art – Page 8 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Coulda, Woulda, Should – 12/11/19

 As I sit upon that mountain top
 of coulda, woulda, should, 
 I wonder to myself what would happen
 if I actually would with my actions do. 
  
 The methods of my madness,
 the truth among the omission of lies,
 my projected sense of attitude
 determined to succeed before
 all sets of eyes.

 Where the observers sit awaiting,
 watching carefully as I traverse the
 steps in my life where 
 I should have been filled 
 with embarrassment and regret.
  
 The moments where I could have wished 
 to have wiped clean the visions and those times
 but the truth is I don’t want to wipe them away,
 they are history,
 they are part of what made me 
 here and who I am today.
  
 Without such experiences 
 who would have known whether I’d have
 travelled down a differing though 
 similar path and be worse off in my 
 current version of today?
  
 Best to work with what I know, 
 And cherish the way my life has turned out
 upon this promising open path.

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November 12, 2019

Poetry: An Eyesore – 11/11/19

 Herein lies this creature, 
 the cause for great alarm. 
 Idly he stares at you, dead socket, 
 your heart beats, skips and thumps.
  
 You’ve never seen a thing like this,
 the glassy glossy sheen is making you spin,
 there’s nothing living 
 beneath the surface, surely?

 Though you’re still frightened,
 this creature makes you feel so 
 nervous and utterly poorly. 
  
 His colours may confuse you,
 befuddle you as you observe,
 the creature now scuttles here and there
 towards you: 
 Oh my, why, what nerve!
  
 You recoil instinctively,
 you don’t want a thing to do with him,
 then with a running leap he jumps
 and lands upon you,
 isn’t this an interesting scene?
  
 Snuffling like an adorable pet,
 he engulfs your face with licks and kisses;
 it’s a free for all,
 there is not a section of your skin that
 his kisses and licks are missing.
  
 Then you realise this creature is 
 actually simply misunderstood,
 taken for face value, 
 as many before him had, and after him would. 
  
 His appearance is nothing he can alter,
 and when it comes to observing something
 different and unique,
 I hope you will not again falter. 
  
 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
also known as Alice Well. 
All rights reserved.

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November 11, 2019

Poetry: Eyes All Around – 09/11/19

Eyes all around, I can sense their presence lurking over me. Eyes all around, I feel the pupils burning into me. A sense of understanding that somebody is watching; I dart my eyes to the left of me, and there he is blatantly staring. I smile briefly to let him know I knew of his watching. A feeling of being observed makes me feel more than slightly aware, why is it these pairs are watching, as I travel from here to there? What is it about me that makes me special to their vision? This isn’t paranoia at all, their practices need intervention.

Do they know who I am? Or am I simply an interesting spectacle? I’m not dressed in anything attention-seeking, to bring forth their overt sense of observation. I am in the usual place I can be found at often, simply shopping for groceries, snacks, then off to the car. I want to ask that man what was it that made me so interesting to him that he had to blatantly stare, as though he was waiting for me to become aware, of his interest, should I have glared? In hindsight I know inherently that a glare is no solution, not even from afar.

I know what paranoia feels like, I’ve been there, experienced it, then tenfold before, this is nothing like that whatsoever. I simply know that rumours might be abounding, and of this, I can’t do anything more than ignore.

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November 9, 2019

Something Different: A Little Prompt – 08/11/19

I’ve decided to try something different with this post. I’d love if you could join me! When you first see this drawing of mine, what springs to mind?

Could you write a few words, sentences or a little paragraph of your own story to fit this hungry, hungry birdie?

I thought it might be fun to interact this way rather than me posting my thoughts relentlessly. I hope you can share with me the results of your creative minds! 🙂

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November 8, 2019

Poetry: Like A Child – 06/11/19

 Sometime he’s like a child,
 he can sit there with device in hand,
 smile across his face,
 technology doing anything but going to waste. 
  
 I casually read to him my words,
 of the former verse he approves,
 not that I was hoping to continue,
 but with this sporadic melody,
 I will proceed, openly and vocally,
 I will allow the awaiting audience an open view.
  
 He sits now in contemplative silence, 
 touching the screen here and there,
 searching for something to amuse him,
 or educate him,
 without a concern, without a sense of care.
  
 Because he is like a thoughtful, learning child,
 growing with his device he becomes brighter and wiser,
 using today’s opportunities to progress, not falter,
 and here is the sense of knowledge shown:
 it will be used, inserted, among his 
 thoughtful, intellectual banter.
  
