Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Author: Lauren M. Hancock

  • Story example: Mugshots of a Famous Mug – 25/07/19

    Story example: Mugshots of a Famous Mug – 25/07/19

    Barry was interrupted on his way to work.

    Barry the Mug led an ordinary life. He woke, put the coffee on, fixed breakfast for his disabled wife. They sat together as he quietly sliced her pancakes into smaller pieces, it made it easier for her to tackle, one of the many difficulties that existed for her to experience and slowly handle. Then off to work at the canning factory Barry would go, his wife would be okay, for their son, Desmond, was her official carer, Barry had to work, the money had to come in somehow.

    Then hours into the shift, he was afforded a short break, he puffed on a cigarette hastily, wanting to finish the entirety before it was too late. This daily smoke was his true luxury, he knew it was damaging to his health, yet the feeling of relaxation pressed itself upon him like a welcoming, insistent host.

    And at three in the afternoon, time to clock off, to return to his family home, where the love was more than enough. Barry may have led a monotonous life, however what mattered was the life satisfaction and warmth that he felt for his worldly existence inside.

    One particular morning, on his walk to the factory – for Barry’s luck was quite rotten and his current car had many things wrong with it – a man approached him with great curiosity.

    “Why, sir! Please stop!” he pleaded, insisting with an irksomely eager tone. “Sir, please! Now! You have to know!” Barry ceased his trudging steps and glanced up with eyes possessing deep bags from overwork and stress, surely this man had enough gall to be speaking to the wrong mug, for his excitement was overt and too much. Barry softly responded, “Yes, how may I help?” Within the man’s eyes, glory now abounded, he wanted to share much, to allow Barry to know.

    “You, my friend, are a unique piece of art, with your green shadings, and googly eyes, and intrinsically interesting mouth. Have you ever thought of modelling?” he suggested, with a wry smile upon his face. Barry could not believe this person, such discourse was not commonplace. Only beautiful girls and women were stopped in the streets for this, this man’s excitement was essentially an entire waste upon him.

    “No, no, I think you have the wrong mug,” he said, smiling modestly, and making out as though to walk away. After all, every minute that one was late to work meant another dollar taken away. It was an unfair policy, to be sure, but that was the manner in which the bosses kept the workers in line, their managers smugly assured.

    “Stop!” the man said, suddenly grabbing Barry’s handle with a vice-like grip of his hand as a hook. “You must believe me. You will be the next Booth.” (Booth was the world’s greatest supermodel, he had also been discovered walking the streets, and though Barry thought it was highly unlikely he was similar, this man had such breathiness and glee about Barry to speak.) Still unsure, he arranged to meet this man over the weekend, and have some photos taken. Apparently he was incredibly photogenic, the man said he could see it most certainly indeed, he was, “a viewfinder into heaven”.

    Although the photo shoot made Barry uncomfortable, for he was modest and embarrassed by his grotesque appearance and odd looks, he allowed the man to become his agent, and overnight, why, would one believe, that he became an utter success! Soon his face was splashed across advertisements, the television shows, interviews with hosts, travelling the world, flying and meeting dignitaries and experiencing what life had to offer him and his family the most.

    Who knew what made him so spectacularly successful, perhaps it was that he was different, something in the ceramics that made his glaze and character appear so utterly unique and different. Now he’s working on a biographical movie, named ‘Mugshots of a Famous Mug’, which details his life story from simple, hard working mug, to bright shiny model to be not only seen, but heard. For while Barry has his face well known, he is also passionate about world events, and human rights, and speaks widely of these does he, for his words and his looks he is renowned and his opinions can only develop and grow.

    ‘Mugshots of a Famous Mug’, is out in August 16th, 2022, and Barry is most excited for you to come and view.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

    *This mug is a real item in circulation, a gift from my mother, sourced from an op shop. As it only has “Made in China” written on it, I am unable to mention a designer or maker.

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  • Story example: Christine the Curious Crab – 24/07/19

    Story example: Christine the Curious Crab – 24/07/19

    Christine explored with her special, unique skill.

    Christine the Crab was an adventurer. Her heart leaped at the promise of exciting exploration and wild adventures. She tried to investigate the sand dunes but they were tiresome and boring to her, miniscule grains of sand upon a million more, what point was there to continue to explore? Besides, the climate of the dunes was far too scorching for her, she’d become a pickled, bright red crab meal if she weren’t careful enough, of this she was most assured!

