Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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  • Poem: Forever – 26/03/20

    Draw me closer,
it may be the last time for a while,
feel my skin brush against yours
and our smiles within grow wider.
 
Understand that that is not goodbye
but “I will see you soon”,
my darling, you must know
the energy of your loving heart can fill any room.
 
The heart can project so much more than mere words can,
I will always wait for you,
and you for I,
we will be together again soon.
 
Need not tremble with the knowledge that 
the separation is for an indeterminate time,
know that we can remain in each other’s lives,
in so many ways,
 
We are and still will be 
eternally entwined.

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

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  • Poem: These Unknown Times – 26/03/20

    Poem: These Unknown Times – 26/03/20

    In these unknown times,
where regulations reign to keep us safe,
we stay home,
we rest,
we recoup,
we pray to God that we will get through this biological affray.
 
Burrowed down in our blankets,
our eyes plastered to the laptop screens,
watching the news with great earnest, 
what is going on?
How will this eventuate?
What does this all mean?
 
How will we survive when daily our lives are at risk
and humankind is anything but unscathed? 
We await with apprehension
while some are blasé about the rules
they go out,
they socialise,
themselves they gather without guilt.
 
Selfish and ignorant are such types,
but what can we do?
We are right for staying in,
it is our method of isolation,
our following of instructions,
the immovable truth,
 
A means that surely will slow the rate down,
of the infection taking as many as it can,
to those undisciplined voyagers,
I sadly say, 
all the best to you,
for us all, protect yourselves and remain strong.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Валерия Шарагина from Pixabay

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  • Poem: No Matter What – 19/03/20

    Poem: No Matter What – 19/03/20

    I am rounder
but I am happy,
the streamlined silhouette once paraded
has become modest at long last.

Need I quarrel with myself?
Discuss that which displeases me?
No!
I am stronger than this,
the crumbling of that petty yet insidious disease
which will no longer triumph above all else.
 
I punished myself – ah!
Self-persecuted mind and body,
this was what it was all about.
 
But now,
I am rounder
and I am happy,
I am prone to breaking out 
into song and celebratory dance.
 
The draconian measures of self-punishment,
to be others' fancy, starring light has long gone,
I am myself,
peculiar and particular
throughout the day and night,
I am unique,
I am one.
 
I am myself 
and I am worthy,
no matter what size I have become.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 6563351 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Salted Iridescence – 18/03/20

    Poem: Salted Iridescence – 18/03/20

    The taste of salt upon your skin,
the glistening iridescence
as I feel your glow within,
the sun shining through your being
as though warming my very soul,
like the heated taste of winter when
you and I were eternally enthralled.
 
I can feel the gurgling of growing gumption
from within your soaring spirit,
rising from the former desolation within,
and I know,
you know,
that we will remain entwined,
as long as we stay heart-to-heart,
forever in need of each other’s fair wine.
 
Our necessity to be close to one another
has the sharp addictive taste of that salt
that I once tasted on your skin,
and if I were to magnify this need
I would understand that it comes from
a state of savoury and lack of sweetness,
a desire to cause that salivary moment,
to keep it stirring,
 
And while I knead into the skin of the
effervescent sparkle that you bring,
I know,
honey, you know,
that we were always meant to be.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock (including illustration). All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Panic – 16/03/20

    Poem: Panic – 16/03/20

    Panic mode,
the shelves stripped bare,
triumphant shoppers walk with their prized packets of eighteen toilet paper rolls,
the luxurious purple Quilton brand.
 
We have already rushed from your home,
with few moments to spare,
the opening time has already occurred,
there are barely any essential products there.
 
Hastily, you grab the items from the shelf,
long-life, of course,
why would we deal with anything else?

For we have been encouraged to purchase ahead for two weeks,
the panic,
the panic ensues,
ensures that we here in the supermarket,
at this usually sleepy hour.
 
Seven in the morning is now its busiest,
when the visitors will arrive,
the peak of scanning,
the competitive nature rises within shoppers,
perhaps all shelves of essential items will be stripped in time.
 
We are even more fearful of handling money,
of being within another’s close proximity,
we purchase hand sanitiser,
believing it will purge the virus from our skin,
we wash and wash,
but on occasions, the virus will be silently welcomed in.
 
Our systems were not made for this,
this is a pandemic,
do you hear me?
 
We need to take precautions,
self-isolate when required,
only leave the house when needed,
avoid close quarters with others.
 
And the ideal situation has commenced,
the virus is winning at this fact,
we are together, yet away from one another,
fearful of something which we cannot see
but which, if caught,
could cause saddening fatalities,
need we stay away from all others?

The question remains: 
how will we combat this insidious virus, 
this society-killing disease?
    
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Shrieking and Calling – 13/03/20

    Poem: Shrieking and Calling – 13/03/20

    The genius within you calls and calls,
reckoning like secretly potent anemone,
contemplating as to whether
it’s worthwhile for him to be seen,
or whether, in fact,
he should remain hidden,
and cease his calling for you day by day.
 
