amwriting – Page 3 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Invincible – 12/04/21

Sometimes you think you’re invincible,
able to take on the entire world,
chest puffed out,
arms proud,

but darling, understand the situation
and the weaknesses,
I wouldn’t want you to be unnecessarily
harmed or pained for a short while.

Take some deep breaths,
relax,
know that you’ll progress without this bravado,
you don’t need to show off to others,
you don’t need to be acknowledged widely for your
inner and outer strength to be known.

Everything will be fine if you leave it alone,
the world will keep turning on its own,
events, disasters,
negative persons,
all will rise and fall without the throw of little stones,
calling of names, or smiles turned into violent frowns.

Take a leaf from my book,
isn’t it easier to remain calm,
isn’t it smarter, wiser, to be truthful and wear that mark
upon your arm,
there is no need for armour when
your heart is already in a mode of protect,

no need for assault or retribution
to those who have been niggling for so long,
intruding on a life from times now so old.

Leave him,
leave the situation,
allow the feelings to rise,
be filled to the brim,
but then dissipate,
there’s something poignant in crying out
the anger then allowing it to echo away,
its very own din.

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

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April 12, 2021

Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

The cloak and the dagger lie in the foreground,
awaiting to be employed,
ready for use.

What part of the present screams for perusal,
what part of the current? —
tried, terrible and true?

Sheath that dagger,
hide beneath that cloak,
hear the nightly winds rustle
through the still-golden oaks,

and if there’s desire for much more,
when the moments ought to be bottled,
admired,
should culprits turn to run,

ambiguity in tired breaths as
innocence gives chase,
justice will be told,
lest my breath expires,
laid to waste.

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Christian Lue on Unsplash

April 3, 2021

Poem: The Wild Card – 11/02/21

I am curious:
how much of this tale
do you know for yourselves?

I am inquisitive:
which part of it makes you need to
live and breathe, and want to dive and delve?

I am aware there lies certain conditions of the body and mind,
the pages whipping in the gust,
their varied intent,
settling in, seemingly randomised.

Like her, he needed saving,
but it’s as though he calmly waited to be found,
the blow softened from another well-trusted,
I’m whipping away their cobwebs,
the path ahead is easy enough to find now.

It’s all set to be trodden upon,
won’t they reap what has been sown?
Certain pieces of this puzzle discarded,
and others’ presence completely unknown.

Now, the wild card,
rugged character,
in the playing deck is quite uncommon,
his frequency is not plentiful,
and his presence here is never forgotten.

Thus, while searching for his twinkling stars,
remember the constellations which have been
gazed upon
by millions and millions more,
so appreciative from afar,

this player, in his rarity,
his appearance, he is speaking,
to me, to us,
to you, to them,
his relevance akin to a promising
three card spread,
a bright destiny which won’t stop calling.

I yearn to provide some solace
for ambiguity is what I’ve leaned upon,
in time, many souls will repair themselves,
heart, body and mind,
the wild card smiles upon and with them as one.

There will be much motivation to spring forth
to allow progress to heal,
these facts are done and dusted,
more predictions to be told soon,
positive forecasts, will they bloom,
will they yield?

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Debasish Lenka on Unsplash

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February 11, 2021

Poem: Land of Inbetween – 30/01/21

Overwhelmed,
called away from the line of duty,
what do I recall?
What is there to own as mine?
Treasures of memories from a trove.

Responsibility must be taken,
I can encompass my decisions as a whole,
the knowledge that I’m assisting,
even in small increments,
helping growth.

Of course, I cannot change others’ weaknesses,
I cannot control their reactions and commotions,
that is one left for the yearbook,
something to reflect upon during the consideration of the
year’s cessation.

They can and will either learn to sink or swim,
I cannot make the decisions for them,
only self-advocacy,
support,
and aiding achievements,
the look upon their faces when having gained a success,
the lilt in their voices when they’ve grown and a future’s been seen,
now that is something to cherish,
the first sign of the land of Inbetween.

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash

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January 30, 2021

Poem: Denounced – 01/01/21

Not right, not right, not right.
Matchmaking is more than a plight,
I shall denounce the insolence with a single breath
into the dead of night.

Who minds that only I am the one who breathes,
flames flicker by my outstretched hands,
extended sleeves,
I shall not learn what it means to flee.

I will stand strong and steadfast
without losing face,
treated unfairly,
lost the place in my race,

it’s not right to besmirch on a day such as this,
wriggle those magical fingers,
fend off those ill feels,
I shan’t bother to ache,
rather I’ll begin to heal.

