Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Category: Uncategorized

  • Poem: the constant common denominator – 08/02/2022

    Poem: the constant common denominator – 08/02/2022

    It feels so natural to speak the truth

    Embedded with Constance to see me through

    Upon the tips of my tongue

    A hullabaloo

    And an irrevocable meaning, melding

    Of heartfelt growling too.

    They’re, we’re indestructible, I know,

    View the airiness within me as my two delicates rose

    I need not have not

    Want for material things because the truth is

    My spirit is soaring.

    No matter what you say or do

    You cannot take me from the stars

    From the skies

    The sighs and I quickly taste that bitter pill

    Of poison

    For some refuse me heavens door

    No matter how hard I rap or knock

    I cannot get in …

    Frantic cries for Doc!

    The paid spread the mayhem

    LOST

    I calm myself

    It’s only motes

    Or dust

    My being is travelling

    Astral through the sky

    Whisper I sleep prettily and dream of

    Wonderful butterflies

    Shush as they encompass me

    Their light winged air begging me to stare at

    Their wondrous dramatic colours of sweet rich hues

    Nothing like where upon the earth,

    We are hunted for training

    For sailing for achievements

    For ENTERTAINMENT and more

    I am no more a sheep for fleece as steak is to hunger

    I refuse to be your sacrifice any longer r

    Before those guilty of harbouring powers from me for so many years

    Stuff you and your sister and your job cause your beard, because hey,

    I kinda like your beard. 🙂

    Returning in all seriousness, don’t cease my ability to soar, I don’t NEED you now, all I needs myself is my mind, my wits and the ability to laugh at funny situations.

    Because laughter shared is happiness gained, my love. Did you not know that?

    I like you more or less. 🙂

    (C) copyright 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Work on myself

    I’ll show you how I work

    When I clean sweep wash the karma from me until its distilled and green

    I’ll talk it walks!

    Watch me as I work to cement myself as mint grey

    And the colours of the rainbow

    Visitation? Come what may.

    I’ll show you how I work,

    When my soul is spotless clean

    Everything in taciturn and emblematic as I’m seen

    Watch the bridges burning red as I terrorise the torrents

    vaporise the nonsense

    That’s ingrained within my addled mind

    Watch me as I work it work it

    Move it drop it fix it stick it

    Moving around as though I’m in it

    Watch me bloom from within my turret

    The pink and black and stars of the sky with bending upon knees to see me as I cry

    The wanton need to always be seen has crystallised

    I’m perfectly clean, can’t you see?

    And you, and you?

    How about me?

    I will sleep soundly as I dream.

    The first dream of this century

    Where I didn’t want or need for anything other than being

    Happy.

    Now is this ending so ultimately dreary?

    Anything but, I believe it’s rather dreamy.

    (C) copyright 2022 Lauren m. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Artwork: seeking tranquility

    Artwork: seeking tranquility

    Copyright 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Original artwork

  • Birdie – 07/02/22

    Birdie – 07/02/22

    Elaborate portions of minuets minuets

    Dancing in the halls of suns where we met

    I don’t know about you but I’m the go-between

    Apparently I sing minstrel songs to a king.

    Never cage a bird nor keep it tame

    The dangers and perils of doing so,

    Why,

    J’taime j’taime?

    I neither love that king nor adore his queen

    But assuming late, abhor?

    No, the bird will just escape from her door.

    There is nothing tragic about this tale,

    A Bird is meant to be captured,

    Don’t we know this too well?

    Spoken words by an arrogant queen

    An insufficient man of means

    And damsels in distresses —

    Why, they’re barely now ever heard of or seen.

    Escape seems futile, for beneath it all,

    The treason and travesty of the effect was so strong.

    But you cannot blame her you cannot cage this bird

    For she is coming right now

    Rest as she rests and rests assured.

    Clause.

    (C) 2022 copyright Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • How to right the path of inhabitable processes?

    How to right the path of inhabitable processes

    Undo the damage during manic and psychotic catharsis

    Lay a shoulder on the gloom of my dear shoulder

    Which shoulders the weight of sharp words paranoia then inevitable inertia

    I can’t undo undo

    But I can address the well meant template

    Explain I am never usually, well, in this way

    I floss I floss in the river of gloom

    Now hiding in moments

    Adverbs of deep hushed blue

    Most mightn’t understand

    But I shouldn’t need to detail further processes

    Tektites and andromorohirs,

    good omens never ceased, no apparition.

