Month: July 2020

  • Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    I’ve painted myself into a corner,
    with heavy shades
    of red and black,
    crimson for the
    heartache,
    darkness for the emptiness 
    after the fact.
     
    When I lost access to 
    my chaotic world,
    a paradise I shouldn't 
    have cherished,
    I felt broken, 
    no recourse,
    misunderstood, 
    essentially alone:
    
    Whom could I waltz through life with now?
    Whom was left to cast my 
    charming smiles upon, 
    to share my lofty views 
    in excited tones?
    
    When he or she or another one left,
    and those other important ones, too,
    it seemed as if I’d lost 
    my everything,
    but now, at these
    warped memories
    I wonder: who on earth were you?
     
    They had little lasting impact
    on my life,
    simply passers-by
    who only meant
    themselves well,
    their sudden absences without alibis,
    their silences spoke their truths,
    I am now completely underwhelmed.
     
    Selfish needs later attended to
    after some uncomfortable, 
    hastily arranged dates - 
    
    their halfhearted, 
    lackluster attention cast over
    foamed four dollar coffees -
    'wise investments':
    I was viewed as a stock market who
    should pay dividends later that day.
    
    I proved so desperately hopeful 
    for positive connections, 
    genuine interactions, 
    yet my lonely eagerness,
    was perceived as a targeted weakness, 
    I would later bend, shatter, 
    and break.
    
    Some chanced manipulation 
    to slyly extract from me  
    without my whole realisation or knowing,
    
    because I was sitting there 
    smiling,
    consenting,
    hopefully waiting,
    my obvious yearning 
    for acceptance
    continually, perpetually growing,
    like hungering, destructive flames,
    they consumed me. 
     
    Made pliable,
    easily melded,
    I allowed my 
    resolve and will
    to be bent,
    to be repeatedly stung red-raw 
    as though by a heated iron poker's end, 
    to be tarnished,
    and for what?
    
    Absolutely nothing,
    my efforts and emotions all ill spent.
    
    Yet another 
    redundant contact
    to be eventually blocked or 
    erased from view,
    naivety and gullibility stole 
    the best of my younger years, 
    this is an essential, festering truth.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Marion Grimm from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    I am transfixed,
    here is my ability
    to stare down those eyes –
    you take me near and far to
    your paradise.
     
    You have dragged me from the cold,
    the frigid icy depths,
    and set my heart beating freely,
    I’m gasping life again.
     
    Your selfless gift of air
    I can barely comprehend,
    the self-annihilation of emptiness;
    I no longer need to fear nor dread.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Where is the bite,
    where is the snarl,
    where is the slightly obnoxious
    nature to my scrawl?
     
    Why is – here –
    softness shown
    when all I wanted to portray was
    bite, snarl, bite?
     
    Isn’t it odd that
    revealing vulnerability
    can make me feel
    so empowered then
    sickly weak inside?
     
    Like reaching to touch
    the underside of a
    floaty blue bottle jellyfish,
    it is enticing, appears so tender,
    yet danger silently lurks,
    its mesmerising imposition,
    the impending poison
    speaks of
    my scrawled pains, too.
     
    I can rediscover my spikes,
    my ability to cause chaos,
    the alliteration,
    the harsh 
    ck ck ck,
    no wide mouthed assonance,
    no openly assessing audience tasked with
    observing my aching abnormalities,
     
    I’ll sink my teeth in,
    create a toxic pair of punctures
    for my poison to glide its way through.
     
    Then the venom
    can flood,
    overwhelm this
    Surviving Victim –
    am I truly such a thing?
     
    My latent negativity can
    overwhelm them, you,
    last night you subtly alerted me to this.
     
    I have sadly travelled
    throughout recent years
    on a path of personal
    bitterness which repels,
     
    and negative swimming thoughts
    toward myself,
    they’re not purposeful,
    but they are well practiced,
    this bite has become well-worn.
     
    Am I truly an overly grumbling entity
    who should simply
    brighten her mindset,
    because that is
    easier to see?
     
    It’s not so simple,
    I’ve lived with
    snark and bitter tones
    the last few years of my adult life,
     
    I shall try, however,
    to allow the kindness
    to rise from beneath,
    penetrate my being,
    and speak such kinds words
    to myself
    because, maybe I am deserving of these.
     
