Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Month: May 2021

  • Poem: The Fool – 22/05/21

    Poem: The Fool – 22/05/21

    Why is it true that
    I should pity the fool?
    Why can’t I watch Jester
    begrudgingly dance?

    His intention to amuse
    is something pure,
    or at least it is
    from a certain stance.

    He lives his life
    as a purposeful joke,
    take him seriously?

    No, that’s something
    we best comprehend,
    something we need to know.

    No matter his desire,
    his role and sense of
    greatness will not grow,
    he’s part of a social structure,
    a circumstance,

    and because society views him
    as a source of humour only,
    how can he ever be
    taken seriously?

    He knows, he knows
    his role, his place
    is to present to the king,
    a man so amazing,
    to hold the presence of
    such a man,
    why some would be envious,
    but others, not give
    a damn,
    authority to them
    does not impress,
    to royalty they’re impervious.

    But to hold court
    with the Crown,
    not as an equal,
    but as a joke,
    as amusement,
    meant that ego had to be
    overthrown,

    to be known as a fool
    when there’s so much
    within the mind,
    behind that frozen expression
    upon his face,
    his presence, his being,
    truly, foolishly,
    gone to complete waste.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by John Nail from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Alignment’ – 21/05/21

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  • Poem: Alignment – 21/05/21

    Poem: Alignment – 21/05/21

    In alignment with understanding,
    alignment with fresh truths,
    no stale visions or ideas,
    no biting coldness,
    there is only Winter’s
    artificial warmth,
    flowing and growing,
    hearts drift and imbue.

    The source of ideas
    shows presence,
    an historical strength
    of mind and character,
    bitter interior rooms
    need no envisioning,
    intention, brightness,
    shining through the
    murk so soon.

    Focusing on firm understandings
    and even when on shaky ground,
    to be open and available at
    every moment
    surely cannot permit eternal growth.

    Learning from a situation,
    protective harmony,
    dissertation,
    expanding awareness while
    being conscious of reality,
    it’s truly important
    for intentions to be
    set and to be seen.

    Being aware of what
    can be dedicated to,
    who, what, where, why,
    being aware of how
    moods work in dark
    then effervescent ways,
    supporting,
    being supported,
    then needing to breathe
    fresh air,
    a new space,
    extracted,
    self-instated to another place.

    There is freedom residing in
    the atmosphere,
    rising higher and higher
    like wise, airy intentions,
    fly away,
    becoming more,
    there is less drag upon the wind,
    Life has proven there’s so much
    to align with,
    so much there is in store.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Artem Beliaikin from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Spells and Magic’ – 20/05/21

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  • Prose: Spells and Magic – 20/05/21

    Prose: Spells and Magic – 20/05/21

    Spells and magic occur each and every day. It’s up to us whether we perceive them, or whether they go unnoticed – like glitter, they can fall before us, bright and vivid speckles falling where they may.

    A spell can touch the very tip of a nose and cause a sudden smile; one might not know why, how or when, but joy is flooding their insides again. Like a stork bringing an infant to the stoop, magic delivers us happiness and wonder – in order for emotions to converge, does a stork need to be truth? Can we not accept the notion and dream, of a desired, oft-prayed for delivery, as wholesome, contented proof?

    Spells, spells, spells, they’re all around, delivered from up above, and reverberation with insistence from down-below. A sorcerer never reveals the source of their conjuring, but ultimately though, they should project positive intentions onto us knowingly. A wand can lithely dance in patterns, held by a skilled hand, one gesture and a wish has been made at the wielder’s command.

    But what about ‘everyday magic’? Or the lyrical words and images of writers and poets? Or artists’ imagery and feelings splashed onto cardboard, paper and canvas? Or children’s peals of laughter, the licking of a cheek from a puppy-dog’s tongue, the social inclusion which makes one feel a part of a whole as fellow sports supporters join in song. The shivers, the goosebumps on one’s arms as something amazing is heard, digested, or watched, the assurance felt when one clasps hands with someone they truly love.

    All here is real magic, drifting from my pen, surely many more instances can be detailed, and I won’t need to repeat any tales of already-expended magic, for they’ll be so much for you to all presently share from your own pens.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Olya Kobruseva from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Cherished’ – 19/05/21

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  • Prose: Cherished – 19/05/21

    Prose: Cherished – 19/05/21

    A special meaning is encompassed by me today. I could sit and weep, allow my day to decay. I could jump up and dance, a public cover-up, a farce, but I’ll do neither of these upon this sun-shining morning in May.

