Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: April 2021

  • Prose: Ghosts – 12/04/21

    Prose: Ghosts – 12/04/21

    I will detail a peculiar incident that I once experienced. One might attribute it to tiredness, others to something more intriguing and perhaps with some elements that could be further looked into upon then, and future nights. 

    As I rest upon the couch, I close my eyes and strangely experience this golden sensation of euphoria. It is like white lace woven with golden, glistening lace, and around my forehead I feel this certain aura. It’s odd, this sensation, it is one like a state of bliss, it is encompassing my upper face now and throbbing almost from within. Suddenly, something mischievous and perhaps malicious passes through me and then I am wearing this slightly deranged grin upon my face. It’s as though a spirit has overtaken me for the moment, and now gone is the white and golden lace. I remark to my friend close by that to me, its colour is that of deep purple and black; he humours me, I suspect, but he wants to leave this spiritual talk at that. 

    “Are you returning to when you wanted to see ghosts again?” he asks. I don’t know what he’s talking about, I can’t remember those times at all, they must have long passed. I scoff at him, tell him I’m not looking for ghosts, but was there something here, that passed by, I wondered, aloud? 

    “Sensations can be powerful,” he replied simply, and with a slight, and worried shrug. I’m not concerned. Though, of these sensations I am mildly curious enough. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Denis Oliveira on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Invincible – 12/04/21

    Poem: Invincible – 12/04/21

    Sometimes you think you’re invincible, 
    able to take on the entire world, 
    chest puffed out, 
    arms proud, 

    but darling, understand the situation 
    and the weaknesses, 
    I wouldn’t want you to be unnecessarily 
    harmed or pained for a short while. 

    Take some deep breaths, 
    relax, 
    know that you’ll progress without this bravado, 
    you don’t need to show off to others, 
    you don’t need to be acknowledged widely for your
    inner and outer strength to be known. 

    Everything will be fine if you leave it alone, 
    the world will keep turning on its own, 
    events, disasters, 
    negative persons, 
    all will rise and fall without the throw of little stones, 
    calling of names, or smiles turned into violent frowns. 

    Take a leaf from my book, 
    isn’t it easier to remain calm, 
    isn’t it smarter, wiser, to be truthful and wear that mark 
    upon your arm, 
    there is no need for armour when 
    your heart is already in a mode of protect, 

    no need for assault or retribution
    to those who have been niggling for so long, 
    intruding on a life from times now so old. 

    Leave him, 
    leave the situation, 
    allow the feelings to rise, 
    be filled to the brim, 
    but then dissipate, 
    there’s something poignant in crying out
    the anger then allowing it to echo away, 
    its very own din.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    I wonder to myself, does Time heal most wounds?
    Does it help scab over the surface of gashes 
    more permanently than over a clumsy bruise?

    Will it fix the mistakes, 
    the errors of time gone by?
    Allowing for a reprieve, 
    a chance to redo the actions, rather than saying goodbye?

    Or perhaps Time heals the wounds and allows the person
    a chance to move on after aching for many moons. 
    Maybe the healing is a motion that simply occurs
    the less we think of them, 
    a widened universe that wouldn’t allow us to forget them so soon,
    but then thoughts of them gently intrude. 

    We needed the chance to digest the actions, 
    the gashes, the slashes, emotional warfare, and then…
    we have healed, it has taken Time, this we do know, 
    forgiveness may appear stupidity or ignorance, 
    but people are human, and mistakes we must allow for, 
    and dismiss, and for the future, know.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.    
    Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash               

  • Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    I darn the threadbare blanket, 
    there are weaves showing to me, 
    I’m not alarmed by its fragility, 
    it’s actually perfect to see.

    Because it signals much use, 
    desirous times,
    this blanket speaks of laughter, friendship and truth,
    is loving deemed a crime? 

    This blanket’s been with me through a lot, 
    covering, securing, protecting, 
    I darn the holes away, 
    renew it –
    it’s anew!
    with only little errors to view, 

    but are they really errors?
    This covering signals the bond between you and I, 
    it links me to others too, 
    with these friends there’s no need for goodbye. 

    The threadbare areas are reminiscent of our 
    times where we lingered, conversed, and loved, 
    the blanket itself is signalling the quality of my friendships
    with few and far in between, 
    a small quantity of quality now, 
    what is there left not to love?

    I am no longer bereft by the smaller number, 
    it’s not about quantity, 
    it’s about cherishing who and what these friendships are,
     
    the blanket caresses us, 
    carries us under,
    I am grateful for them, 
    and everything. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.           
    Photo by Nery Zarate on Unsplash        

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  • Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    A dainty bow signals a gentle approach, 
    the lady will accept without any form of reproach. 
    She takes his hand and they twirl, swirl with glee, 
    palm to palm now, 
    solemnity, 
    there is no chance to flee. 

    In perfect style, they then waltz and careen,
    to others it’s as though their joyfulness has ne’er been seen, 
    but today, it is on show, 
    it is accumulating, 
    like maidens smiling in a row, 
    greeting their dance partners, 
    in beautiful outfits, decorated from head to toe. 