    So she travelled in time to her forest friends and their luscious greenery to view, their little crevasses, mossy undertakings, so much more to sniff, touch and view! But I hear you think aloud, “Did she say time travel?” Of this, Christine was most proud, to have developed the ability to rush back and forth into time and certain areas that she’d already visited quite cheerily. Merrily, she showed off, showcased her talent, it allowed her to widely explore, where did she learn it, I also hear you wonder, why of that I’ll not breathe a word more.

    There was one area she could not handle, of this she was slightly embarrassed, for a creature such as a crab must surely have certain habits. One such being accustomed to being around and freely entering water, but this little hermit crab left much for the listener and reader to ponder. Was she a land crab, or an underdeveloped marine crab who unfortunately had missed the day of learning the skill of being comfortable inside the watery depths that were begging to be had? She was disinclined to answer, for the truth she will never know, her heart beat intensely and frighteningly when she viewed the watery depths of the Great Below.

    Still, she could explore everywhere else she wanted, time travelling little crab was she, flying before someone’s dinner, and taking a bite and a sip of their tea. It is ridiculous, it’s ludicrous, how skilled Christine could be, whereby she understood her life was pretty damned well great indeed. What did it matter if she could not enter the water, her hermit crab friends could come out to welcome her, they’d meet her on her own planes and she’d show them her talents, by gosh, were they amazed.

    Encouraged by her close friends to chase her dreams of exploration, she became a true fledged adventurer with a university education. Weekly, the students would set off in the pursuit of adventure, and learn the craft of being resilient and appreciating all the world’s wonders. Strictly enforced by herself not to cheat and use her time travelling skills, Christine learned the abilities she’d missed out in self learning with persistence, strength, and a decided yearning to know more to experience and view.

    Now I see her on the television daily, she has her own instructional show, how famous has my little curious Christine become that I’m so glad to have detailed her story just so. An open time traveler, a non marine hermit oddity, why, types like her would rarely be seen. But she has made it against the odds, created a name for herself, educating the world with her knowledge, and assisting other creatures such as herself. A role model is she, and I am so very proud to say, Christine the Curious Crab has certainly and essentially found her unique way.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: The Spinning Top Who Couldn’t Spin – 24/07/19

    Story example: The Spinning Top Who Couldn’t Spin – 24/07/19

    I just couldn’t spin…


    I’m just a little baby spinning top. I’ve come into the world and flourished and grown magnitudes, from the size of a wee little finger to a baby size of ‘still most large enough’. My striped colours of beauty were splashed upon me through childhood, growing in richness and vibrancy, my ordered rainbow speaks volumes, not of a creation made daintily.

    Despite my appealing appearance, I have a secret to admit. It is a shameful thing to share with you, this I will readily admit, these words I plan to share with you, I will duly commit. When it comes to commencing the start of my movement, I’m too scared to start myself, for I cannot bring myself to move in circles, this is a delicate and difficult moment in itself. The very first time I attempted a spin, I became so nauseated deep within, I felt as though rats were scrambling in my belly, frantically searching for cheese and red wine, their teeth biting, paining in me in every way. For this was a special type of sickness, only known to me, the rats continued their running, running, running, as I hurled empty air regularly.  

     My mother instructed me to stop, shared her thoughts that perhaps I was born in the wrong body, that spinning was not my style and to cease, for she’d had enough, of watching her precious baby Spinner try to unintentionally remove her dinner, why the fact of the matter is, I was questioning myself, why wasn’t I born even a participant let alone a Spinner winner? My sister was the family champion, she could spin nonstop for seven and a half days, Father was a champion in his heyday: he lasted five and a third days. Even Mama was skilled, she took the pudding at moving for four days and three quarters, and here I was, only being able to take a cessation order.

    I could not spin for let alone a minute, yet this did not sadden me, for I had other dreams for my life and that essentially bolstered me. Being forced to be static, I could perform many things, I could sing, I could play the trumpet, I could write, draw art, I could do anything! Not living up to the pesky family name of having spinning in the skills and spinning on the brain was in fact a blessing in itself.

    For, I could do whatever I wished, and not be questioned about spinning failure any more, or anything else. It was accepted I was an oddity, that I was a family anomaly, and I was fine with this, I was multitasking daily, who wanted to be only able to spin daily? Not me, no more, no how, not me. I was the Creative Spinner of the Family.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

     
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  • Story example: Horace and his Beach Side Predicament – 23/07/19

    Story example: Horace and his Beach Side Predicament – 23/07/19

    Horace was aghast – would this be his last scene?