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose

January 1, 2021

Poem: Delicate – 01/01/21

Perhaps some are meant to be
apart for a while,
to allow distance and the ability for
truth to no longer be real.

Imagination reigns without truth,
what is that person seeing, feeling,
what will they do,
thoughts of them, I should really be
immensely and measurably through.

Delicate interventions,
reaching out in a moment,
wondering is no longer wondering
because now there’s an
ability to slightly see,

Are there differences to be observed,
are they selective,
there to be heard?
I know there are some changes,
waiting to be discovered and learned.

Brightened are they,
with each moment they are heard,
loneliness could have overwhelmed,
must have caused great dismay,

but I must tread delicately,
not flit around too flashily or fancily,
too much attention drawn could cause cracks to be seen and
cause future suffering.

Image from Unsplash.

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January 1, 2021

Poem: Lead – 25/12/20

So, lead with me,
leave the dust behind,
call to me,
seek what you need to find.

Don’t dawdle in the moment,
grasp onto it, true?
Leave with strength and honour,
follow your words through.

May I smile at your departure,
may I warm at your arrival,
may I wilt at nonsense spoken,
vehement words that can’t be unbroken.

So, leave me in the light,
to shine unto myself,
this is my time,
I don’t need to be dragged along
with the power of morbid song from the flight.

(early December 2020)
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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Poem: Gasp – 26/10/20

I gasp.
It wasn’t expected,
to see this sight today.
But then, I smile,
because in a way,
I have been quietly asked to let go of personal dismay.

I’ve set my sights on improvement,
within my life I’m going to change,
and I’ve already made self-alterations,
I can view them on the page.

As they’re read quietly, in my own style,
I acknowledge what I’ve already done for myself,
forming new habits takes a while.
Learning to look after myself,
my mind, my body,
I can amplify what they are needing,
for what they are calling.

For I try to now listen to them,
and my spirit,
to these three, I’ve forged a commitment,
to care for myself mentally, holistically,
to do so means in a manner positively
and wholeheartedly.

No room for doubt or fear,
or wondering if there’s enough strength in me to steer,
I will attend to my life’s direction,
I will be illuminated in the sunshine,
and heal and succeed, re-connection,
heal, mend, and attend,
I’ve already performed the interventions.

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

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Poem: Silver Lining – 09/10/20

There’s always an opportunity,
a silver lining,
the chance to advance,
or gain at developing,

the admirable qualities
held within,
a spark
or a prism,
beautiful rainbow rays
can be seen.

Even when circumstances
appear dismal,
tough, rough,
and you’re
asking yourself
“Am I even enough?”

Enough for what?
Enough for whom?
You, darling,
sparkle,
you light up the room.

You can extract that
hidden layer within,
that shining silver
how it glimmers
for you,
not her, not them,
nor him,

no, this opportunity,
this journey is yours
and yours alone,
wrap yourself protectively
as though it is your gown.

Enclosed you are,
but radiating opportunity,
the beauty in the feeling,
the beauty in the growing.

And what’s more apt
than shining and reflecting this
back to yourself?
You’re a powerhouse of strength,
don’t let anyone tell you
anything else.

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

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Poem: Already Departed – 27/07/20

I am sick to death of this draining,
this haunted state of false reverie
where I’m lulled into a state of dumbfound and airiness,
because the flow, it has ceased, as I know it to be.
 
Beautiful melodies once soared from my throat,
from my lips,
blustering blight, I’m not at all pardoned, from losing bliss,
I appear to have lost my creative flight and drive,
of its absence, won’t someone please answer to this?
 
Soar, will those wings, the fingertips of eagles?
Mountainous sky beings which thrive and are so free,
I wonder whether my syncopation, smooth and erratic rhythms
will return,
they used to project from my energised hands and mind
with accepted and utter ease.
 
And now, I lie in my bed,
immovable, helpless, irritated by my brain’s inability to cope
with an increased stimuli,
rather than thrive, it appears to have been fried,
rather than embrace the challenge
of increasing my ability to dictate and describe
I feel I must simply wave them goodbye.
 
It appears they’ve already left,
there is no danger at facing the wrong direction
which may lead me to a path ill-sent
because there’s nothing left here to detail,
I’m drained, empty pickling jars, lined upon the shelf,
nothing to cure, nothing to consume,
little, no, nothing at all,
to scrawl, to capture, for you to view.
 
The eagle soars;
he’s already discovered another’s truths. 

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

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