Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Category: Uncategorized

  • Poem: From My Pen – 20/05/20

    Poem: From My Pen – 20/05/20

    The brightness of the page,
glaring in my eyes,
a plain lined sheet,
a hopeful scene,
a winking extreme.
 
The sun shines down,
beats down its warm caress,
my pen drags along heated paper,
pen from pen to pen.
 
The etchings are made,
the heavy handedness
of my lyrics are forthcoming,
and I sit here creating,
will I write on and on?
When will the process be done?
I’m left here wondering.
 
Will I make any sense of my thoughts this afternoon?
Or will it all be a jumble,
words, metaphors, en masse,
convoluted, strange, peculiar tunes?
 
I hope to arrange these floating thoughts
into a succinct yet decidedly descriptive view,
because this glaring white
it damages my eyes,
it must be tamed,
curl by curl,
handwritten swell by swell.
 
And I know,
I know,
that sometimes words may not
be worthy enough to share,
but isn’t the process,
even if failure,
worth something?
Reveal my notebook, shall I dare?
 
To ride softly along the waves
of successful arrangements,
or descriptors that weren’t so smooth,
the opportunity to correct,
or absorb slight triumphs
are abilities which are highly toward.
 
So, I continue to remain,
paper and pen,
thoughts feeding from my mind,
my being,
nourished and saved,
and I enjoy the warm basking
that my page has accepted,
no longer does it stare back at me,
but now softly,
it has been decorated,
 
I drag my fingertips carefully over the raised letters
upon the page
from my heart through my pen,
technicalities saved.

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

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  • Prose Poetry: The Deep Azure – 18/05/20

    Prose Poetry: The Deep Azure – 18/05/20

    The bright blue twinkles before me, the waves curl and roll with such pristine splendour. I prepare myself for the swell: my tiptoes dangle above the lapping at the shore, and I smile, I smile so widely that I want more, so much more, of the cooling caress which grips my extremities like refreshing, watered diamonds. The sprinkles, the splashes, my heart it stills, it grows.
 
What did I do to deserve this amazing experience, these rocking, hilly blues? A reflection of skyward azure, wandering below, across the crystalline views. I tiptoe, step by step, into the creeping shallows, as smoothly as it breathes across the damp sand which I imprint with impressions of me, my footprints, my imprints, which disappear beneath the wetness. Sandy signs that I’ve been here are only visible for seconds, seemingly emulsified, or eaten away, into the surrounding and temporary moulds. The water trails higher, higher above my ankles, midway up my calves, then my thighs – I can feel the chill of the robust crests grabbing at them, then I dive in, head-first – the rush of coldness makes me breathless.
 
I feel at one with the shimmer, although I cannot see it, I feel the ebb and the flow, and with legs seemingly now melded together as though the tail of a mermaid, I dive deeper, exploring far below. I dare myself to open my eyes; such wonder there is down here so low: sparkling, whimsical, fantastical, a living world before my eyes unfolds. How could I have spent so much of my life on land? I ask myself, feeling numb from what is visible in this underwater world. I shake myself, take away this odd, unfamiliar feeling, and decide to explore everything, or at least as much as I can see.

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

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  • Poem: A Young Girl’s Whims – 16/05/20

    Poem: A Young Girl’s Whims – 16/05/20

    She walks a path undiscovered,
at least until now,
where peonies and sunflowers and daffodils
all happily and prettily grow in rows.
 
Her eyes take in the sights,
famished of beauty they had become,
but now greedily they feast upon
the beauty right before them.
 
She smiles quietly,
succinctly,
as though she holds a secret all her own,
and time having passed by so secretively,
this is the truth,
she may know something that others don’t.
 
And while she wanders past the flowers,
now onto other garden beds,
the brightness in her face
illuminates the current splendour;
this girl could brighten a room.
 
For she is strong yet soft,
brave yet cautious,
knowing but open,
wise and wondering.
 
She seeks her destiny as much as you,
aware of her surroundings
but open to that which may become,
something that could bring about harm.
 
She continues wandering,
innocently, freely,
touching the blossoms as she goes,
a glance upwards towards a kingdom
where she must return,
her dreams and fancies she throws to the clouds.
 