    Horace panted as he turned the page of Time Magazine. It was far too hot in this alleged land of paradise, too much heat within the grains between his toes, this scorching sand screaming to be felt, rather than simply seen. It did not help that he was slightly, a tad bit overweight, when he was at this size he couldn’t tolerate the heat as well as he could on slimmer times and dates. Yet he inhaled sharply, told himself to relax, he was here for a bit of ‘time out’ as his wife called it, more like of Horace she wanted to be without. Still, at her requesting of his trip, he had feigned knowledge of her secret she kept pretty, and pretended to be unaware of her secret habit of flying go-go bats, of this he was proving to not be privy.

    Then, from the waters, in the waves there came a sharp groan, as though as a massive creaking ship had appeared and was expressing its greatest fears to be heard, to be well known, a sharp CRACK and a WOOSH, and Horace raised his eyes, a cursory glance, then panic became of him, a tidal wave had appeared. He essentially needed to hastily escape with a rushing and frantic dance.

    Move not could he, he was stiffened with fright, the tidal wave rushed forth, threatening his facade of a life. His thoughts turned to his loyal yet preoccupied little Aniseed, his wife, how he wished for her to be here, holding his hand comfortingly throughout his strife. Horace now heard a cackling, now a deep chortling, morphing into a maniacal, gravelly cacophony. His eyes darted upward, and what did he view? An evilly clouded sun witnessing its fill, of Horace’s shiny form, about to be taken by either the wave or her enigmatic storm, he was, how should we say this, soon to be gone.

    Poor Horace, he hadn’t even wanted to take this trip, it was only because of Aniseed’s selfish secret dream. For she wanted to be queen and leader of the world’s team of fastest flying go-go bats, and now potentially never again of her husband would she see, would she regret unintentionally planning that? Any caring wife would be concerned, would have investigated his destination with much drive and personal style, to ensure the dangers were minimal for travel being undertaken, but research she had performed, her motives were interwoven. Perhaps the tidal wave would relocate him, allow Horace and Aniseed fresh new starts, or, who knew: Horace may even return humbled and this would be a wondrous view of a new life together for them to start.

    For the current Horace could be mean, and somewhat cruel in his manner, looking down upon apparently unworthy, lesser others, and this irked his wife Aniseed to no end. She knew that almost every being had goodness within her or him, and was equal to any other man or woman, no matter how much fortune or stature was held within, it was the character that she prized more. A dichotomy of differences, between this wife and man, all she wished for was excitement and appreciating others for their inner worth, and Horace was a simple, yet calculated man. But in this moment, when he glanced into the malicious eyes of the clouded sun, he knew he must feel this remorse for his past behaviour, that he must change for the good, from morals of almost bare nothing or even none.  

    Some might say it was an epiphany, that God had touched his soul with his very hands, but what I think it essentially was was the fear of dying an unforgiving, callous, cruel hearted man. He may have been loving to his wife, but to the others in his world, he caused them much sorrow and strife, and now in the moments before his apparent death, he had the moment to relinquish his nasty means to his ends. How he prayed to the Lord for the curtains to open, for the wave to be dissected and fold away, gone, forgotten, for the sun to clear into sunny delightful times, and suddenly – his end was no longer nigh.

    Was it all a dream? he wondered, looking into the clear blue skies, his heart was pounding, surely it meant he was a prospect to die, then shuddering, he was left wondering if it were simply a daydream or perhaps his entire reality. Nothing in this land really was what it may seem.

    Horace returned to Aniseed a changed man. His character, of his previous preposterous nature, he no longer gave a damn. He naught felt the need to uphold a character so displeasing, not when he had quite possibly been a man who’d experienced a miraculous saving.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem and Drawing: My Feral Pet Rock! – 23/07/19

    Poem and Drawing: My Feral Pet Rock! – 23/07/19

    Just the look of him frightened all…

    My pet rock’s gone feral! What should I do?

    My pet rock’s gone feral, how about you?

    Will you help me, assist me, to put him in his place?

    Will you guide him, and bind him, help him close his gaping frightful face?

    What can we do? 

    We cannot creep close,

    Shall we throw something into his cavern of a mouth?

    To temporarily distract my feral pet rock,

    Or else I’ll throw him in the sea to go deep down south into the depth’s dark.

    Gnashing, gnashing of his teeth,

    Begging for something to eat voraciously,

    I throw pieces of rancid meat into his hole,

    When will his energy stop? When will it go?

