Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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  • poem: a sunrise of theories – 15/05/22

    poem: a sunrise of theories – 15/05/22

    a sunrise of theories
    I walk a path surrounded by foliage
    shrubbery lines the endless mileage
    and encounter do I some things grand and fantastic
    many questions now come from this querent
    bold and bombastic

    flowers filled with fragrance
    bow their heads to my queries
    I suddenly have, about life
    all these convoluted theories
    about what causes this
    or leads on from such and that
    these riddles take myself
    away from fiction versus facts

    my eyes search the skies
    scintillating and scarlet
    this sunrise or sunset
    whatever, whichever, which,
    I will choose to have it
    for before the beauty of the sun
    once dormant now exhilarating
    and so young
    I can settle my thoughts
    quietly, meditatively
    little need for thoughts to hesitate or run.
    @laurenm.hancock
    © Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Images from Pixabay

  • poem: love and wanderlust – 27/04/22

    poem: love and wanderlust – 27/04/22

    Angelic breeze tickles my nose
    the serenity and beauty of what I know
    Nothing is more perfect than the moment of now
    Embracing this fact
    Intuitively is how

    Wandering in the scope of the breathless view
    amazing is the habit, admiringly renewed
    understanding the intent,
    why, Beauty, there’s a sum,
    a knowing, sheer growing,
    correcting a heart which had grown numb.

    Florid complexion, blushed cheeks above a smile,
    a knowing and wanting, a potential for more
    than a while,
    a wonderful aching and warmth deep within,
    gravitating moments,
    careful, step, step, don’t fall into the
    false world you’re presented with.

    Fluidity, potpourri, scented, a flurry,
    Reaching, a nearing, subtle, no need for fearing,
    a universal tying of intent we know as Hope,
    gravelly words, precisely uttered,
    it is then that I will know.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose
    Photo from Pixabay

  • poem: healing has a language – 04/04/22

    poem: healing has a language – 04/04/22

    Healing has a language,
    I whisper softly,
    airily it knows,
    of the simplicity
    and the duality
    of wondrous beauty,
    poetry and prose,
    the writers and the poets
    swing each way in kind,
    whimsical deciduous trees
    sway our way,
    whispering in turn,
    and slightly, just slightly
    out of time.

    The rhythm does not plod,
    it’s a mirror of complex minds,
    the syncopation, patterns, drives us ahead,
    out west, north, south,
    east: we fly through time,
    we develop our skills –
    it’s not just a hobby,
    this is our dream,
    to share love, passion, mythology,
    chances and pain,
    healing,
    vocal rhythms drive us to where we need,
    healing mankind.
    @laurenm.hancock
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.
    Image from Pixabay.

  • poem: universal aura – 24/03/22

    poem: universal aura – 24/03/22

    The universal white light surrounds me, an ethereal net, damp, floaty cloud so soft I bounce into, not against it… freeform, flow, billowy nature’s growth, it is like an extra being within the room, some giant, invisible, quietly huffing and puffing, he smiles as he cloaks my aura, now no longer a sunny yellow disposition, but made into a vagrant’s imposition…

    I am now unwelcome in this land, my journey blocked pathways, no obvious pillowed dreams.

    I silently make my wishes known, my love must be acknowledged, for the other, feelings owned, the waves within my mind and being speak of delicate imperfection. We wrangle in motion, arms flailing, tongues lashing, and I realise, without an understanding, what on earth has happened, I am seen only as a bother that must be cleanly slid away, beneath the rug, swept under, and this giant ghost of an aura which surrounds me now was employed by the best of them, a master in charge, something, someone from on high.

    I cannot determine his leader though, the degenerative nature still swims in his intent, and I know I must rid myself of this vagrant label before I become too spent. Enough of these games, I shrilly call to myself, and he, wherever his head and ears to register might be. A cloud of fluff is now not that exciting to see…

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Artwork by KELLEPICS on Pixabay

  • poem: robotic heart – 24/03/22

    poem: robotic heart – 24/03/22

    the standard rhythmic drum won’t work anymore,
    it’s not befitting to pound to the pulse of another’s heart,
    not when you alone know where to recommence –
    life truly is art.
    instead, her melodies, chosen to alternately warble about her,
    she and him, sometimes others, but back to him,
    a tear threatens to erupt
    from the dormant succession of her formerly frozen heart,
    it’s as though she should quash feelings
    signs of ‘weakness’
    true emotions we are never
    meant to see,
    express:
    where’s that opening to ravage,
    insert a rusted key…
    damaged, disasters,
    they went too far,
    whilst awaiting her to prepare
    to together look at the galaxy and her stars.
    she fell instead, nothing left to say, nothing more,
    to drag one’s name from the etched pavement,
    at least her time was predominately saved.
    that’s the thing of it, the matter
    throughout it all,
    she still possessed her beautifully poignant
    desire for a rapid rise to power.
    let us begin,
    all truths be told,
    hour by hour upon hours.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Artwork by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay.