    I smile upon the scene playing in my mind, 
    the partners sway and sway, 
    closeness here to find, 
    their emotional capacities sing, 
    they’re together through everything, 
    they’ve selected, 
    they’ve chosen, 
    ahead a vast ocean of positivity Life will bring.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.                   
    Photo by Scott Broome on Unsplash

  • Poem: Amends – 05/04/21

    Poem: Amends – 05/04/21

    It’s considered ludicrous, 
    as this pencil draws as pen, 
    impermanence detailing permanence, 
    can history make amends? 

    In truth, in part, 
    will hope, will fresh knowledge renew?
    In truth, in whole, 
    intentions grown strength to strength 
    and full. 

    But, unmanageable, so it seems? 
    By a world of common sense and 
    split former seams,
    will future tense stretch in excess, 
    parading that which should shriek with joy, not distress?

    I speak of stitches, 
    popped at their entry points, 
    I mention stitches, 
    now being repaired thrice by thrice. 

    I speak of strings ringing with vibrato, 
    these fingers are tremulous, 
    gently rolling, 
    creating that beautiful musical sense
    now and for all tomorrow’s calling.

    But is there enough enveloping scope, 
    in the melodies nightly hushed, 
    in the tunes gently told,
    because one could be argumentative 
    and find insipid flaws 
    in shattered rhapsodies already spoke.

    One must be patient, 
    and wonder not, or perhaps continue to dance, 
    it’s dangerous around certain fires, 
    but some flighty ladies love to linger and prance.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Image by Kateřina Hartlová from Pixabay      

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  • Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

    Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

    The cloak and the dagger lie in the foreground, 
    awaiting to be employed, 
    ready for use. 

    What part of the present screams for perusal, 
    what part of the current? —
    tried, terrible and true? 

    Sheath that dagger, 
    hide beneath that cloak, 
    hear the nightly winds rustle 
    through the still-golden oaks,
     
    and if there’s desire for much more, 
    when the moments ought to be bottled,
    admired, 
    should culprits turn to run,
     
    ambiguity in tired breaths as
    innocence gives chase,
    justice will be told, 
    lest my breath expires, 
    laid to waste. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.                   
    Photo by Christian Lue on Unsplash

  • Poem: Lavender and Violet: A Little Tale – 02/04/21

    Poem: Lavender and Violet: A Little Tale – 02/04/21

    Violet and Lavender were the greatest of friends. They rarely fought, never had to make amends. Their hearts were in the right places, they assumed not in their lives now, they understood how to avoid moral corruption and rot, their positive moods would mutually grow and ascend. Their smiles were often worn with a glowing halo or crown which one could not usually see, but only when one focussed with great intensity. It was easy to understand these two just knew how be. They understood that the way to live life was with both vigour and kindness, always avoiding potential strife, associating themselves with kindness and niceness. They were lovely beings, these two shades, and they knew, they understood, that life was for living, and moments should be made, that Life was for positivity, for good. There was no extracting one another from a situation, because each wave they rode, they rose with a certain sense of mutual adoration and completion, their hearts had tales which would be eternally told. 

    One day, there came a time where everything seemed rather strained; Lavender and Violet were at their wit’s end, and this argument seems like it could not be saved. They did not know what to do, but they were chewing at the bit, wondering, What happened to our friendship? Is this it, is this it? 

    It all came about because Lavender could not handle because kept at arm’s length by Violet, whom was secretly carrying shades of green and red in her aura, without any yellow as a habit. Her glow was shining, but in a way that slightly perturbed; it reflected her inner state, and the ways in which showed what she currently desired and what she deserved. It was disappointing, really, and upsetting to Lavender, because she wanted Violet present, around for much longer, but it seemed she were pulling away, wanting her own space, it seems, and for that, this and that, she had to allow the tearing at the seams. 

    One cannot make someone stay, but they can leave without any form of rudeness or harshness, one can ensure they leave the slate clean, without emotionally leaving a desire for repair or dissolving of distress. And the factors within Lavender and Violet’s saddening tale, it that they’ll likely never meet again, and this is part of it all, and that’s the long and the short of it, such a difference from here and then. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Chris Ensey on Unsplash

  • Poem: We, the Featherhead Spirits – 01/04/21

    Poem: We, the Featherhead Spirits – 01/04/21

    We, the Featherhead Spirits, have much to offer the world. We dream in whirligigs, and seashells, and bunches of perfect pink pearls. We clutch onto hope, and fizz, and brightness that comes with positive things, and our hearts are content, we love to rise and accept everything that have been delivered, the goodness which Life has sent and brings.

    We, the Featherhead Spirits, come in many shapes and forms. We understand that there is more to the world than can bear or beg to belong, but we accept there is a rhyme and reason to everything we’ve seen or heard. We extend our gratitude to the moon and stars, to the sun in its pure element, to the universe in its true intent, and we accept that there’s nothing less than love to be had when we open our willing arms for what is good and decent. 

    We, the Featherhead Spirits are blessed as can be, we absorb the charismatic tunes that have been thrown to them, to us, to me, and we, the Featherhead Spirits, our plumage so beautiful and rough, grant us deliverance from that which is required, it is enough, it is enough. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by McGill Library on Unsplash