Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Author: Lauren M. Hancock

  • Poem: Home – 04/06/20

    Poem: Home – 04/06/20

    I feel most at home here,
within these welcoming walls,
but a house is only a house
until we make it a home.
 
What makes mine one?
Let me share with you,
what luck I’ve been blessed with,
what good fortune, too.
 
It has nothing to do with
the furnishings,
nothing to do with
material possessions,
 
naught to do with
items which bring comfort,
it has everything to do
with the love within.
 
I live with those
who I am close with,
their kind words,
warming hugs,
our family unit is a world of our own,
consideration and open hearts.
 
Those who listen,
share their wisdom,
I share my happiness,
my joy with them all, 
 
the times when we were
all under strain
is long gone,
why, we’ve practically forgotten that pain.
 
Instead we are together,
in every sense of the word,
living as one,
a stronger family we have become.
 
With my growing maturity,
I can be my best to them,
kind, loving and caring,
when upset or in pain,
I can attend to them.
 
I now listen to their words,
respectful in the home,
our house not just a house,
but somewhere we can rest quietly,
together or alone.
 
I am grateful for this world,
this space,
where I can be myself,
thank you to my family,
for making this my home.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Harry Strauss from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: No More Beating Around The Bush – 04/06/20

    Poem: No More Beating Around The Bush – 04/06/20

    I stride around the bush,
beating it despite what I’ve been told,
wondering will it spite me,
or capture,
vice-like will it take hold?
 
There’s no magic in avoiding
a situation,
procrastination,
this method won’t become
the wisest choice,
 
I must take the bull by its horns,
my predicament,
I should not feel compromised.
 
Oh, how these troubles only came
when I put pen to paper,
I was a fool
for believing
such words were fit for others.
 
The raucous,
the tirades,
the untoward screams,
powerful potions,
ill behaviour,
am I unworthy of clemency?
 
But I have changed for the better,
I shan’t beat around the bush,
only reveal now what’s relevant,
not tired, unwholesome truths.
 
No longer to wallow in the
quagmire of self-regret,
the outspoken words
still plain to see if at discovery
one’s adept,
 
then again,
most pages are firmly closed,
no longer open books,
I’ll only reveal certain facts
if it’s necessary for you to peruse.
 
But, I’ve moved on long ago,
it’s for the best,
because I say so,
I’m sure you’ll all agree
no one needs to revolt that way,
haphazard, spiteful words to then fro.
 
Thousands upon thousands of words,
up and away,
they shall be thrown,
and I’ll hold no ounce of bitterness or dismay,
because some history does not need to be known.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Our Many Layers – 03/06/20

    Poem: Our Many Layers – 03/06/20

    Layered like onions,
our personalities they become,
complex and full of depth,
our nuances, eccentricities conjoin as one.
 
Who says being different is incorrect?
Unique we live
loud and free,
our notions, our understandings,
united personalities.
 
Peel back a layer:
surprise!
What’s waiting within?
Another facet within our souls,
an accumulated sense of quiet knowing.
 
Do we possess the ability
to remove a layer day by day?
To reveal a new part of ourselves,
vulnerable we become?
We may.
 
But it is in the revelation
that helps us share with each other,
getting to know further,
understanding ourselves and others better.
 
And what say you when
you are down to your last skin,
the exhilarating moment,
when we reveal our truest,
our beating hearts within.
 
To be seen,
to be held,
to be accepted for who we are,
 
here we stand,
now light as feathers,
spirit wafting around our beings,
winding between our loose fingers.
 
We have possessed the courage
to share ourselves,
to allow our true beings to be seen,
 
so wonder not about hidden layers,
to remain cloaked,
fear, apprehension,
these emotions are unnecessary.
 
Be brave,
be strong,
and open widely your arms,
 
this is the method,
this is the practice,
the process,
 
shed your layers,
reveal all facets of your personality,
we will surely get along.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Gratitude – 01/06/20

    Poem: Gratitude – 01/06/20

    Don’t force the moment,
it’s time for reflection,
a deep feeling of gratitude,
for who and what I have.
 
So many years spent pining
for this or that,
a love, more friends,
material possessions.
 
But what matters most are who
and what simple things we have,
such as that roof over our heads,
warm food,
a loving home.
 
Loyal friends,
kind words,
things to be grateful for,
our lives complete,
faith restored.
 