Oh, Mother, oh Mother, will you love these?
she murmurs,
as she gathers wistful blooms which know
they must give in,
their lives, their self-sacrifice,
beauty and all,
all for a young girl’s whims.

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

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  • Poem: A Gift – 12/05/20

    A gift from me to you,
I dotingly extend,
the ability to treasure 
what’s within your hands.
 
The foreign heart you so clutch,
delicately,
with great trust,
which you have been entrusted to care for
with strength and deep love.
 
Who are you caressing with the clutched palms together?
I cannot tell,
perhaps it’s a secret you’ll not dare share with another.
 
Regardless, I know you’ll look after it well,
the heartbeat, the heartbeat 
so strong and positive to behold.
 
Perhaps it’s the lifeline of a relationship,
perhaps it’s the living memory of someone dear who has passed,
perhaps, maybe, this still-beating heart is the
lifeline between your spirit, body and soul.
 
Whatever the heartbeat signifies,
please know my gift to you
is the ability to care so deeply without 
being entwined to the point of no return,
though interlinked,
you are still independent.
 
And you will carry on caring for this
living organ,
almost-breathing object within your palms
and I’ll glance and smile
so proudly upon you,
 
there is nothing more 
that I can extend
at this point than
my pride and my love for you.
 
Modest though you are,
you must positively feel 
your own pride ascend,
this process is miraculous for you, too.

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

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  • Poem: Progression – 10/05/20

    Poem: Progression – 10/05/20

    A lady of goodness smiles upon me,
wishing me so well,
the nature of her desire for me to flourish
causes warmth to flush my body,
to flow through my being,
will I succeed?
Only time will be able to tell.
 
It is as though I have been granted a reprieve,
a chance to make of this time something more,
my chance to rise,
to change myself,
something I must treasure,
I must take hold of,
and allow my growth to be fostered by
my heart, my heart, my heart,
this is something I know in myself,
a journey I understand well.  
 
And no matter if the tides will turn,
if I lose control temporarily,
I shan’t allow myself to skip,
to miss a beat,
 
because health will be nurtured
and my safety restored,
all placed at ease,
any stressors,
any sufferings,
I will work through my condition,
with the help of others,
the ones who care for and love me.
 
Sometimes we need to reach out a hand,
sometimes we’ll need to grasp onto help,
but when it comes to the time
when we can do it ourselves,
me, myself, alone,
this is when the lady will return,
smiling and cheering me on.

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

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  • Poem: An Early Ode for Mother’s Day – 09/05/20

    Poem: An Early Ode for Mother’s Day – 09/05/20

    While we are separate,
our hearts are still all together.
We reach for means to communicate,
to strengthen the bonds between one another.
 
No matter the distance between us,
we know, we feel, we understand
that we are only a breath, a second away,
for those who are near and dear to us –
they are not so terribly far away.
 
We smile at each other through the pixel cameras,
we hear the hearty tone of laughter enrich the conversations,
we hear the witty banter,
the decidedly clever nattering,
of young, middle aged and old.
 
We care for those through these calls,
no matter that we cannot visit,
and if we try, we’ll see them through window panes,
smiling and waving again and again.
 
Separation is difficult,
it drains us, weighs heavily,
but it is for the better of all,
and soon, in the future,
hopefully there will be tentative good news
that a leader will be bringing.
 
But for now, allow us to keep one another in
our hearts and minds,
those bouquets of flowers glorified and bright,
delivered to cause great smiles,
Happy Mother’s Day tomorrow for all,
may all mums feel wonderful, appreciated,
no matter whether tomorrow or another date,
loved every day and every night.  
  
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by annca from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Mauve Gown – 08/05/20

    I need to stop
I tell myself,
I need to stop this now,
the needle pulling through the silk,
the soft material.
 
I can’t keep sewing,
creating, making,
while my heartbeat thuds and pounds,
the danger’s lurking,
my task’s undertaken,
can I truly wear this garment loud and proud?
 
To them it announces revolt,
to me it signifies freedom,
those bright mauve tatters
sewn into sheets of beautiful layers,
ever so silken.
 