 But, like a child, 
 sometimes his words will be cast aside,
 by adults who feel they know more than him;
 there is such a great divide.
  
 Their understanding does not encompass 
 their understanding of him,
 and where he lies in reference to his former knowledge
 and where the new technology and understandings are taking him.
  
 Perhaps someday soon he’ll release something of great use,
 something accessible and necessary for a large majority
 of the world to view,

 an invention,
 a contraption,
 with his initials emblazoned on the back:-
 congratulatory words all around, 
 these will be all the world will have to say at that.

 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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November 6, 2019

Poem: Time’s Ticking – 05/11/19

 Time’s ticking, my friend,
 where are you required most?
 Time’s ticking; let’s go,
 down the rabbit hole, 
 and around the bend. 
  
 Into the dark deep labyrinth 
 where we will fall among objects that have 
 quite spontaneously reappeared,
 in the darkness we will swim 
 as we twist and turn around 
 again and again.
  
 Where will this cavity take us?
 Will it lead us into truth
 and wisdom:
 a land of beautiful views?
  
 Or a world of impunctuality,  
 anger and hierarchy,
 where we are beneath every 
 visible and given sets of feet?
 Precious two by twos.
  
 Will we find a world of characters?
 Amusing, learned, wise and tough?
 Humorous and of Imagination’s making?
 Or will we simply fall helplessly into a pile 
 of awaiting dust?
  
 With this wise rabbit who always seems to be
 quite behind 
 the time,
 a pacifist but proactive also,
 if we follow him we’ll end up at the right place,
 at the right time,
 in the correct frame of mind.
  
 Because his watch is incorrectly set
 and he has performed this deliberately
 to make his appearance correct and just so,
 into the rabbit hole we will fall and fall
 and forever in imagination we will delve.

 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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November 5, 2019

No Words – 02/11/19

Image:

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November 2, 2019

Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

I lay myself down in that quiet meadow that exists only within my mind. I rest back, against the soft, pillowy grass and I allow myself to keep. To become at one with the scene, the beautiful sunset, the sublimely coloured horizon; it is so glorious, and I know it’s only for me. I bask in the wonder, treating my eyes, my amazed orbs to swell and brighten as the light slowly changes, the atmosphere darkening, into the dusk of the afternoon. And I lay here waiting, for you to come soon. I lie in wait, for your presence, to keep me safe.

There is nothing to fear in this landscape, for I have created it all on my own, but I wish for you, I call for you, to visit at least, or perhaps to return here and decide to call this home. A land in which you and I can exist, with love and soft-spoken dexterity, our hands, their movements, clutching each other’s, are not at all amiss. We grasp our attentive and longing outstretched hands, linking also arm in arm. But, my love, you have not come, will you ever arrive?

My careful eyes watch for you, I know you won’t leave me alone for too long.

But in trots an arrogant fool, one who does not belong in my precious landscaped scene, nothing to compare with you, because he is too proud, he is too haughty, yet I am confused, do I pay attention to him or ignore him completely? After all, it seems far too rude to dismiss another, even though he seems rough and overly boisterous and showy. I am not in the practice of being rude, I dislike the practice and behaviour greatly. So, I make eye contact with this buffoon, who is lauding himself throughout my delicious scene, trampling on the flowery neighbourhood, and I, close to rolling my eyes, acknowledge him if but for only a few seconds. I do not want to encourage him, to have you feeling my eyes treating you as seconds.

Oh, how he prances, how he dances, before me, his masculinity screams for my attention, begs for it more and more, until I cannot help myself, I start to laugh, he’s amusing, and this encourages him some more. And then suddenly, you appear from the corner of my eye, from behind a dense bush, and your eyes scream betrayal; I cannot do anything but fumble: I wasn’t moved by him, I want to scream, I wasn’t moved at all, not a little. Yet my heart, how it now aches, at having hurt you in a manner unintended, I am filled with guilt, while the buffoon stands to attention, smiling widely, grinning with obvious pride bursting from inside. He guffaws at the problems he has advertently caused me through amusing and entertaining me with his wiles, and all the while he remains there, cocksure, boastful, pride-filled – of him I am reviled.

I reach for you, but it is too late, you tell me I have made my choice and it is time for you to dissipate. With tears forming in my eyes, you melt back into the horizon, never again to be seen, in this fantasy of mine, you are now gone. You were my only delicate and sweetened portion. I weep for you, but this buffoon has proven his method: a rapid and obvious sabotaging poison.

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