Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose
A corner of my world where I feel most at home
Sometimes I want to be quiet, far from conceited, too loud and proud, humble is what I will be, I smile before I speak, think before I utter, aloud. Quiet contemplation is what is needed in this case, I won’t allow my heart to fail me, should words, lest they go to waste, annihilate the need for acknowledgement freely. I know it is important [...]
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 am wearing this slightly deranged grin upon my face. It’s as though a spirit has overtaken me for the moment [...]
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 in a short while. Take some deep breaths, relax, know that you’ll progress without [...]
I wonder to myself, does Time heal most wounds? Does it help scab over the surface of gashes more permanently than a over 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 [...]
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, [...]
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’s considered ludicrous, as this pencil draws as pen, impermanence detailing permanence, can history make amends? In truth, in part, will hope, will reinstated 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 broken former seams,
The cloak and the dagger lay 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, [...]
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 now, it was easy to understand these two just knew how be. They understood that the
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,
