Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: #amwriting

  • Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Imagine there was something which could easily read the words of your heart. Your joys, your aching, your frustration, and the spaces you keep for precious, invaluable art. Those masterpieces of memories and experiences which you love to hold, turn them over in hands again and again, mesmerised, decisive, the experiences are able to be re-lived this way fruitfully, truth be told.

    You can inspect these cubes, forms, or spheres, or perhaps for you, they’re nondescript, simple constructs, in your mind they can exist, in an eye’s blink they can then disappear. Almost in a meditative state, overwhelming emotions draw near, enveloping you, reminding you that internally we are all stars. Filled with spark and brightness, our glowing memories can be seen – or at least felt – from afar, and if one extends to another, perhaps both will gain miraculous, shooting energy which never shall mar.

    Who can easily read your heart? Which methods will permit entry into your hidden compacts of art? Will you allow the mirror to open, to unclasp and reveal their reflection with yours, unbroken? Or will your memories remain purely yours, until you grow older, and they slowly grow forgotten?

    Only allow others in when the feeling encompasses your being with the meaning and understanding that your heart wants to be seen. Sharing is loving, until the stark morning, but sometimes we want ourselves to let it be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Visit’ – 13/05/21

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  • Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    The sky is pink, grey and blue today, wisps of cotton candy and woollen clouds. I watch as First Light dawns upon me, the day awakens, and I cherish it, awaiting more. What is this fluffy entity which now travels towards my face? This countenance and structure so lovely, perfection, in a way?

    It morphs slightly as it travels, altering size, shape, and form, one moment it’s obscure and barely recognisable, then the next, clearer and pure.

    I won’t say what I suspect these clouds have become, I feel it’s not my place to share, but I will acknowledge its sacredness, of this I have become more and most aware. A benevolent entity travelled unto me, blessing and guiding with his presence, and now my being is vibrant, I am invigorated, then suddenly well-spent.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by LevaNevsky from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘A Trail of Winding Thoughts’ – 12/05/21

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  • Prose: A Trail of Winding Thoughts – 12/05/21

    Prose: A Trail of Winding Thoughts – 12/05/21

    On the proviso of keen awareness, some can promise the world. Vivid, glorious, blossoming flowers, and pretty passions laid in a row. Everything given has a reason, or so it seems, amazing these moments are, they’re encouraging, they certainly please. And here presents confusion of the times, wait, the headiness of scented fruits scattered all around takes a free-for-all, but they are sublime. This situation seems profoundly positive, satisfying and amazing, soar with the scents, ride upon spread white dove’s wings, heaven sent. And by the sea we will then find ourselves, the salt air tingling as I dart out my tongue from my mouth. Run to the water, rush to the foam, mermaids are beckoning, mermen are calling you home…

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Previous Post: ‘Stride’ – 12/05/21

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  • Poem: Luminescent – 02/05/21

    Poem: Luminescent – 02/05/21

    The Moon in all his glory, 
    pale, craggy, yet luminescent, 
    he smiles down upon our Earth
    as though in a parody,
    a soft spot held for us, and meant. 

    The Sun, she tries to jostle with him
    for pride of place in the sky, 
    I laugh, shake my head to myself, 
    I don’t bother to ask her why. 

    They can and do co-exist, 
    but one’s more prominent
    than the other, 
    I don’t have to, 
    need to mention
    who begs for more or less power. 

    Demand much from the clouds
    and they may wink 
    before the Sun or Moon, 

    obscure them from our eyes, 
    us mere humans on this Earth, 
    here to appreciate the 
    glowing orbs hanging from the sky on high.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

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  • Prose Poetry: Illuminate – 19/04/21

    Prose Poetry: Illuminate – 19/04/21

    Sometimes, there’s something magical in the air. You can feel it permeating your skin, your muscles, the tendrils of your hair. That electrifying feeling that courses through your very veins, warming you and making you feel loved, and reassuring you that everything, everything will be okay. 

    There is a time in the future when you will feel this, too. Don’t worry your heart about whether it will come, or if it won’t, when, how, or where, how far away, or soon. There is something amazing out there waiting for you, if you desire to take it by the hand: allow it, her, him, whomever, to walk with you, into the Great Unknown, and begin to slowly and freely breathe again. 

    Allow yourself to not be encumbered by the pains of yesterdays. Lift your head higher, let your heart pound with hope, dispel the dismay. And understand that there is a light at the end of everything dark, if we only allow ourselves to open up. There is a choice to be made, to bring forth illumination and joy, or remain in the shadows, though I know, sometimes, this isn’t a choice. In such cases, let others help and hold you up, take their embraces, their kind words, loving and such, because with support, we can make it through the pain and distress, life is for living, not suffering, and I’d hate for anyone to lose sight of what could begin again. Peace, light, love to you, and in your heart, begin in hope to trust.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

  • Poem: Hush – 15/04/21

    Poem: Hush – 15/04/21

    Sometimes I want to be quiet, 
    far from conceited, too loud and proud, 
    humble is what I will be, 
    I’ll smile before I speak, 
    think before I utter, aloud. 

    Quiet contemplation
    is what is needed in this case, 
    I won’t allow my heart to fail me,
    should these words, lest they go to waste.