    Instead, I will thread myself together, sewn and stitched, with determination, insistence, for me, repair isn’t a bother. Over time, each thread has painfully entered through, needle to skin, insertion of freshly-wound cotton, much to some’s chagrin. I am whole now, no dangling pieces, after years of floundering, I’m becoming daisies and roses, blooming to see, scented, delicate petals to touch. A figure made human, adorned with hearts and trust.

    This figure’s flowerbed is smaller now, visitors and residents are fewer, but still, in delicate rows, and they’re all admired and admirable, intricate and wonderful, each petal to unfurl, their own histories to tell.

    Within this garden, in this land on the property of a safe house, we are all gathered here today, some mended from brokenness, others in the midst of sad decay. These latter we cannot help but keep company as they slowly bend their heads and weep, today is their time for demise, but in this company, kind and true, they wouldn’t have their exit any other way.

    And from the dying petals, which should be preserved while scattered, by sheets of ornate glass, their colours will join with the earth, create food, life for others. Goodbye is not always despairing when they’ve been cherished in many ways. Goodbye can be a new way of voicing a fresh beginning, from the decay arises freshness, an opportunity for new life to shine and remain.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Nubia Navarro (nubikini) from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘I Will Not Write About Love’ – 18/05/21

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  • Poem: I Will Not Write About Love – 18/05/21

    Poem: I Will Not Write About Love – 18/05/21

    I will not write about love
    for I am not in it –
    surely, yes, I have
    experienced it,

    but as though an introductory,
    sweeping strum of a harp,
    I won’t allow myself to fall
    into a moment,
    until it is right to do so;

    I’m like an anacrusis awaiting that
    conductor’s sign,
    the downbeat for the melody to start.

    Tiresome, yes?
    Am I waiting, awaiting?
    Will time cause me to fall apart? –

    I’m not yielding to an urge,
    I am not capitulating,
    I have no requirements to search for affection,
    why put myself in the way of
    judgement and expectations?
     
    Dejection, rejection?
    No, I do not fear these,
    but for some,
    they’re surely breaking the ability
    for true connections,
    halting their ability to reach out
    with ease.

    Here, I sit on the fence,
    staring down,
    undecided yet,
    and I know I won’t allow myself
    to fall,
    until it is right to do so again,

    I don’t need the sweetness of
    words from either a woman or a man,
    don’t need the positive growth that
    an alliance could provide, would or can,

    I am loving my life the way it is,
    I won’t be swayed by society’s requirements
    that I must couple up to be.

    Perpetually existing,
    do they think I have no end in sight?
    While I live and I learn,
    do they think my early evenings translate to
    quiet depressive nights?
     
    That being single means bunkering down
    unsatisfied, until the morning light,
    where I can receive my endorphins through
    pounding the pavement,
    where satisfaction and happiness
    are experienced again,
    they are within grasp,
    within sight.

    I don’t need love to be whole,
    don’t need it to feel ‘right’,
    I can exist by myself,
    being independent is no longer a plight,

    to be alone can be bliss,
    I’ll take the peaceful solitude
    as it is,
    and so I’ll continue to grow,
    and fastidiously enjoy all that life brings.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘Speaking with sweetness’ – 17/05/21

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  • Poem: Speaking with sweetness – 17/05/21

    Poem: Speaking with sweetness – 17/05/21

    The areas surrounding my bones
    are brittle
    like honeycomb,
    they’re soft and sweet,
    but filled with purpose,
    slowly voiding themselves
    of madness,
    hush, hush,
    it’s quiet here,
    my sweet.

    I do not cry out
    to be tasted,
    purpose, like musculature,
    grows with effort,
    no longer wasted,

    intentions flowing and
    intentions pure,
    vestibules explored,
    tried and tested,
    hexagonal spaces each are houses,
    they’re warm homes,
    Honey, honey?
    Sure,
    over my shoulder the reply is thrown.

    I speak in riddles
    to satisfy an urge,
    presenting unknowns,
    concepts,
    linked could they be?
    Perhaps, perhaps not,
    are they unheard?

    As I travel through
    the pathways,
    sweetened with honey, syrupy goodness,
    maybe learning from the past
    is right,
    many lessons have already been learnt.