Of course, there can be
things for which we yearn,
but remember what we have,
hold those things
and others close,
 
Be gracious,
be thankful,
even if your words are whispered,
even if they’re barely heard.
 
For the warmth which will
flourish within your soul,
to love and to share,
to give and to hold,
 
It’s your story,
your life,
be ever thankful for the
small and precious things,
they’re what matter the most,
it’s what others have always told me.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Time spent,
time passed,
overlooking the trickling hourglass.
 
Many years have been told,
my stories of old,
projected through this object.
 
Each grain of sand
a moment,
an event, or emotion captured in time,
 
treasuring my history,
whether it be beautiful, depressive, 
riddled with angst, or shining exceptionally bright.
 
When I see these events 
or moments
slowly fall to the vessel’s section below,
 
I am reminded of
the feelings,
my recollections take hold.
 
And how I have grown
from a petulant being
to a wiser, more worldly woman,
 
I pride myself on being accepting,
compassionate,
playful, joyful, and loving.
 
Though the history
was filled with
great turmoil,
 
I can empathise with others more
because of my winding paths undertaken,
my twists and my twirls.
 
To be loving and forgiving in almost all respects,
it’s taken many years of learning –
I’m finally here,
 
I am more accepting of
what has been, what has passed,
and what might never be.
 
I possess the maturity
to no longer take umbrage
to slights or underhanded insults,
 
nor do I heavily and negatively
circumspect
or wallow in self-doubt.
 
I glance back at and into the hourglass,
though I know rumination
has its place,
 
let me allow the tales of old
to become simply historic,
in my mind, only saved.
 
There is no need to cling
to the grains of lost dunes,
I’m much happier now,
 
warbling, singing
my own tunes,
mischievous and loud.
 
Towards the future
I look forth,
the final sand grains fall,
 
into the lower portion
of the hourglass,
quietly, now settled.
 
And I guess that’s just it,
I must permit the past
to delicately drift away,
 
Lessons and strength
have been learned,
I’m fresh to face another day.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by annca from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Lifted Restrictions – 29/05/20

    Poem: Lifted Restrictions – 29/05/20

    Freedom,
didn’t we all take it for granted?
The ability to walk with friends
in the park,
to sit on the bench with others,
or crouch by the pond feeding curious ducks.
 
Our ability to visit loved ones,
friends, family,
separated we had become.
 
The isolation felt so strange,
the family dog could only be walked
so many times,
working from home,
teaching and caring for children simultaneously,
hectic moments,
stress,
mayhem,
pressure bubbling.
 
But now it’s as though the clouds
have shifted,
sunlight shines down upon us,
warming our kind
as we open up,
lifted restrictions,
returning to somewhat normalcy,
and grateful we be
to know that our lives are
becoming what they used to be.
 
Now we are thankful,
realising what we had,
and excitement and trepidation
run alongside each other,
entwined,
little patters of fingertips grasping their hands,
some worriedly claim our freedom's returning too soon,
while others yelp hooray and cause a joyous hullabaloo.
 
Allow us to enjoy our freedom,
the sunlight,
she finally came,
and not a moment too soon,
she’s present with her warming life,
now our reunions:
hearts against hearts,
embraces expressed as love is loudly proclaimed.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Escape Room – 28/05/20

    Poem: Escape Room – 28/05/20

    Fingertips against the wall,
pressing, gouging,
wanting to get through,
but no way out.
 
I am aghast at this imprisonment –
four walls slowly caving in.
Like impending doom,
they inch in all around,
closer and closer,
it’s growing difficult to breathe.
 
Why this state of insanity?
Am I deserving of its encroachment?
My mental state,
my lack of solid coping mechanisms,
Why, how to survive,
this condition, this condition?
 
The walls now turn to nausea,
the sicker I become,
apprehensive glances of my own,
the walls’ will be done.
 
And now they smile,
they cackle,
they absorb my light –
away!
Slumped in a lonesome corner,
left quietly to decay.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Friendships Among Pink Blossoms – 27/05/20

    Poem: Friendships Among Pink Blossoms – 27/05/20

    Cherry blossoms in Acacia Street,
a feast for the eyes,
a scene so replete,
petals dance while we’re healing Inside.
 
Pink petals float,
beautiful be they,
a wistful smile upon my lips
as memories fly by.
 