  • poem: magic – 23/03/22

    poem: magic – 23/03/22

    dowsing the crystals with illustrious mayhem
    the tainted air of dragon’s breath, poison,
    enlightening myself to the treasures of the planet,
    the powers deep within me,
    I need not lace melodies from counterparts,
    I need not stunt my heart with mimicry,
    hidden behind obscure masks,
    no, there is strength in being myself,
    knowing, learning, stronghold,
    resilience from waking hour to the magical twelfth.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Karen_Nadine on Pixabay,

  • poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    the dance the flautist sweetly breezes her melody,
    I can barely hold myself together
    that breath which creates wonder
    not an insolent din,
    fires once raged
    and sins were born
    but hell hath no current feature,
    gone, perpetually, is that scorn!

    no devils raging on shoulders,
    no carrying heavy loads to break
    weary backs,
    they do not prance their fiendish means
    above the line of fresh air,
    because, because,
    they are no longer there.

    free of sin
    and lightly taking in
    the trilling shrill song,
    breezing
    of the instrument filled with delight
    and winding heart song, streams,
    what is it they look for
    what is it they search for now?
    peace, serenity,
    and then jubilance all around!

    angels ring and angels call
    they embark upon journeys
    to those one-lost souls
    perpetuating the knowledge
    of a thousand years,
    the collection,
    the atoms,
    enlightening.

    purple: violet and lilac,
    yellow: citrine and gold,
    ruby in her richest red,
    and pink, mauves,
    all around.
    And rose gold surrounding
    that symbol of love,
    yes, this integral melody,
    beautiful piece,
    has been carefully constructed,
    for the flautist, carefully made
    like a perfect bouquet for her
    grown.

    He takes her hand,
    as gently as can be,
    enlivened soul,
    enriched loving eyes,
    they know truest loves meant to be,
    deep inside.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash.

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  • poem: harken – 20/03/22

    poem: harken – 20/03/22

    it is with joy
    that I thank this
    world that I live in,

    This Universe that makes my
    heart sing,
    a certain knowing that tender love
    does bring.

    I thank the Universe for my guides,
    the archangels for their presence,
    and with goodness and grace
    heaven sent, I thank the Lord for being
    there for me, even when at times
    I fail at acknowledgement.

    Raise my ears to the Heavens,
    scorch the skies with my passions,
    and Kingdom Come,
    there is magic in my circumstance,
    delirium in my instance,
    and an amazing reverie for us to view,
    to speak of, to sing with,
    my darlings, won’t you harken with me?

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay.

  • poem: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    poem: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    the waves take me on a journey
    where I’m lulled into a sense of security
    and notes like gentle hands wash over me,
    I am amazed and quiet,
    there is nothing remaining above the surface,
    a breath and I’m underneath,
    the seaweed, coral, clown fish
    are brighter than above-days,
    my heart is pounding ecstatically,
    once well-rested,
    there’s so much to take in,
    to see.

    engineered cobwebs from
    entangled jellyfish limbs,
    mesmerising affray,
    dilating metamorphic,
    fluid heads, bodies,
    passing my very way,
    I become at peace with this sight
    entranced at their careless might,
    manners so poignant with each other
    there’s nothing which escapes
    my sight; gone under.

    And further under, I bury myself in the
    silt and sand,
    mischievous with this land,
    another clown fish passes, then
    mum and dad.
    Oranges brighter than witches’ cones,
    I smile to myself,
    they entertain, and I know
    their intent is nothing to amuse,
    they simply, casually amble,
    stop, move.

    How beautiful such a simple sight could be within
    a quiet night under the sea,
    so breathless, yet free,
    won’t you accompany,
    won’t you slip beneath waves,
    won’t you join me?
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Image from Unsplash.  

  • poem: the colours, a beginning – 11/03/22

    poem: the colours, a beginning – 11/03/22

    The colours, they always brought me hope,
    Aura-binding, hue-enhancing,
    Pink, yellow, blue, green, indigo,
    But where is the pink, the love I know?
    I went through life from goals to achievements,
    Strengths to knowledge,
    Triumph and growth,
    But I fell apart,
    Underlying predisposition,
    Some of us break at the seams,
    Myself: undiagnosed manic depressive.
    Etching large shadowy figures on my
    Bedroom walls,
    Self-harm,
    Tears they would fall,
    Such joy, elation at some
    Then tirades I’d turn,
    Over perfectionism,
    What was going on…?
    My warning signs?
    Even I failed to learn.
    So begins my tale,
    Decade-long struggles
    Horrifying relapses to be

    witnessed and unfold
    Truth be told
    Not all needs enormous detail…
    (C) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay