August 2020 – Page 2 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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August 23, 2020

Poem: Thrown Shades – 22/08/20

The colours splashed, slashed onto the page,
now mirrored onto the canvas by the
painterly effect of an artist’s hand which is unafraid.

She throws the shades freely,
brightly they shine,
evoking memories from a far more potent time.
 
An enveloping of emotion carries her away
to prior circumstances,
she dances with paintbrushes until the morning,

from night into day 
she waltzes and parades with them,
carrying momentous tones and hues their way.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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Poem: Quelled – 22/08/20

Night time should promise depth,
and warmth, and promises,
whispers of sweet tomorrows, and
tight caresses,
dreams, and deep rest,
instead: 
three hour’s sleep,
then wide awake in the same evening,
sleeping for half hour shifts,
then rising, eyes searching for the time,
wishing it were later, silently begging.
 
This sleep pattern is skewed,
it is all over the place,
I am suffering each night,
nocturnal, without wishing to rise so early or late,
what I would give for a solid night’s sleep,
my eyes are bloodshot,
dreary,
if I could stomach something
I’d surely feel less queasy,
and truth be told,
I just need proper sleep,
I could pop an extra pill and it would all be so easy,
but I am reducing this aid,
and this is a sure sign
that my mind needs adjusting,
to create chemicals to 
replace what the medicine
provided to quell my overactive mind.

But when I rise at six in the morning, 
after an hour of amazing uninterrupted rest,
I feel bright and satisfied that my body was 
exhausted enough to bless me with that extra slumber - 
I feel close to what could be this morning's very best,
and I know that later in the day I'll rest some more,
it's not so bad, after all,
just I'm living in a strange topsy-turvy style.

At least I'm getting some rest, 
it all adds up, 
better than never ever sleeping at all or never enough.

It'll only be temporary,
this topsy-turvy, Nocturnal Me,
I've been on this med for years,
how could I expect it to be undone so easily?
   
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ann Danilina on Unsplash

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Poem: Double the Fun! – 21/08/20

It’s your birthday tomorrow,
I awake up from a nap
and there are two cakes,
one in your favourite flavour,
and one in mine.
I only suggested,
never insisted.
Never knew there would be two.
Perhaps there’s going to be two separate celebrations,
aren’t you a special one, I smile: this we already knew.
 
One for us, our immediate family,
then one for the remaining –
my two far-off brothers, currently our ‘extended’ family,
it’ll be nice, actually, to watch your eyes shine,
complemented by the candle lights,
to giggle and understand that you’re having twice the time!
 
The mud cake is all yours,
you can have the richness,
it suits you,
and the sickeningly sweet salted caramel can be for us three,
but mainly for later,
perhaps sneaked in for you and me.
 
Advanced happy birthday,
I hope you have a wonderful time,
blowing all those candles out!
Celebrating, amazing, I will proudly watch your joyfulness thrive.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by April Pethybridge on Unsplash

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Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

This is dedicated to my mother.

To be brave means to ignore that knot in your stomach,
to fight its twists and turns,
to be resilient within oneself,
to know all will be fine even if there’s a chance it won’t.
 
To be brave is to put on that face of strength
for your friends and family,
to not allow yourself to crumble within,
to take everything within your stride,
to face this with a smile,
a smirk, a grin.
 
To be brave is to research absolutely everything,
to be most informed means to be most prepared
for if all the details and statistics are known,
does this not mean a more intelligible road?
 
You are brave --
I can hear and see the positivity
in your words and eyes,
not once have I seen a tear shed,
body curled in suffering or misery within your bed,
and most certainly it’s because I know
that for you, yourself,
you understand you must be strong.
 
To make it through this with positivity and hope,
there is hope you’ll get through it soon enough,
this is the means through which you cope.
 
We are here for you at every turn,
here to offer calming cups of warm water,
or offer company, to sit quietly,
you bravely speak with close others
of the path ahead
as though its nothing,
nothing to worry about,
because you, you know you will mend.
 
There is only brokenness within,
and it’s a physical not mental state,
I never see any signs of mental suffering,
perhaps you hide it away from me,
expel it softly in your room when it becomes very late.
 
But for your journey,
you have no need to prove that you are brave
because I already know it
and now I’m truly seeing it,
you will make it through this storm,
you’ll become right as rain.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Duncan Sanchez on Unsplash

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Poem: Learning to Become Softer Again – 19/08/20

We’ve settled into a pattern of “comfortable”,
where we rest each day and call this perpetual state Home.
Where the isolation has become the norm,
we lay our weary heads down.
 
Our sleeping patterns are all askew,
but what does it matter,
we’ve all the time in the world to correct it,
is this not true?
 
We are insular,
we are a family unit,
through isolation
we have become closer, trust this,
 
and we are wrapped with this feeling of
personal warmth which comes from knowing
that through these times we will make it through.
 
The house has become more filled with love,
more of a home,
we spend time together
with less bickering,
less time spent alone,
it’s as if we have been purposefully drawn together again
for a specific reason,
a chiffon string bag encasing certain things from others who 
need not be privy to them.
 