And I will wear them with pride,
without embarrassment,
no need to hide,
my fingers,
my thumbs,
pricked many a-time,
 
They will try to tear me down,
but this is not their time,
I will rejoice,
for my hard work,
all so damned sublime.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Bruno /Germany from Pixabay

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  • Poem: When Words Won’t Speak – 06/05/20

    Poem: When Words Won’t Speak – 06/05/20

    When words won’t speak, 
colours do,
vibrant splashes,
moody shadows,
emotive characters,
abstract patterns.
 
When I cannot find the right letters,
or when I simply stutter,
I bring forth emotional therapy,
brilliant shades bleeding with highlights
or slices of calming, iridescent colour. 
 
Sometimes nothing lyrical comes out, 
and I’m left with a blank, cursed page, 
or attempts of controlled cursive crossed out, 
never for anyone to view.

Or there are other types of words, 
they ramble and demand,
intended for others to experience,
to see, 
their rawness brought about by
my hastily scrawling hand,
interpretation intentionally difficult,
I wait, I hope, I breathe. 
 
But in such a situation, I doubt myself, 
my words may prove too harsh, 
best translate them into a form of visual art,
where it’s less specific, 
less obvious what I'm trying 
to place on show.
 
Less fervent will the story be
for I can disguise the dramatics 
and roll on and along 
with the waves of emotion
'til the process of ambiguity
makes my words fit for public consumption - 
 
images filled to the brim, 
a certain crescent rising,
a personal triumph sent,
 
an explosion of hues, 
of brushstrokes,
of textures, of layers, 
that have been expelled from deep within.

I am now tentatively pleased, 
the story has been told, 
by shades and highlights, 
bright and bold, 

I have created a scene
without a single word, 
the speckles, 
the explosions, 
the colours I'll live and breathe
until I'm frail and old,
this process is a priceless passion. 

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

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  • Poem: Down My Spine – 02/05/20

    Poem: Down My Spine – 02/05/20

    Chills and shivers run down my spine,
how on earth am I meant to make
this situation mine?
 
I carefully unstitch the woven seams
that make myself me,
and exalt,
rejoice at viewing that which is
the material of my dreams.
 
I witness here,
I make my point
of sharing what I view,
 
my insides are terribly bright
and are filled with feelings,
deep, emanating emotions true. 
 
I have not always been the most vocal
at expressing my feelings and aspirations,
repressed though they were
I felt they were meant to be hushed,
 
for I was far too shy,
embarrassed,
to explain what I experienced
or what it was I wanted
or quite possibly needed.
 
Now to wrangle this situation
to expel my negative notions,
to announce to the world how I feel,
to know the freedom of
being both light and airy,
and boisterous,
a heavy feather-like nature imbued.
 
Though there is no requirement for me to split,
to divulge,
to expound,
to share my extended feelings,
 
I know if I do not
and I am dishonest with myself
what could eventuate is
the deterioration of my internal self.
 
And I cannot have this occur,
not after a true revelation of my being,
I cannot have this,
my feelings they must swell,
they must be visible,
be willingly seen,
 
then after being acknowledged,
and noted for being present,
 
fly,
fly away
they will,
completely begone,
the truest joy was in revealing their existence.   

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

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  • Poem: A Curious Moth’s Cycle – 01/05/20

    Poem: A Curious Moth’s Cycle – 01/05/20

    The moth is drawn to the flame,
curious though tentative 
he dances,
he flits closer,
the heat scorches –
away, away!
 
Although his wing is singed
he cannot cease his wondering,
in his mind he feels he must
continue to draw closer,
nearer,
until he’s sizzling in a second,
both his wings in 
devastatingly smouldering tatters.
 
The other insects,
they mourn their inquisitive friend 
from the ground,
but what else could they have expected
from a being 
perpetually drawn to the light?
 
It was the moth’s downfall 
to be so hopeful,
to wish to be near a force so dazzling
that it would only burn out 
his own light:
 
an ending
by that impermanent deathly flicker,
the poor moth’s obliterated picture,
a life cast aside by his final fateful flight,
what more than sadness and grief 
could it have delivered?
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Andreas Lischka from Pixabay

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