    Suddenly it is like he is on rewind,

    Slow motion and a falling inside,

    My feral pet rock has lost his juice,

    He’s collapsed internally and externally to view.

    Thanks to all for your help,

    You’re glorious, and wonderful to me,

    Thanks be to you all.

    For assisting and keeping me company,

    Of my pet rock we are now free of his feral mood of a disease.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Zimmy the Fashionable Snowman Finds His Way – 23/07/19

    Story example: Zimmy the Fashionable Snowman Finds His Way – 23/07/19

    Despite his situation, Zimmy always chased his dreams.

    No one ever invited Zimmy to the table. He was forever left to his own devices, he was always cast aside with contempt and reviled. Why was this so? How could one little snowman be made to view and experience such deep pains below?

    Zimmy was always a cheery brunette, his shoulder length style healthily bouncing to and fro, his perfect follicles just begging to be seen, to be gloriously shown. He wished to be seen by the world and acknowledged for his beauty, style and grace, a showcasing of his delicate preparation and procedure that took hours upon hours to trial upon his well made-up face.

    Yet how could this dream be an actuality when he worked behind the scenes, by himself, as a bank office cleaner, no one to view him? The only times outside he faced were the short walks from the car to his work premises, and the weekend’s food errand trips, here there were no  surprises or coincidences.

    It wasn’t that Zimmy was lazy, nor lacking a sense of motivation to pursue a dream that was dandy and fine and his calling, but melt upon melting was he becoming, he knew that if his dream were to be achieved, that this was the correct and special time to be showing. Zimmy did not want to turn into a puddle before he could achieve the goal of his life. Viewed him en masse, all eyes set upon him, steely and serious, curious and admiring views, he would be the prize to be seen, a fresh faced beauty, to the industry he’d be so coveted and new.

    In the corner at home, Zimmy sat huddled away from the heat with his achingly empty belly. His malicious family smiled down upon him with mouthfuls of food which they chewed ravenously and freely.

    “Hungry, Zimmy?” his mother heckled.

    “Want some of this?” his sister hollered, presenting then detracting her loaded fork.

    “Oh, give him a break,” his father snapped, and threw him a cube of beef curry.

    Although Zimmy hated being treated differently, at least the forced starvation kept him slim and trim for his upcoming fashion show and after party. The fashion show was elegant and simple, it was quiet and hushed, an appreciation for a designer’ s talents, showcased upon Zimmy with his great figure and utter charm. This being his first official show, Zimmy was incredibly nervous, eyes red and raw and nerves just painfully so, what to do but put one foot before another upon the catwalk, and concentrate so incredibly well?

    At the end of the walkway, awaited Zimmy’s closest friends, cheering him on with voices so boisterously strong, to commend. These were his true family, not the beings who starved and abused him, these individuals who were truly providing him with emotional support and qualities of love and trust, unlike the ones who had snatched and shattered these.

    Family doesn’t have to be the clan one was born into, the bloodline of relations does not determine who is there for you, for love, honour and acceptance can come from any one, a shoulder to learn on, a smile to share, a hand to weep upon. Who is in your extended family? I’m sure you already know, and thinking about them should cause you to feel joyous, allowing a feeling of acceptance and being free to grow. A family appreciates you for you and you alone.

    Whether friends or actual blood family, they will hold you up, tell you the truth even when you don’t want to hear it, for the good of who you are, they make you become stronger from it. Your family hopefully only wants the best for you, for them to witness your life’s successes, these are what they wish could be seen. Your life’s journey. Their love for you is like a warm, gentle caress.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Bubble of Happiness – 22/07/19

    Story example: Bubble of Happiness – 22/07/19

    A bubble of happiness – what’s inside of yours?

    Happiness in a bubble: what does it mean to you? To some, it means love, health, protection or security, and to others it means materialism and fortunes of the wealthy. To me, right now, happiness means this single fried chicken drumstick, food is my current mood, and I would say the state and growth of my appetite is rather inflamed and in itself quite wildly drastic. 

    The delicate crunch of the perfectly fried skin causes happiness to grow within me, such happiness deep within, while the soft inner meat of rich texture cushions my gnarling toothy, gnashing grin. Such bliss in this moment, a simple bite into an affordable treat, causes shiver of delight, permeating within.

    To many in this world, food is happiness, and for those who have it in readiness, individuals such as you and I, we should feel utterly satisfied and blessed. For the many starving within the world have no other choice than to become fainter and more gaunt, their bubble of happiness might simply be a piece of bread, or an apple, anything to chew or crunch. 