And we are left here upon couches of two,
hearts further conjoining,
melding through and through,
we are learning to love more again,
we are learning to be softer again,
to care for each other
wholeheartedly again.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

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Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

I exist in a cavity which yawns,
through it winds the breath of a midsummer’s gusting around a yew tree’s
gaps and leaves.
 
This cavity has been hollowed out by a pneumatic drill of life,
its thoughtless operator did not check for underground hazards,
didn’t concern himself with the overhead wires
and animals upon their tails as hangers,
no, this negative space has been constructed only to my liking,
a place for me to exist,
my hiding,
he understood my needs.
 
Somehow, how can a widened interior house someone whose own interior
is still healing,
still shattered in areas, still widely-known for easily breaking?
I present in a different manner to stop the worrying,
to stop others holding concern, I am happy, though inside I could be better.
 
While I am unfulfilled, I am full of desire and drive,
within this small cavity I exist undisturbed,
able to construct my thoughts,
the drill shudders and trembles around me,
wanting to make more space for this growing body,
because, growing like my heart and soul, which repairs themselves slowly,
this place feels like home now.
It does, truly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jerry Zhou on Unsplash

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Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

If you could forget specific parts of your life,
would you willingly wipe that part of your mind?
 
Would you trade unwanted thoughts, experiences and dreams 
for empty compartments,
nothing to sift through,
nothing to see?
 
But is this not at the detriment of your history,
your comparison of experiences,
the gratitude of understanding
that sometimes, some things,
negative thoughts, sensations, memories
so terrible 
may be required as a means 
of showing brightness next to suffering,
the comparison is by its nature incredible.
 
Though, to purposefully cause oneself amnesia,
would there be side effects of this?
What would happen when we forget pain and suffering?
is it all it’s made out to be?
Did you know that from darkness and despair can sprout positivity?
 
The feeling that we’ve made it through,
either together or alone,
knowing we’ve braved the storm,
perhaps that’s enough to leave purposeful amnesia well alone.
 
Regardless of retained memories,
we will make it through.

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

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Poem: A Lasso on my Heart – 15/08/20

I’ve got a lasso on the moon and I’m holding him
so close to me,
his glow causes me such 
excitement and trembling,
because my hold on the moon is tight, 
though it is gentle enough to be kind,
and I know that our love for one another,
it is spectacular, it feels utterly right.
 
And here resides a man in the moon, why, he curses and scorns,
he is jealous of the Moon's and my love
thinking that I am set to take Moon away,
quietly, he is right,
I vow to snatch Moon from him with all my might.
 
This is not to say this man in the moon will be extracted,
nor will he be sent away to a land of unknown,
he can remain if he wishes to do so,
but he must understand my love for Moon is more
than he can ever have thought he’d be capable of performing,
let alone feel or inherently know.
 
I have a lasso on the moon but the moon has a lasso on my heart,
it seems like we’ll forever be entwined,
and never shall we part.
 
Moon smiles at me gently, and he wisely says,
“We must keep Man in the Moon wrapped within our hearts,
because if not, it is cruel to hurt another being's soul that way.”
 
I cry, “If only the pesky man in the moon would accept his relegation,
it’s not so harsh,
it’s simply a slight demotion.”
 
But Moon shakes his head, beams sadly now, and holds my hand,
“Our love cannot last a second longer, if you’re unwilling to accept the man,”
and with a gentle tug, up and away goes the lasso from around my luminous love.
 
He and his friend rise like a balloon into the night sky,
and take pride of place where everyone can all share in admiring their spirited light.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash

This poem has been written in response to Manic Sylph’s Writing Prompt #77, “I’ve got a lasso on the moon”. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!

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Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

words have power
i’m sure we’ll all agree
that words have strength,
wouldn’t you like to see?
 
i must reiterate that certain letters have bite
and some arrangements have sting
and when unacknowledged, watch the fire rage within.
 
i wonder whether it’s all worth it,
the ability, the drive to want to fight,
to stand up for what is right,
what is noble,
what is correct,
filled with might,
 
we are known for being powerful far longer than after our
inkwell’s stopped remaining wet,
no matter the censorship,
our words can never be truly wiped,
we will never sit with errant regret.
 
words can hold one captive and steady,
they can hold one as victim too truly sweet,
waiting for the sense of amorality to hit,
and I think,
is this it?
is this moment of truth, exposure to the cold visceral really worth it?
 
i could sit here contemplating the stab within my drawn arrow,
the poison behind my dart,
the strength behind my sideways swing,
the scrawled directions to a stairway still,
why is life directing us this way,
mismanaging its power,
righteous words, they manage to take,
these words might wish to heal.
 
though, they are not so powerful after all,
at least not in an offensive mode,
in fact, they can smooth over the sorrow,
I suppose, in a way that’s far more potent
than any attack method that could be
shown to those pulled into line,
life is dragging us in tow.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by David Pennington on Unsplash

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