Author: Lauren M. Hancock

Poem: Edgy – 06/08/20

She’s the edgiest girl you’ll ever see.
She pricks holes through your arguments with safety pins,
rules over cool, college beauty queens,
wipes away their contrivances,
their classroom lipstick,
swipes off their need to impress,
she’s willing to pass any test,
she is a rebel with a cause,
do you know what I mean?

She is driven,
her motives are never hidden,
she fights and wars only when she feels it’s right,
she never lives under the radar,
but always,
always aims to be seen,
with her emphatic nature,
of her rightful presence, its visibility, she insists.
 
She wears riotous red/black flannelette,
she wears short skirts, never for the boys,
never for the men,
but she is here,
and she is present,
and really, she is doing life in her own style.
 
She is edgy,
cast on the fringes of apparent societal virtues,
she doesn’t care for their extraneous values, 
she isn’t concerned about whether she’s unwelcome or unwanted,
hell, she’ll stand centre stage, victorious either way!
 
Edgy, this girl is edgy,
she doesn’t need to oppose others to avoid their
incorrect condemnation,
in fact, if required, she’ll simply walk away
because of these wrong people,
she has no need to attend to them.
 
Because her presence speaks louder than
their rhetoric,
pleasant though their famous expressions be,
she knows her strength, its worth,
so potent,
their relevancy to her?
Nothing to see.
 
But when she wars with words,
she makes a wealth of their worth,
rounds and rounds,
her battalion sounds.
 
She’s sharper than you and I,
and with pointed bullets her words will fly,
of her attacks, she doesn’t need an alibi,
with pins and bullets,
her commanding words will fly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Parker Gibbons on Unsplash

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Poem: Shades of Purple – 05/08/20

Purple is royal, regal,
it is crushed velvet pressed against my cheek,
purple is for kings and queens,
and princesses in lilac who walk among
the public, blessing them in busy streets.
 
Sashes of light purple are for
accomplishments,
university achievements,
and musical delights,
I remember earning my purple sash,
I was so proud to have worn it that night.
 
Purple is lavender, rubbed between hungry, famished fingers,
eager for that scent that bees delve into
for lunch and for their dinner,
 
purple is a passionfruit cheekily disguising its tart insides,
purple is the joy of a restaurant’s purple mascot –
children cannot wait,
so excited,
much anticipation for Party Time!
 
Purple is a soldier’s heart,
for men and women fallen in combat,
and purple is for spirituality,
in fact, purple feeds my creativity,
this hue so powerful that hearts and minds and eyes
will rise with great potency.
 
I clothe myself in purple,
though I do not wish myself to achieve nobility,
I cloak myself in this shade,
this hue,
because it feels right to do so for me.
 
These wide sleeves of velvet,
I wrap the material around me,
I cannot feel anything but bliss,
it flows through me freely.
 
I am now purple, purple, purple,
I am at one with this colour,
everything it represents,
I may be, I may not be,
but truthfully,
inside, I feel a raging fire,
 
some metaphorical power
must have sent
for me, to announce upon me this very hour.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Orlova Maria on Unsplash

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The Liebster Award Nomination – Discover More Blogs!
I am forever grateful to https://awayfromthemaddingcrowdblog.wordpress.com/ for nominating me for the Liebster Award. I discovered her blog through another nominee and her style of writing drew me in immediately. I look forward to seeing more of her work as time goes on!

Liebster is a German word which means different variations of similar sentiments: darling, honey, dearest, friend, sweetheart; and I find this award so endearing because it enables us to show our appreciation for not only the work of, but also our dearest writers, bloggers, poets, artists, as our friends and comrades, and encourage each other to keep working at our craft, and sharing what we have to offer the world.

I have been blogging for a year now, and I love how WordPress is such a close-knit community of support, creativity, and honesty. I always look forward to posting each day, sometimes multiple times, and I am so appreciative of the interaction I have with my readers and followers.

I am glad I am now able to pass on my appreciation for these eleven bloggers who I have nominated.

The Rules
1. Thank the blogger who nominated you and add a link to their blog
2. Answer the 11 questions given to you
3. Nominate 11 bloggers that you think deserves the award
4. Ask 11 innovative questions to the ones you have nominated
5. Remember to notify your nominees once you have uploaded your acknowledgement post
My Nominations

The Flippant, Comic, and Serious – https://donmatthewspoetry.com – a fellow Australian writer whose work is witty, short and on point with his delivery.

Lemongrass – https://shrubaboti.wordpress.com/ – I love Shruba’s style, her voice speaks to me.

The Waves of Poetry – https://thewavesofpoetry.com/ – beautifully presented visual poetry.