    Then, my acerbic tone may dissolve,
    the cuts upon my paining tongue,
    healed or removed,
    whichever self-imposed punishments
    I practice thrown away,
     
    I can hopefully again be labelled as free,
    having shed this layer,
    this skin,
    this disease,
    of coldness, sadness, and dismay.
     
    One can still retain the bite
    without making the world feel uncomfortable.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Olya Adamovich from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Have you ever been so crabby because
    you’ve been without your coffee?
    Don’t deny it,
    I know you know what I’m talking about.
     
    Nothing will do as a substitute,
    the black tea,
    holistic herbal concoctions,
    coffee, coffee,
    the strong caffeine hit,
     
    it’s what I am needing,
    it’s what my soul hounds for, 
    this substance I am seeking,
    desperately begging for.
     
    Don’t tell me that I’m petty,
    that I’m a pseudo-addict,
    I need this to function properly,
    can’t you hear my futile cries,
    cannot you view my need?
     
    I know there are others just like me,
    put your hands up,
    express your empathy,
     
    let us join together
    and perhaps you can
    provide me a large pot
    of steaming liquid so dark.
     
    I’ll mix in creamer and sugar
    with such flamboyance,
    my heart full of splendour,
    the first sip is what I’ve been dreaming of,
    that which my heart has been
    aching to be delivered.
     
    And this sip finally rolls onto my tongue,
    scalding my taste buds,
    running down my throat,
    such a welcome sensation:
    I love coffee the most.
     
    I survive on it,
    I thrive off it,
    it doesn’t wire me anymore,
    it’s pure functionality,
    I need it to be,
    please allow me to push aside
    your humble cup of tea.
     
    And now my kitchen is stocked up,
    beans, grind and instant, 
    whichever mood I’ll be in,
    and with wonder and amazement
    I’ll take in this spectacular substance,
     
    and survive all day long
    with a smile across my dial,
    I must drink and drink and drink,
    to satisfy my high tolerance.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    SoundCloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Sometimes you can tell
    what is lingering beneath
    the surface,
    the shining reflection
    stares back at you,
    
    and you understand
    you’re that person
    who wants and needs 
    to express her existence,
    through illness, 
    through wellness,
    which status, 
    it does not matter,
    
    your arranged words
    determine the
    careful revelations of 
    your circumstances.
    
    You then wipe the
    reflection aside,
    slap the surface away,
    dig desperately
    through the lake where 
    memories lurk,
    until you discover
    
    bones and meat
    and elbows and toes
    and further down
    your treasures:
    
    your sparkles,
    your fizz,
    your fairy wings
    which helped you rise
    and fly lightly around the globe,
    
    that light which had dragged
    many unfortunate moths, 
    toward their ending flame.
    
    Yet you are far more intelligent,
    you won’t allow yourself to burn,
    with your wings and sparkles,
    you sprinkle your 
    considered phrases and words,
    
    and then fly up and away, 
    your tales are no longer unheard,
    laden with surprises,
    won't you continue to sparkle and shine?
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Erica O. from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    I wonder:
    Is there such a thing
    as paralysis
    of creativity?
    The centre of
    my thoughts that hold
    intrinsic meaning,
     
    where fireflies dance
    and darkness looms
    and fervent flames
    of passion can
    fill this room.
     
    This room,
    which houses techniques
    and methods of madness,
    has been disabled,
    of smooth movements
    it simply cannot
    slide nor speak.
     
    This is not a lacking
    of inspiration
    but rather a
    hostile sense of
    forced contemplation.
     
    And I can sit here
    patiently waiting for this
    centre to regain fluidity
    its natural flow which takes
     
    my left foot, right foot
    gently forward
    until I reach,
    closer you,
     
    but this quiet solitude is disturbing,
    so, I shriek,
    paralysis now shocked,
    returning to life,
     
    stale tastes and thoughts
    flow, unwelcome,
    ridden of,
    from this now-chaotic scene.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Could you condense yourself
    into a single line?
    You, every fibre of your being,
    exposed, viewable, entwined.
     