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

    Previous Post: ‘Learning to be Content’ – 16/05/21

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  • Prose: Learning to be Content – 16/05/21

    Prose: Learning to be Content – 16/05/21

    I sit and I’m awash with contentedness, my full midsection makes me smile, and causes my toes to pleasantly curl. I’ve not felt this comfortable warmth amid a toasty winter’s bedroom in what seems like forever – I welcome the feeling, note the lack of mental feud. For, to feel and be satiated, with no inkling of guilt present when lately it’s haunted, consumed me for so long, is to show signs of progress, normalcy, and a rightness of thought.

    I feel a fire within my belly and a welcome drowsiness within my mind, lethargy is settling in, and regret is surprisingly hard to find. Whereas in the past, I’d pick and pick at my ‘weakness’ for allowing my capacity to slightly fill, I realise, I know now, I can make wiser choices, and this satiation I don’t have to begrudge, hate myself for, nor become angered or rage at myself as a drill.

    I realise, to some, how petty my worries may seem, stupid, precious or ridiculous to those with little or no empathy, but disordered thinking compounded by years certainly has an effect, and this comfortability now is a breakthrough here, I’ll allow my smile to continue yet.

    Still, balance must always be assumed, continually studied, and practiced, I cannot allow myself to become too comfortable, and make poor judgements, but, to be kinder to myself, it’s important as there is nobody else, no one here eternally, I am the one who must look after myself, my health, and my energy. Upon this path, it is so important for my journey, for my personal growth, and for my stability.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Александар Цветановић from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Unwanted Barbs – 15/05/21

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  • Poem: Unwanted Barbs – 15/05/21

    Poem: Unwanted Barbs – 15/05/21

    The Wheel’s a circle
    that never misgives,
    round and around,
    until we cease to
    heave, breathe, live.

    In a fluid motion
    it carries us down the line,
    extended arms now broken hearts,
    theirs, yours, and mine.

    What happens when my memories
    cease to be fonder,
    instead aching for something of real intent,
    fingertips reach yonder,

    but that will never be,
    I’ve grown,
    look what I’ve become,

    I’m stronger,
    confident,
    brave,
    and I won’t take shit from anyone.

    Argue with me about minute circumstances,
    pick into hollows that barely began,
    turning tides as smooth
    as gliding glass,
    these circumstances are
    better known to a distant man.

    I’ve no time for jabs or arguments,
    my life is organised,
    I’m progressing forward,
    gone is most of my strife,

    let me live without envisioning
    barely concealed barbs and vapid digs
    worn as armour,
    proclaimed with might.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Previous Post: ‘Imagining’ – 14/05/21

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  • Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Imagine there was something which could easily read the words of your heart. Your joys, your aching, your frustration, and the spaces you keep for precious, invaluable art. Those masterpieces of memories and experiences which you love to hold, turn them over in hands again and again, mesmerised, decisive, the experiences are able to be re-lived this way fruitfully, truth be told.

    You can inspect these cubes, forms, or spheres, or perhaps for you, they’re nondescript, simple constructs, in your mind they can exist, in an eye’s blink they can then disappear. Almost in a meditative state, overwhelming emotions draw near, enveloping you, reminding you that internally we are all stars. Filled with spark and brightness, our glowing memories can be seen – or at least felt – from afar, and if one extends to another, perhaps both will gain miraculous, shooting energy which never shall mar.

    Who can easily read your heart? Which methods will permit entry into your hidden compacts of art? Will you allow the mirror to open, to unclasp and reveal their reflection with yours, unbroken? Or will your memories remain purely yours, until you grow older, and they slowly grow forgotten?

    Only allow others in when the feeling encompasses your being with the meaning and understanding that your heart wants to be seen. Sharing is loving, until the stark morning, but sometimes we want ourselves to let it be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Visit’ – 13/05/21

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  • Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    The sky is pink, grey and blue today, wisps of cotton candy and woollen clouds. I watch as First Light dawns upon me, the day awakens, and I cherish it, awaiting more. What is this fluffy entity which now travels towards my face? This countenance and structure so lovely, perfection, in a way?

    It morphs slightly as it travels, altering size, shape, and form, one moment it’s obscure and barely recognisable, then the next, clearer and pure.

    I won’t say what I suspect these clouds have become, I feel it’s not my place to share, but I will acknowledge its sacredness, of this I have become more and most aware. A benevolent entity travelled unto me, blessing and guiding with his presence, and now my being is vibrant, I am invigorated, then suddenly well-spent.

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

    Previous Post: ‘A Trail of Winding Thoughts’ – 12/05/21

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