Laura Saxby Sketchbook – https://laurasaxby.wordpress.com/ – an Australian artist whose intricate artwork I adore.

I’m The Computer Guy – https://michaelxjohnson.wordpress.com/ – a talented white-hat hacker detailing the journey of honing his craft.

Mybookworld24 – https://mybookworld24.com/ – I enjoy Alex’s beautiful and often candid poems, and his book posts.

Danielle Adams – https://danielle-adams.com/ – A blog with great literary tips and links to publishing opportunities.

LaurenWritesToo – https://laurenwritestoo.com/ – Lauren’s work is lovely, and she draws me into her world.

Murray Robertson (Photography and Poems) –

https://mrobertsonphotosandpoems.wordpress.com/ – I am a new follower of Murray’s and am enjoying his work immensely.

The Sad Owl – https://thesadowl.com – Thoughtful, moving poetry which flows with gentle ease.

Daydreaming as a Profession – https://drbogdan.home.blog/ – great poems with often unexpected plot twists at the end!
1. What is the story behind your blog name?
My blog started off as Alice Well Art, as I was going by both my artist name of Alice Well (a play on “all is well”) as well as my actual name. After I published my book, I began bridging into more serious, personal poetry and decided that the Alice Well side no longer fit. Hence, Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose was created.
1. Why did you start blogging?
I love writing and being creative, and when I started my blog, I wanted to share my short stories along with my soft pastel illustrations. I wanted to have an outlet to share my words and art with others, to become part of a community and read other writers’ works, and to view their art, too.
1. What is your favourite colour and why?
Pink, most certainly, as a vibrant, lively colour, I used to wear it all the time as I feel it is a complimentary colour to myself because it would brighten my mindset, but these days, I lean more toward wearing black – I know it’s a shade, not a colour.
1. Who is your favourite superhero and why?
I don’t have one.
1. Movies or TV-Series? Why?
Probably TV-series as I have trouble concentrating for long periods of time lately.
1. What do you do to de-stress?
To de-stress, I write. Pouring my feelings out certainly helps. In saying that, when I’ve stressed myself, it could be because I’m writing!
1. How do you prepare for your writing?
I don’t prepare, I just sit at the computer, hope for a good starting phrase, and off I go. Although, sometimes I may look up prompts when I’m stuck.
1. What are your other interests besides writing?
It depends on my mood. I could indulge myself in making a little art, read some poetry online, play a video game, talk to a friend, vent about something that’s on my mind, or perhaps go for a walk.
1. If you could travel to a place you have never been to before, where would you go and why?
I’m bit of a homebody and I don’t like venturing too far away from comfort, so even a nice park that I’ve not been to before for an afternoon picnic will make me happy.
1. Have you been heartbroken? How were you able to move on?
I have been heartbroken, by someone who didn’t care that I’d continually handed him my heart. It took time, and time away from being around and thinking of that person, distracting myself with other things. And it took me realising I was worth more than how I was being treated to be able to truly move on.
1. Do you believe in soulmates? Why or why not?
I think with soulmates, that is a tricky one. Some could say they’re the makings of Hollywood; others could say they are a cosmic reality, each other’s destiny. I’m not so sure. What I do know is we find others in our world who we connect with, whether on a spiritual, mental, or physical level – sometime all three – and we make the most of our time together.

My Questions for my Nominees

1.      What is the main reason you decide to write or create every day?

2.      If you had the opportunity to be a sought-after ghostwriter your entire working life, or only write your absolute honest and rawest truths for all to see, which would you choose, and why?