So many unique people met on the path,
these cobblestones,
where we sat on the park benches,
getting to know each other as time would pass by
and people come and go,
 
So many life stories learned,
moments of vulnerable truth,
they learned about me,
I learned of them, too.
 
Despite my illness, I wanted to help,
to fix their turmoil inside,
but it turned out
I needed to try to heal myself, too,
that would be incredibly wise.
 
We had staff to attend to us,
medications,
therapy too,
but by banding together,
whispered secrets,
friendships forged,
we grew stronger amidst the raging reds,
paranoid greens,
and solemn, moody blues.
 
Where are they now?
Are lives led happy and content?
Are they settled and stable?
Or are they still needing
to be held up by caring arms,
well provided,
loving support always well meant?
 
We may have resented some support,
the strict nature of it all,
but these measures were in place
to protect us,
to allow the healing of them, us, those,
from the sicknesses which plagued our minds most.
 
Gratitude may be come at differing points,
perhaps immediate or after the fact,
but know they looked after us
while we were acute,
and they’ll catch us if we tumble,
if again we fall,
until we can grow within ourselves,
becoming more resilient
and firmer with inner strength,
leading forward,
taking steps ahead
for more well lives,
the cobblestones we’ll learn to
no longer need tread,
they are hopefully part of our past lives.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Beneath the Surface – 24/05/20

    Poem: Beneath the Surface – 24/05/20

    On the surface of a scarlet lake
are dreams and nightmares cast aside,
laid to waste.
None have the desire to peruse
or recollect,
the enmity of these experiences,
why, no one wants to look back.
 
The moments of the night wander in a shimmer,
upon a crystalline surface,
like oil mixed with water,
they simply do not gel well,
their animosity alive rather than
a sheen of sheer consistence.
 
Nearby stand two fishermen
with their fishing rods so pliant,
I wonder what will they capture –
if anything at all –
or is their joy mainly in the process?
 
Their lines and sinkers are slick
with the congealing of subconscious creations,
confused moments,
surreal expressions,
and here the men are,
happily, into the night,
casting their lines again and again,
no disappointment at their lack of capture,
those dreams and nightmares do evade.
 
And then suddenly there is a bite,
something below the layers,
these creations of the night,
and rise unto the air,
a water-falling shape is revealed,
cascading around a moment of precious truth.
 
The creature hooked is nothing like something
ever seen by you nor I,
an abomination,
non-descript to most,
yet something which terrifies.
 
The fisherman grins,
pleased with his prize,
he is the master of
slowly cleansing this lake
of that which is untoward,
unworthy of remaining alive.
 
I realise now his role is not to be self-sufficient,
nor to enjoy the actual process,
but to purge this lake of things which should not belong,
removing the waste of nightmares
and dreams which hold the ability
to cause a sleeper harm.
 
And into the night and morning,
for days they will remain,
the demons of the lake,
expelled one by one,
through and through,
they shan’t remain.
 
I wonder how long it will take them,
if ever they will succeed,
at making this lake fresh and transparent,
a wondrous and true beauty to be seen.
 
Oh, hark! I tell myself,
I am sure there will come a day
when the water is cleared,
and the drippings of a drain of
combined subconsciousness,
dream time of many sleepers eventually cleansed away.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 272447 from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: An Embrace After Tea – 23/05/20

    Poem: An Embrace After Tea – 23/05/20

    Warm sentiments expressed,
heartfelt touches extended,
the joy within almost palpable,
understanding we are blessed.
 
The other sits opposite,
a smile within their eyes,
warm glints to be absorbed,
and I wonder,
is this what I’ve been searching for in my life?
 
A nuance here and there,
in softly spoken words,
uttered in my ear,
their breath so near,
makes me relaxed
and then rigid –
what did you say, dear?
 
A betrayal revealed,
because of a calling they felt,
an untoward moment,
they beg for forgiveness for themselves.
 
Yet I am no doormat,
I do not, will not, provide those words,
the exoneration of their moral crime,
my absence is what they deserve.
 
They weep, they weep,
crocodile tears which impede correct speech,
the tangled crotchet of the situation a mess,
no matter what,
I will not yield.
 
How could you do it,
I seethe,
how could you perform this ill to me?
 
Now the other shrugs,
there is only dishonesty,
when they retract and reveal
it went no further
than an embrace after tea.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Lorri Lang from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home