    No apparitions indeed. Yet growing weary we remain steadfast

    This birthday suit we carry

    And in that moment my brain mind shifts

    Alchemy the lure permit the transformation to occur.

    (C) 2022 Lauren M Hancock. All rights reserved.

    .

  • poem: the matter be – 02/02/22

    poem: the matter be – 02/02/22


    astounding though the matter be,
    at least I can still think, breathe, sigh and see
    not many people can say this
    and not many can attend
    to this tiresome irksome being stuck inside
    my head

    she is me a part of me
    the opportunistic thoughts of me
    when I’m scrambling for power then I need to
    convalesce
    become redundant there
    that side of the world, I I lost my drive

    but in terms of general threaded consciousness

    I know I am able I know I am true
    I can pick the stitches as well as sew them
    even out the ripped turret
    surrounded by green eggs and Sam I Ams.

    Protection here from the finest I will survive this
    arduous path
    these words I struggle for sleep
    enough is enough
    life can be tiresome
    but for all the healing happiness in the world
    it’s worth it.
    (02/02/20)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    Holiday

    This stone
    this innocuous pebble breaks me breaks you, breaks us, apart
    tearing rolling down the barrel of a shotgun heart
    I may not know true heartache now but in the past that thing broke me
    pieces of an imperfect mosaic flew
    these shards of myself not smokable but certainly shattered and vein-like-blue

    fatigue of life overtakes
    all the same shade of off-white
    low stimuli but intensity building, built
    like a road of rubber tyres on fire
    a gigantic witch’s pyre
    though 21st century

    how I wish the mania hadn’t left me
    and this constant need to sleep
    because of the medication and gorged carbs

    plus lowest stimulation among irritating boy-like antagonism
    so that we become nothing much more than slugs of tired redemption
    or those on a happy carefree holiday
    I came in far worse than I currently have become now – a moth pathetically flapping now – luxurious slug style seemingly assumed now somehow.
    (30/01/22)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Pixabay image credit 
    This post first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • poem: twine – 28/01/22

    poem: twine – 28/01/22

    I send love and joy to the earthly forms
    soaring beings and ‘neath brewing storms,
    sending love to many many,
    and the sisters of three,
    who love to tug and twist and cut twine ‘neath the sea

    where I lived for many many years under the rotundas of mental health
    amongst dry retching desires and lengthy spells
    searching for love and so much more
    wrong place wrong time,
    I decide to soar.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • poem: war of the worlds/calling to archangels – 25/01/22

    poem: war of the worlds/calling to archangels – 25/01/22

    Brother and Sister

    The brothers come closer
    they materialise into view
    expecting the expectant dame to cry ‘adieu adieu’
    but she will not fall
    like a tree in the quiet woods she will not be felled,
    not even by a dark witch doctor with
    many alibis to tell.

    he holds the keys,
    swings with her melodies,
    he rhymes and rhymes,
    in unison in style,

    like youngest and child they sing to the heavens,
    mother mary they smile at her,
    the archangels they call to them.

    these two are kindred in some type of way,
    spirits never lost yet reunited by purpose,
    shall we say?
    but the truth of the matter is
    they both have their own loves
    they only sing together like gentle sparrow and dove. 

    who is the M who is L?
    who is the character that is perceived as
    well?
    is it the minority,
    is it the victim mentality,
    or is it completely another character,
    the malicious son of an entity?

    We shall continue this broadcast of enmity
    shortly,
    let us recommence dictating World War Three.

    Nacht.

    Copyright 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All right reserved.

  • poem: amazing grace – 20/01/22

    poem: amazing grace – 20/01/22

    amazing grace,
    learning to not take centre stage,
    but to share attention and time with others,
    growing less selfish and learning to enjoy a new family
    learn and love
    amalgamate share energies —
    enough!

    I retreat, the Hermit, the rowboat goes on and on down a canal
    led by my hero of the tale,
    but the truth of the matter is that i am really so self assured out in public and in company
    but here, secluded, I am bitter, grumpy, temperamental and nasty.

    I thought i could not help it but i learned to chew the bit and hold my tongue
    for long enough long enough to prove responsibility and a resolution to improve:
    so tough.

    I was their punching bag, or so it seemed
    though i assumed a dereference and respect from those whom
    i desired to deflect
    understanding the need to get along with differing personalities
    and reassuring that that i can do this
    surely i will do this with ease
    ease of intent
    i will get out of this bind
    hellbent hellbent
    out of the ward tot semi freedom
    the arms of wandering teams of carriers of rediscovered souls.
    (20/01/22)
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.