3.      What colour clothing would you select to pick up your mood if you felt angry or depressed by a situation?

4.      What is your go-to comfort food when you are feeling glum?

5.      What is one person or thing you cannot live without, and why?

6.      Who has been your biggest champion in terms of you chasing your dreams?

7.      How do you measure success?

8.      You have received a puppy or kitten for your birthday! What breed would it be?

9.      What is something you do to unwind from a long, stressful day?

10.   What is or would be your ideal writer’s or artist’s getaway?

11.   What would you like to best be known for?
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August 5, 2020

Poem: The Rocket Clock – 04/08/20

And on the Rocket Clock!
our focused eyes widened.
On the Rocket Clock!
we learned to tell big-people’s time.
Around the Rocket Clock!
we smiled and shared songs,
on the Rocket Clock!
parents watched our years grow richer
as we travelled through life,
singing, clapping, playing along.
On wristwatches,
we interpreted the angles of hands,
on our wristwatches,
we practiced patience and countdowns –
(of patience I wasn’t a fan)
on the classroom clock,
we learned just five minutes until recess!
on the examination room clock
we shuddered as exam's end drew near.
Behind the gymnasium walls,
nervous, sweaty palms,
midday was the call,
arms wrapped around,
falling into an embrace,
time standing still,
relationship, a new beginning is forged,
is tentatively made.
Years pass,
and behind, in a secret room,
we watch the time count down,
dressed in gorgeous lily white,
the rest in flesh and fuchsia pink,
classy frills, lace, and thrills,
nervously an iPhone’s time is repeatedly consulted,
impending matrimony,
it’s almost time,
when two lives will become a beautiful, single flow.
On the Rocket Clock,
look, darling,
do you see the little and big hands?
That means it’s half past three,
Daddy loved to read the Rocket Clock, too.
Did I ever tell you how we met?
Oh, would you look at the time…
The rocket clock says its not time
to share that story with you,
perhaps for now, I’ll keep it as his and mine.
A stern, sterile hospital,
that sad, clinical clock,
the second hand which does not tick,
is red and goes around continuously
as though a lie that life will go on and on,
but here, life can cease prematurely,
or perhaps once we have accepted this, it will,
to know that for them to be taken by another’s ethereal hand
when our loved one is prepared,
it will occur when they are ready.
Remember when we watched the Rocket Clock?
I spin his worn golden ring around.
Remember when you counted the time down?
What a joyous sound!
Remember our years,
remember our lives,
then fall shut do his paining eyes,
my truest man,
his loss, my undoing,
the world accepts his spirit,
his is a willing sacrifice he’s bringing.
I grasp his hand fiercely,
stare at that abominable clock,
tears squeeze from my eyes,
I’ll never forget this moment,
this time,

I rub his palm against my cheek
and hysterically sob,
so proud I had called him mine.

Author's note: "The Rocket Clock" references a short time-telling segment in a very popular educational Australian children's television program called "Play School". It's been showing for over fifty years.

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Poem: The Working Week – 01/08/20

Monday draaags himself in,
he doesn’t want to be here,
other Mondays wave from behind stern mugs of coffee,
they also don't wish to be here.

Sunday and Saturday had the time of their lives
the previous days,
they celebrated and socialised in a manner that really
was purely wholehearted in so many ways.
 
Tuesday comes into the scene yawning,
muttering: How can it be this early?
I mean, it seems like only yesterday when
Saturday was swaying inebriated on the roof
and loudly singing.
 
Tuesday fetches a pick-me-up 3pm Cup of Soup
and cracker,
to get through this morning was by no means
requiring a small amount of power!
 
Wednesday causes a bump as he rides in,
Hump Day he is, after all,
Midweek, midweek!
the current days call!
 
And Thursday, how delectable,
getting closer to that prized Friday,
when the end of the workweek will arrive,
and away from the office all the days will run,
with Saturday they will thrive!
 
But after much celebration,
joviality, and relaxation,
the end of Sunday draws near,
and suddenly: panic!
 
There’s a pain in the realisation
that work is looming,
they must rise,
begin their preparations,
spreadsheets amassed and lunch-making calling,
aaand back to Monday, 
with cups of strong coffee brewing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

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Poem: The Doctor – 01/08/20

The doctor gestures me in
towards his consulting room,
and I, I am like a tentative child
who is out of place in this foreign world.
 
For I have not seen this doctor before,
why, I cannot even recall, let alone pronounce 
his complicated name,
I had fronted to the desk claiming I had an appointment,
Who with? I cannot remember, I replied sheepishly,
somewhat embarrassed, but not with one shred of shame.
 
I am here for an assessment,
to reduce my high level of medication,
to view what can be done,
I’ve been on this strong cocktail for so long,
it can’t be good for my liver and kidneys,
let alone my precious mind which ticks me along.
 
He introduces himself,
asks various questions,
I look around the room –
professional, well-kept,
even water to quench any nervous thirst of mine.
 
But my mouth is not dry,
I answer the queries as they arrive,
though there are some questions which grate upon me
for with some specialists, I don’t like oversharing.
 
I want to keep certain things to myself,
it takes time to build up trust, you know,
how wryly amusing I find this because
with the world I could be sharing my words
and now I am hesitant to even emit my own
before this esteemed doctor.
 
This doctor, he means well,
he is professional,
every step of his method is 
well-rehearsed and natural.
 
This doctor, I am warming to him,
in fact, I’d like to return to have 
more sessions with him,
to have him as someone on my professional team to
look after me.
 
Time is up,
I didn’t even know how long we had had,
but I feel a developing rapport,
I vow to learn his name, 
to be able to recall it in my head,
because he will be important, I feel,
in the future, in my life,
I would like him to manage and analyse
certain parts of my health and mind.
 