    I know it is important 
    to take time to speak with ease, 
    I know it is wise, once more, 
    to not permit the certain need

    to be heard all the time, 
    to be boisterous and child-like, 
    but how can I alter
    when I feel so under attack
    with these utterances of mine?

    So, hushed is what I’ll be, 
    if I don’t speak, 
    there will be no analysis of me, 
    no written conjectures, 
    no debates of sorts, 
    I will be hush, hush, hushed, 
    and that’s the style I choose, 
    no need to consort. 

    But will silence really save me?
    I’ll learn to care not for judgements,
    I’ll dust them away with pleasure and ease,
    an ultimate form of deliverance,
    can’t you see, won’t you see?

    And in the end they’ll all be appeased,
    no need to hear from,
    let’s have a break from prattling about me,
    is that what they want,
    is that what they need?
    Or only momentarily will the silence be required
    to be?

    I must remember this is for me,
    my mental health is most important, too,
    let me chase the feeling of being free,
    my time here will be in lieu,
    silence can speak of many golden truths.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

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  • Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    I wonder to myself, does Time heal most wounds?
    Does it help scab over the surface of gashes 
    more permanently than over a clumsy bruise?

    Will it fix the mistakes, 
    the errors of time gone by?
    Allowing for a reprieve, 
    a chance to redo the actions, rather than saying goodbye?

    Or perhaps Time heals the wounds and allows the person
    a chance to move on after aching for many moons. 
    Maybe the healing is a motion that simply occurs
    the less we think of them, 
    a widened universe that wouldn’t allow us to forget them so soon,
    but then thoughts of them gently intrude. 

    We needed the chance to digest the actions, 
    the gashes, the slashes, emotional warfare, and then…
    we have healed, it has taken Time, this we do know, 
    forgiveness may appear stupidity or ignorance, 
    but people are human, and mistakes we must allow for, 
    and dismiss, and for the future, know.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.    
    Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash               

  • Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    I darn the threadbare blanket, 
    there are weaves showing to me, 
    I’m not alarmed by its fragility, 
    it’s actually perfect to see.

    Because it signals much use, 
    desirous times,
    this blanket speaks of laughter, friendship and truth,
    is loving deemed a crime? 

    This blanket’s been with me through a lot, 
    covering, securing, protecting, 
    I darn the holes away, 
    renew it –
    it’s anew!
    with only little errors to view, 

    but are they really errors?
    This covering signals the bond between you and I, 
    it links me to others too, 
    with these friends there’s no need for goodbye. 

    The threadbare areas are reminiscent of our 
    times where we lingered, conversed, and loved, 
    the blanket itself is signalling the quality of my friendships
    with few and far in between, 
    a small quantity of quality now, 
    what is there left not to love?

    I am no longer bereft by the smaller number, 
    it’s not about quantity, 
    it’s about cherishing who and what these friendships are,
     
    the blanket caresses us, 
    carries us under,
    I am grateful for them, 
    and everything. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.           
    Photo by Nery Zarate on Unsplash        

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  • Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    A dainty bow signals a gentle approach, 
    the lady will accept without any form of reproach. 
    She takes his hand and they twirl, swirl with glee, 
    palm to palm now, 
    solemnity, 
    there is no chance to flee. 

    In perfect style, they then waltz and careen,
    to others it’s as though their joyfulness has ne’er been seen, 
    but today, it is on show, 
    it is accumulating, 
    like maidens smiling in a row, 
    greeting their dance partners, 
    in beautiful outfits, decorated from head to toe. 

    I smile upon the scene playing in my mind, 
    the partners sway and sway, 
    closeness here to find, 
    their emotional capacities sing, 
    they’re together through everything, 
    they’ve selected, 
    they’ve chosen, 
    ahead a vast ocean of positivity Life will bring.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.                   
    Photo by Scott Broome on Unsplash

  • Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Every morning is the same for me,
I rise, I pad, I create hot water that I stain 
black with bitterness,
a substance that does please.
 
I open my laptop, 
attend to the various avenues,
hoping, wishing, waiting,
for the stats to reveal certain clues.
 
Is it bad to hope for the 'views'?
Is it bad to desire more 'likes'?
As someone who creates, I feed off the sensation
that my work has some effect upon other people's lives.
 
But views without likes,
now that’s an interesting notion,
they make my heart sink slightly,
but I shan’t allow any sense of
commotion,
angst,
anguish,
or weighty rumination,
 
to permit these existence
would be unwise,
something unwarranted,
better to learn from 
whichever mistake was performed
and for my next creation
strive for something 
more appealing and perfected.
 
There is no shame in understanding
that occasionally one shall err 
and one will fail
at being the effervescent, welcoming being
that appeals to most,

but then again, some enjoyed the darker side of me,
my prior pain, the rapid rise, 
the subsequent self-imposed suffering,

they empathised with these moments,
perhaps because they proved that 
humankind can fall,
from my delicate mantelpiece
I had fled, took my leave before them all.
 
I suppose it’s better to vary what I show of myself,
a slow striptease? 
I'll undress myself to reveal not my skin, 
not my muscles, 
not my bones,
but my inner strength,
the quiet fortitude that lives within me,
to reveal the true nature of myself,
why, this is what I hope others will wish for 
and quietly desire to read. 

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

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