifying and deafening,
a lack of threaded thoughts, 
a barren forest of consciousness,
I traverse,
I wander blindly.
 
Though at a volume,
a decibel,
that may
calm another’s senses,
 
relax them,
muscles easing tension,
brain waves altering,
 
to me,
it is like a repetitive
noisy neighbour,
relentless,
intent on knocking for a shared and unwarranted
cup of tea,
I don’t know about others,
but my creations need silence all around me.
 
Thankfully my explanation
of this music as a distractor,
allows another to understand
that with my thoughts I am their maestro,
of them my will should command.
 
Though it may seem ironic,
that a being such as I
with a musical background
such a large part of my life,
cannot bear creating
my words with an unwanted backing,
 
this is the way I know
my best state of mind
in which to be,
 
I want the silence,
the silence,
where moments of creativity
can easily strike me.
 
The moment the intrusion is ceased,
the moment silence arrives,
what hits me?
 
A burst of inspiration,
I reach for my pen,
and hope to vividly capture the leading thoughts
in my mind,
perhaps I’ll make my own poetic music,
rhythm, metre, tone, rhyme.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Comfreak from Pixabay
    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/the-inspiring-nature-of-silence-spoken-word-poetry

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  • Poem: A Scorned Beast – 07/06/20

    Poem: A Scorned Beast – 07/06/20

    Night mode –
do my wings terrify?
Does the beat of these bones and membranes
send terror, shivers down your spine?
 
I am ready for the evening,
suit of armour here for protection,
although I won’t need it,
besides,
it’s only a matter of deflection.
 
I shall reign triumph and terror
where I see fit,
your lashing anger and fury show no signs of abating,
how dare you,
with tempestuous words direct hit upon hit?
 
I am ready for you,
and those of your kind,
my wings,
with their enormous span –
do they terrify?

(28/05/20)

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

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  • Poem: A Poet’s Winter Sky – 06/06/20

    Poem: A Poet’s Winter Sky – 06/06/20

    A winter’s sky,
weather crisp,
sights so blue,
 
I sit outside by the table,
drawing my thoughts out,
they fly;
I peruse.
 
Above and around me,
they permeate in the
sharp, chilling yet
welcome frigidity,
floating like pieces of a puzzle,
of which only I am arranging.
 
A word here,
a phrase there,
then suddenly something
has become,
 
constructed,
connectivity,
my will, my hopes,
have been done.
 
And in this space
in which I quietly exist,
this realm which is
my own,
 
I lay ownership
to my creation –
the crisp air, blue sky
has brought this about,
another pattern has been woven,
tightly sewn.
 
How I love this finality,
but the work is not yet complete,
more revision to make it so,
 
time to extract the laptop,
carefully type the words up,
will they be enough?
Will Winter smile upon me
for what I have told?
 
She has been so forthcoming
with her ability to chill and to shine,
these words, these phrases,
will she be pleased?
Will my efforts be recognised?
 
And finally, I am finished,
satisfied I am with myself,
these moments which wafted
around my mind,
no longer singular pieces
of a poet’s daily grind.
 
The former puzzle of themselves,
now held together in a certain style,
I hold the resultant product close to me:
a hard-earned prize,

and huddled in my thick jacket,
I radiate a beaming smile,
 
Winter has inspired me,
I feel her mirth,
her approval,
this joyous feeling,
I will treasure it for a bit and a while.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo my own.

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  • Poem: Am I To Blame? – 05/06/20

    Poem: Am I To Blame? – 05/06/20

    By the skin of my teeth,
the scraping of my nails,
I’m fighting for escape,
freedom from this personal hell.
 
How did I get here?
Perchance, do you think
I even know?
 
The aching and the longing,
the pain, this vivid suffering,
guttural shrieks,
I’m alone,
but not completely by myself.
 
For these dull thoughts,
their lack of rambling,
their mind-dulling medications,
 
my blurred, stunted abilities,
no longer independent,
only permitted a stupor
behind elders and staff
I am meant to be following.
 
No bright sparks,
my light,
my synapses have been capped,
 
I’m disgusted with myself,
the mental apathy,
physical lumbering 
I show and have within,
the aftermath.
 
Is it my fault?
Because I went off meds?
Seeking that glorious manic high,
to ride those ecstatic waves,
is there a suitable alibi?
 
For eventually, I plummeted,
deep despair,
I could barely swim,
coagulating sin,
what have I done,
the wreckage before me:
life’s comical misery.
 
And I wallow
in the blackest, languid part of me,
is this what they call barely living?
My mood, my pace, my life,
simply crawling?
 
The prince and princess fled in my tale,
only grimy kingdoms
are where my soul has been called,

the hollowing,
never-ending emptiness,
this gnawing depressive hell,
for the former intensity of my world
I plead and I beg and I wail.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Anemone123 from Pixabay

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