Doctor, dear Doctor,
thank you for taking the time to see me,
I greatly appreciate your slotting me in,
I look forward to when I can see you next,
when more work upon the task at hand can begin,
to have found you, 
I feel blessed.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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Poem: You Can’t Be Here – 31/07/20

You can’t be here, she tells me,
her mocking voice, her stuck out tongue.
Yeah, you can’t be here! another girl joins in,
you’re not wanted here,
won’t you learn?
 
My eyes become downcast, I shuffle away,
my upper back curved, I want to shrink,
disappear,
I’ll let them have the final say.
 
I don’t know why I’m so undesirable,
this group is cruel, I only have one cause –
to be loved and accepted and appreciated for who I was,
because now, I am falling apart.
 
With each taunt, each nasty means of bringing me down,
you can’t be here, you can’t be here their words ring,
I want to wring the danger away from my heart,
the warning siren’s sound.
 
Because part of me wants to hurt,
to annihilate,
though I am not vicious,
not violently inclined,
but how nice it would be to erase their memories,
cause hurt, anger, and other feelings,
to replace their nasty words of their days.

It is as though I am unworthy,
unworthy of being within their friendship group,
and what, and why?
I simply wanted to be seen for who I am,
who I was, too.
 
These two forms of me are different,
one naïve and gullible, and the other jaded,
yet saddened and broken,
slightly hostile,
what is it I am meant to do?
 
To repair myself will take time,
and to expose myself further to them will
cause my soul to divide,
but I yearn for their acceptance, their precious time,
though it’s really worth nothing,
or at least should be worth nothing as compared to mine.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Rodolfo Quirós from Pexels

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Words Out Loud: My first performance in a spoken word podcast
This evening, Words Out Loud Ballarat held their podcast for the 2020 Melbourne Spoken Word Festival Online.

I am so thankful and grateful to WOL to have been selected to be a part of the podcast, where I recite my piece, “Depression: A Realisation”. Thank you to Jason and Kirstyn for the opportunity.

This is the first time I have entered a spoken word event so I was really surprised and excited to be accepted. Please have a listen here at Words Out Loud.
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July 30, 2020

Poem: Lovesick – 30/07/20

Lovesick…
he yearns for you,
he apparently cannot live without you.
 
Darling, can’t you tell,
won’t you comprehend,
he much he needs you?
This is not a truth which can be bent.
 
But, my sweetheart,
why does he need you?
Where is he calling from –
low, high, the hay,
but my precious, won’t you see,
that his neediness for you
reaches both night’s lapping shore 
and the brightness of your day.
 
But, of course, if he possesses this need for you,
every single moment, of every night and day,
perhaps this makes his need genuine,
and truthful,
and right,
is this not a possibility,
aren’t you swayed?
 
Do you understand that this man,
he needs you more than anything in his world?
Timely circumstances, truth be told,
your heart, extracted,
threaded,
hurled.
 
Your organ now,
he dangles it from a string,
and swings it round and around,
because, really,
he wants this game to be seen,
to show he holds concern for holding you,
whatever will these antics result in,
whatever shall they do?
 
He does not bother to extract his own heart,
to meld with the string of yours,
like a yo-yo you’re toyed with,
a sign of a desperate need,
he just wants the amusement
of love, and life, and his validity to be seen.
 
He needs you, darling,
why can you not see?
Why can't you see what he’s doing to you?
I suggest you snatch your heart from him
and willingly set yourself free.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Magdaline Nicole from Pexels

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Poem: Relocation – 30/07/20

Sometimes it’s positive to relocate,
a subtle change of scene,
a change of pace,
being stagnant,
stuck in the same room, same world
for so long,
it can drive me around the bend,
four walls enclosing on me because
 
they can do so with
the slipperiest of ease,
despite my view from above,
the wondrous blue sky,
down below, quaint houses and greenery,
 
I need an alteration at times,
stitch stitch stitch
a change of colour,
won’t you permit this
on my threaded line?
 
So, I move outside,
settle myself into place,
hear the soaring birds in their flocks,
as my heart begins to race.
 
I’ve not been outside in so long,
breathing stale air unknowingly,
my own carbon dioxide from my own body,
slowly poisoning me as I tried to breathe.
 
It’s ironic, isn’t it,
that while I dredged sorrows while
trying to expel to become free,
I essentially was breathing my very own poison,
while typing it all out also so freely.
 
But now that I am outside,
the sun permits her joyful gaze,
upon me I feel her love,
her warmth
all around me
because
 
sometimes a change of pace is what is required,
a change of scenery, more like,
I absorb the wonderful ambience out here,
and know, that of my mindset,
I have altered it in a means that’s wanted,
desired,
from this new world,
I feel its love.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Artem Beliaikin from Pexels

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