    Who’s that knocking at the door?
    Pounding,
    “I’m here”, your intrepid war cry,
    single line, single file
    your name scrawled with mine.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by Julie Rose from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Micro Poem: Heartfelt Ribbons – 02/07/20

    Micro Poem: Heartfelt Ribbons – 02/07/20

    when you breathed life into me,
    i felt my tight ribbons unfurl,
    the edges of me curling under,
    towards my heart,
    decorating me whole.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
    
    There are moments of brightness among the numbness. A shine that burns through the darkness. Whoever brings you freedom, cherish them. Hold their presence close.  

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: Still Surprisingly Numb – 02/07/20

    Poem: Still Surprisingly Numb – 02/07/20

    As our car enters
    our street,
    around the bend
    the surprising sunshine greets,
    
    glorious, positive, shining,
    it strangely has
    no effect upon me.
    
    Where once I felt the
    warmth, the sunshine’s smile,
    now I remain hollow,
    there’s nothing brightening
    about.
    
    All I can remember,
    all I can recall,
    are the feelings of
    emptiness,
    when will I succumb
    to something
    more positive?
    
    It seems that while the weeks
    of introversion have
    yielded some success for me,
    
    the negative side
    of excessive rumination
    is that my eyes are now
    stained pensive,
    accompanied by a
    despairing lullaby,
    with no clearly visible dreams.
    
    Bright colours,
    warming garments,
    vivid flowers,
    used to heighten
    the corners of my lips,
    
    though now at these
    I stare blankly,
    my eyes and heart
    are underwhelmed.
    
    When did I permit
    all to be ordinary?
    Artistic inclinations
    no longer on the rise,
    
    a dulling effect
    upon me now,
    a colour is just
    a colour,
    no feelings or associations
    to see,
    to tempt my mind.
    
    To look out the
    window to the garden,
    yes, a winter’s bed
    is still beautiful,
    
    the way the sunlight
    basks upon the plants,
    bird sculptures seem to dance,
    bird baths slowly collect,
    gently clanging hanging chimes,
    a world carefully constructed
    yet it’s no longer part of mine.
    
    When will these
    feelings pass?
    I feel so stuck,
    encumbered then by this negativity
    which fails to cease,
    
    I need to rid myself of this
    pessimistic realism
    as I have deemed it,
    there is no need to fall into
    a wintry storm,
    
    where the unwanted snow
    dumps its fall of
    powder-soft drift,
    and I don’t even scramble because
    I cannot be bothered
    with freeing myself.
    
    So, I freeze,
    due to my despondency,
    my inability, 
    my lack of desire to escape
    will long keep me
    from roaming free.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    I’ve too much time on my hands.
    For some, this would be paradise,
    but for me, it’s a continual, 
    rising obsession of poetry
    and revisions filling my mind.
     
    I can spend hours and hours 
    retouching a word,
    retouching another phrase, 
    here and there,
    
    rephrasing this and rewording that,
    the stresses of syllables 
    hold great power,
    I am aware.
     
    Too much time is dangerous,
    I work arduously and arduously
    even if my words may be 
    ill received,
     
    I strive for perfection,
    the utmost that I can,
    though I need to recognise my work
    isn’t the centre of everything,
    it is not all-encompassing.
     
    But, for me, it’s a driving obsession,
    the need to write, correct, 
    edit and rephrase, 
    to ‘right the wrongs’,
    as they say,
    
    my words, they have 
    too much time
    to be altered,
    at night, I lay stagnant yet wide awake.
     
    My phrases cannot sit and marinate
    in their juices of potent honesty,
    because, I won’t allow this:
    changes and niggling, 
    internal suggestions
    are currently what compel me.
     
    So, what to do with 
    this obsession?
    This drive for perfection, 
    or as close to it?
    
    The need to present the best I can,
    that’s healthy,
    but this method I’m experiencing 
    is causing an unpleasant reaction.
     
    I could close the computer down,
    walk away for days or hours,
    but I’m far too attached;
    I’m stuck,
    
    to write continually 
    is my life now,
    it has become that 
    part of me where upon
    the gap in my heart 
    has been sewn.
    
    The stitching, the patching,
    of that broken, 
    missing piece,
    is now where 
    bushels of words and truth
    are overgrown,
    
    and my words, 
    in your mind, 
    I will speak –
    I’ll find it difficult if I were 
    to ever let go.
     
    Too much time has its setbacks,
    I’ll shut my notebook, 
    close the computer down,
    when will I learn to 
    slow my mind down?     
    
    When will I learn to 
    leave my words alone?
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image by nile from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram