Uncategorized – Page 48 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

This is dedicated to my mother.

To be brave means to ignore that knot in your stomach,
to fight its twists and turns,
to be resilient within oneself,
to know all will be fine even if there’s a chance it won’t.
 
To be brave is to put on that face of strength
for your friends and family,
to not allow yourself to crumble within,
to take everything within your stride,
to face this with a smile,
a smirk, a grin.
 
To be brave is to research absolutely everything,
to be most informed means to be most prepared
for if all the details and statistics are known,
does this not mean a more intelligible road?
 
You are brave --
I can hear and see the positivity
in your words and eyes,
not once have I seen a tear shed,
body curled in suffering or misery within your bed,
and most certainly it’s because I know
that for you, yourself,
you understand you must be strong.
 
To make it through this with positivity and hope,
there is hope you’ll get through it soon enough,
this is the means through which you cope.
 
We are here for you at every turn,
here to offer calming cups of warm water,
or offer company, to sit quietly,
you bravely speak with close others
of the path ahead
as though its nothing,
nothing to worry about,
because you, you know you will mend.
 
There is only brokenness within,
and it’s a physical not mental state,
I never see any signs of mental suffering,
perhaps you hide it away from me,
expel it softly in your room when it becomes very late.
 
But for your journey,
you have no need to prove that you are brave
because I already know it
and now I’m truly seeing it,
you will make it through this storm,
you’ll become right as rain.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Duncan Sanchez on Unsplash

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Poem: Learning to Become Softer Again – 19/08/20

We’ve settled into a pattern of “comfortable”,
where we rest each day and call this perpetual state Home.
Where the isolation has become the norm,
we lay our weary heads down.
 
Our sleeping patterns are all askew,
but what does it matter,
we’ve all the time in the world to correct it,
is this not true?
 
We are insular,
we are a family unit,
through isolation
we have become closer, trust this,
 
and we are wrapped with this feeling of
personal warmth which comes from knowing
that through these times we will make it through.
 
The house has become more filled with love,
more of a home,
we spend time together
with less bickering,
less time spent alone,
it’s as if we have been purposefully drawn together again
for a specific reason,
a chiffon string bag encasing certain things from others who 
need not be privy to them.
 
And we are left here upon couches of two,
hearts further conjoining,
melding through and through,
we are learning to love more again,
we are learning to be softer again,
to care for each other
wholeheartedly again.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

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Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

I exist in a cavity which yawns,
through it winds the breath of a midsummer’s gusting around a yew tree’s
gaps and leaves.
 
This cavity has been hollowed out by a pneumatic drill of life,
its thoughtless operator did not check for underground hazards,
didn’t concern himself with the overhead wires
and animals upon their tails as hangers,
no, this negative space has been constructed only to my liking,
a place for me to exist,
my hiding,
he understood my needs.
 
Somehow, how can a widened interior house someone whose own interior
is still healing,
still shattered in areas, still widely-known for easily breaking?
I present in a different manner to stop the worrying,
to stop others holding concern, I am happy, though inside I could be better.
 
While I am unfulfilled, I am full of desire and drive,
within this small cavity I exist undisturbed,
able to construct my thoughts,
the drill shudders and trembles around me,
wanting to make more space for this growing body,
because, growing like my heart and soul, which repairs themselves slowly,
this place feels like home now.
It does, truly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jerry Zhou on Unsplash

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Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

If you could forget specific parts of your life,
would you willingly wipe that part of your mind?
 
Would you trade unwanted thoughts, experiences and dreams 
for empty compartments,
nothing to sift through,
nothing to see?
 
But is this not at the detriment of your history,
your comparison of experiences,
the gratitude of understanding
that sometimes, some things,
negative thoughts, sensations, memories
so terrible 
may be required as a means 
of showing brightness next to suffering,
the comparison is by its nature incredible.
 
Though, to purposefully cause oneself amnesia,
would there be side effects of this?
What would happen when we forget pain and suffering?
is it all it’s made out to be?
Did you know that from darkness and despair can sprout positivity?
 
The feeling that we’ve made it through,
either together or alone,
knowing we’ve braved the storm,
perhaps that’s enough to leave purposeful amnesia well alone.
 
Regardless of retained memories,
we will make it through.

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

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Poem: A Lasso on my Heart – 15/08/20

I’ve got a lasso on the moon and I’m holding him
so close to me,
his glow causes me such 
excitement and trembling,
because my hold on the moon is tight, 
though it is gentle enough to be kind,
and I know that our love for one another,
it is spectacular, it feels utterly right.
 
And here resides a man in the moon, why, he curses and scorns,
he is jealous of the Moon's and my love
thinking that I am set to take Moon away,
quietly, he is right,
I vow to snatch Moon from him with all my might.
 
This is not to say this man in the moon will be extracted,
nor will he be sent away to a land of unknown,
he can remain if he wishes to do so,
but he must understand my love for Moon is more
than he can ever have thought he’d be capable of performing,
let alone feel or inherently know.
 
I have a lasso on the moon but the moon has a lasso on my heart,
it seems like we’ll forever be entwined,
and never shall we part.
 
Moon smiles at me gently, and he wisely says,
“We must keep Man in the Moon wrapped within our hearts,
because if not, it is cruel to hurt another being's soul that way.”
 
I cry, “If only the pesky man in the moon would accept his relegation,
it’s not so harsh,
it’s simply a slight demotion.”
 
But Moon shakes his head, beams sadly now, and holds my hand,
“Our love cannot last a second longer, if you’re unwilling to accept the man,”
and with a gentle tug, up and away goes the lasso from around my luminous love.
 
He and his friend rise like a balloon into the night sky,
and take pride of place where everyone can all share in admiring their spirited light.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash

This poem has been written in response to Manic Sylph’s Writing Prompt #77, “I’ve got a lasso on the moon”. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!

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Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

words have power
i’m sure we’ll all agree
that words have strength,
wouldn’t you like to see?
 
i must reiterate that certain letters have bite
and some arrangements have sting
and when unacknowledged, watch the fire rage within.
 
i wonder whether it’s all worth it,
the ability, the drive to want to fight,
to stand up for what is right,
what is noble,
what is correct,
filled with might,
 
we are known for being powerful far longer than after our
inkwell’s stopped remaining wet,
no matter the censorship,
our words can never be truly wiped,
we will never sit with errant regret.
 
words can hold one captive and steady,
they can hold one as victim too truly sweet,
waiting for the sense of amorality to hit,
and I think,
is this it?
is this moment of truth, exposure to the cold visceral really worth it?
 
i could sit here contemplating the stab within my drawn arrow,
the poison behind my dart,
the strength behind my sideways swing,
the scrawled directions to a stairway still,
why is life directing us this way,
mismanaging its power,
righteous words, they manage to take,
these words might wish to heal.
 
though, they are not so powerful after all,
at least not in an offensive mode,
in fact, they can smooth over the sorrow,
I suppose, in a way that’s far more potent
than any attack method that could be
shown to those pulled into line,
life is dragging us in tow.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by David Pennington on Unsplash

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Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

When I was much younger,
I dreamed up a fairy tale,
in which I was treated not as an 
obedient princess
but an adamant, decisive queen,
strong-willed yet still compassionate,
rescued from my bitter loneliness, 

and accompanied by,
walked alongside through life
next to a wonderful, endearing king 
in this world which often strikes against those who
pause to dreamily admire the sky,
while busy lives hustle and bustle,
rush on by.
 
Together we would dance and dance,
and seem like forever 
we were holding hands,
our twirling,
our waltzing,
my dipping,
for me, he would eternally care.
 
Then as I grew,
reality sunk in,
a realisation I didn’t need a man to save me,
I could fall and crawl and lift myself on my own,
princess I was not,
queen neither was I,
but my world,
my decisions I owned,
I had the courage to walk it alone.
 
No matter how I longed for
love, affection,
devotion,
when I was ready,
I trusted a king may still eventually show,
 
perhaps the first would be the last,
his appearance might be a type of curious offering,
life’s rewarding,
within my heart a new fairy tale 
began emerging -

although through love, 
I did not need saving,
I needed firm self-acceptance to continue  
developing and growing.

I could stand by myself, 
all alone, 
but sometimes it is nice 
to not be on my own
and as long as equality would be present, 
reign true, 

the yearning and hoping 
for another to complete the picture,
there is nothing wrong with that, 
perhaps my dream wasn't so childish,
nor so outlandish to quietly treasure and review. 

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

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Poem: Besotted at the Bar – 14/08/20

I am absolutely besotted with him,
he is charming, and manipulative, and glib.
I am wholly delighted with him,
he is worthy of being taken home to meet the family,
this would be just such a welcome, wanted dream.
I am absolutely enamoured with him
he has, with haste, pulled the wool over my eyes,
my darling, I am obsessed with him,
won’t he let me take him home with me tonight?
 
His attentive glances,
his wide smiles,
his hands, how they gently gloss over mine,
his soft-spoken introduction,
his brass, hearty laughter a welcome contradiction,
he taught me his bliss
from the flicker of his wanton tongue
which spoke shapes in vowels and oohs
that would make any woman come undone.
 
His pronunciation anything but a contrivance at the time,
he certainly got his reaction,
his sympathetic looks when I told him how complex it was
in the all the manners in which I had been broken,
his promise of how he’d fix things with the superglue from his heart,
my sweetness, how clichéd he is but how endearing is
his enthusiasm to fix this broken
women not as a project
but restore me as a work of art.
 
Perhaps I have misjudged this man who sits before me,
open and seemingly honest,
listening to my stories,
head cocked gently to the side,
a sign of listening carefully?
He clasps my right hand softly, with eyes widened,
sympathetically.
 
I cannot help feeling safer now,
that perhaps this is not manipulation but genuine care
and concern,
who he really is, there might be much more to learn,
just as I have so much to reveal
whilst we rest upon bar with elbows,
sipping our drinks and getting to know each other’s worlds,
maybe he is right for me,
let’s throw caution to the wind,
a casual visit home soon to the family,
let’s see what my loved ones have to view, assess, and tell.

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

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Poem: Positive/Negative – 13/08/20

I find it hard to write about positive things,
of trees that wave within the breeze,
of hearts conjoining, brilliant eyes meeting
yet still sleepy in the morning,
of puppies playfully pouncing on their owner’s chest,
of a baby’s breath rustling quietly whilst she’s in bed,
her subtle yawning.
 
I find it difficult to write about the joy of nature,
to write about the light within the sky,
describing it in a manner that’s perfect for its
sumptuous bursts of coloured fire.
 
I find it easier to describe the desolate,
and the despairing,
the pain and suffering that my heart and mind have met,
I find it hard to scrawl about that warmth in the sky and how
it affects my mind, makes me want to fly,
I find it hard, not to speak of such things,
but to detail them when I write.
 
I am over-practiced with explaining the darker side of my life,
my saddened feelings,
the heightened strife,
I may be a happy person beneath it all,
but I certainly know how to make it clear
that I have been affected negatively;
somehow, I always end up letting you all know.
 
I find it hard to not be depressing
as I sit here penning, I find it difficult to flip the switch
and create something bright and sparkling,
something that will brighten your mood and something
that will heighten your morning,
alleviate your prior suffering and send you into a
state of smiling
that is most definitely worth experiencing,
something that will last longer than a feeling of saddened knowing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Mathieu Stern on Unsplash

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Poem: Elegantly Numb – 12/08/20

When will you realise that to be elegantly numb is not courageous
but is rather like dragging fingernails across a broken board?
I understand the need to be empty and without feeling,
but this is not something to aim for,
best be open in what one is saying,
drag forth the pain and suffering to the morning,
to be laid upon the ground to be judged in its sheer distress,
an understanding that really, being unfeeling is nothing to reach for,
you must, we must keep deeply breathing.
 
To be elegant is to be stylish, graceful, beautiful,
to be numb, without any feeling, is quite the opposite, I feel –
why aim for this?
 
Some may think that it is a purposeful venture,
that there is melody in winding with notes of brutal,
unspoken tunes to be slotted together in a row,
a personal choir, an understanding that while magic can rise forth
from between their lips,
to be numb inside,
for the creation of music of the soul,
it is counterintuitive.
 
Rise forth from the personal gloom!
Let us improve our lives as we see fit,
and by that, I mean elevating our roles
which are not living for pain and suffering –
sometimes it is inevitable,
these sorrows in life,
but it is not outside of our means to alter
our perspective.
 
While one woman may be ailing from physical suffering,
another from emotional distress –
aren’t the overall effects the same thing?
And really, understanding that the viewpoint could need altering
to envelop these women and pillow-soften them from their suffering,
it is so important to consider and see.
 
But, there is no reason to make yourself numb simply
so you cannot feel,
understand the circumstances of your life better,
analyse them, truth be told, be bold,
and know that the while the circumstances may not change,
the reaction is coming solely from you.
 
Open the structure of your heart,
allow access,
and make others feel not your distress,
but view your kindness and worth plain to see,
you’re art,
you always were,
allow your heartbeat to run and run,
and now, with feeling,
breathe.

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

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