    Work on your bubble of happiness, internally caressing it day by day, nurture what is important to you, during the morning, midday, afternoon and evening, even when you lay in bed awake. And then continue to dream of your hopes and your chased dreams, for achieving your happiness is as important as it truly seems.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Hungry Patient Yak – 22/07/19

    Story example: Hungry Patient Yak – 22/07/19

    Hungry yet patient Yak.

    At the crest of a hill, at the very top I could see, a hungry, utterly famished Yak staring right back at me. Before him he had a plate of steak, carrot and broccoli, his knife and fork at the ready, he looked at his plate so eagerly. Had I interrupted his dinner, I ignorantly wondered, was in the wrong place at the wrong time? However the Yak simply blinked back at me slowly, as he produced a large bottle of wine! 

    With an ever so slight beckoning of his hoof, he drew me towards him, up and up and up the hill, puff puff, I panted, getting closer to the sky as a beautifully crystalline clear roof. How outrageous, I though to myself, that a Yak could be holding an offering of wine, but I liked it occasionally, the red was ever so tasty, so trundled up the hill did I.

    I was close, then closer and closer, and suddenly the Yak was losing his grip, in slow motion I witnessed this arrival of the horrible incident, and squeezed my eyes shut for the moment of impact, the spillage was sure to be it. Then I heard a rolling, boom boom roll boom as the bottle scrambled down the hill, peeking through my eyes, I discovered the bottle was still intact and very, very full. 

    With great joy I bounded toward that bottle, fetching its miraculousness for Yak and I to handle, polite Yak had still postponed his main course to sip gently with me, with a backdrop of beautiful bright sky to be seen. Surely his meal was cold now, in fact, confused, I looked around for surely who, could have prepared his meal and served it: Bon appetit! There was no person nor animal to view. 

    Never mind, I thought, I uncorked that beauty so freely, and polite Yak even shared his carrot and broccoli with me, what a darling Yak was he, he is now a great friend to me.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story example: Salami and Vintage Cheese – 22/07/19

    Story example: Salami and Vintage Cheese – 22/07/19

    Salami and Vintage Cheese, what a glorious taste bud explosion indeed.

    Salami and Cheese were special to one another, essentially some would say they were made for each other. The rich, bitey texture of the black vintage label stung the tongue, in such delightful manner that Salami would fetch more than another three slices with her forefinger and thumb.

    Cheese loved to be consumed, it was his calling, his life’s awakening, it was what he was born to do, his strong bitey taste was his form and method of duty. And when Salami was in her manic hunger moods, Vintage Cheese and everything else in her path would be what she’d consume, even her own little Twiggy stick friends – her own meat family! Afterwards, to their remaining family, she’d not bother to make amends.

    Salami was greedy, she loved to eat all day, there was no other moment where she did not have cheese upon the brain. Occasionally though, she would be paired with a crusty bread roll and a slice of fatty ham, upon a slice of factory made cheese slice they’d be stacked, by a human who gave not a single damn. Then adding to the list of items, salad items stacked as you please, the morose Salami now suffered in these moments, without ongoing ease, without her Vintage Black Label Cheese. This mediocre plastic version of cheese was not for her haughty self, she deserved the finest of accompaniments, something worthy to and for herself.

    Still, she put up with being consumed with the slice of veiny, fatty ham, and the lettuce, cheese, tomato and jalapenos, with a thick squeeze of mayonnaise as a somewhat worthy accompaniment, but long did she for the day that Vintage Cheddar and she would fly, far away, to a less convoluted world that did not separate one from the other on any given day.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem and Drawing: Le Fishy Bouffant – 21/07/19

    Poem and Drawing: Le Fishy Bouffant – 21/07/19

    Le Fishy Bouffant was incredibly clever.

    Le Fishy Bouffant, oh, what a treat,

    But watch for the sticky hairs between your teeth!

    Moving little fishy fingers,

    To and fro they go,

    Fishy Bouffant the gorgeous one,

    Renowned for best on show.

    She takes great care with her styled and well formed hair,

    But of her odour, she holds no concern, no impeccable care.

    Fishy Fishy, oh, on the nose strong and itchy!

    Sneeze, sneeze,

    Begone Le Bouffant oh so Fishy!

    Do not heed our paining, aching stares, as we itch and twitchy.

    Fishy has succeeded at her secret plan,

    Her stench and her whirlwind hair are her defensive cares,

    Little did we know,

    But now we’re simply amazed,

    At how clever Le Bouffant Fishy is each and every day.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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