The exotic being within you sings,
eyes casting upon the sumptuous feast on offer,
she provides for you what you have been lacking,
that serendipity brings a sense of welcome tumult,
a feeling ongoing,
worth growing.
 
The megalomaniac within you screams,
he wants to be heard,
he demands to be seen,
and the trying notion he experiences when he grates
on your skin
with a voice as harsh as sharpened nails,
he announces,
no, he commands,
well, of your wishes,
he couldn’t give a single damn.  
 
And then the chorus of these characters rise and combine,
their voices, harsh, sweet, ideal,
in their tones I can hear their smiles,
there is nothing worth separating here
for their conjoined state offers this vibrating prize,
their voices make you tremble,
their power is unheard of,
but you can’t walk away,
doing so seems to be unspoken of.
 
So, you sit in their presence,
imagine their voices resonating in your mind,
the differing beings,
different identities,
and then it all becomes too much,
you must block them out,
squeezing shut your eyes.   
 
The silence allows your heart to swoon,
its warming words allow your truthful connection
to everything that is devout.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Thomas Wolter from Pixabay

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  • Poem: His Arrival – 12/03/20

    Poem: His Arrival – 12/03/20

    A level of exhaustion beginning to grow,
then an unexpected expenditure of energy comes alive
as I reap what I’ve sown.
 
The quietening down of my mood,
the lessening of my agility,
strangely enhances me,
it does not hinder me.
 
I am cumbersome, but,
my mind is crystalline clear,
open and free,
 
I rise to the challenge,
whatever has crossed my path,
that which is unspoken,
unexpressed, 
I know this breath won’t be my last.
 
And in the still,
the calm of the air around me which
heaves and sighs,
like little droplets of condensation meeting
glass sheets in the sky,
I wait and I tremble
expectant for your arrival.
 
My cheeky prince,
now a loving benevolent king,
you offer me an arm and
we interlink,
the kingdom sighs with contentment as they see,
sensing the rightness of the present karmic breeze.

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

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  • Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Awaiting that irrevocable touch
Upon my hair-raised skin,
I know it will be magnificent, the time for reflection,
To make myself chaste, from within.
 
Butter me up, darling,
I know the emotions too well,
Of diving, sinking,
And finding no treasure,
The tides know my desires all too well.
 
But I will leap from the depths,
I will soar with grace and humanity,
The beauty of the softened mammal,
Splashes, re-entry.
 
And gyrations of the bluest truth,
Which, occasionally could not –
Cannot –
Be handled,
Herein lies the beauty of
the wondrous world of self-reliance.
 
And although most live and yearn to find a mate,
A twin flame, a soul matching ours,
The blueprints complex, though matching in many ways,
 
The phoenixes from their burning pasts,
Rise and soar,
Reaching their own old effigies,
Amazing and looming that they are.
 
We can live as one,
Or two,
A little of both,
That soft, generous touch I long for,
Why, it seems to come from the grasp of
A myriad of stars,
A bank of overwhelming hope.

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

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  • Poem: Regal and Humble – 13/03/20

    Poem: Regal and Humble – 13/03/20

    I hold my head high as I walk into the room,
my flourishing robes,
my gentle tapping embroidered slippers,
rich expensive perfume.
 
And with a turn of my head
I quietly announce:
I am here and
I am who I am.
 
Though I may be laden with jewels,
and layers of thick crushed velvet,
and dense rough furs,
I am anything but arrogant,
I am the epitome of humility,
something I have developed through experiences with others:
guiders, angels, powerful beings, and
earthly and heavenly soldiers.
 
When I ride my horse,
each finger sparkles,
the light refracting,
there’s no need to turn the tables,
nor force my image onto others.
 
For when I enter a room,
I do so dignified,
and now I rouse from an afternoon dream,
was I a high priestess or an emperor’s wife?
 
I cannot tell my once-designated role
as the feeling of regression has never come to pass,
never a flashback in my mind,
so instead I sit quietly,
meditate, try to avoid falling asleep,
although if I do so,
I know my rest will be luxurious with
thoughts and rested muscles
as warm and pliable
as wholesome honey.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Slava Rus from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Ornate Wooden Box – 09/03/20

    Poem: Ornate Wooden Box – 09/03/20

    What’s in the wooden box?
An ornate engraved chest –
Does it promise me treasure?
Diamonds, jewels, gold?
It must with any luck.
 
I approach the container with trepidation,
My fingers tremble with delicious anticipation,
And the tremor which should rile me awfully
Pushes me forth:
The adrenaline is potent.
 
What will I find?
Something pleasing to the eye?
An ornate dream awaits me,
And I beg to see,
Continuing to hungrily breathe the moments in and out 
And in.
 
Each second,
Every centimetre,
My reaching hands,
My claw-like fingers,
Closer and closer until:
Revelation!
 
Inside there is nothing,
Illusory, so potent.
I tear aside all crushed expectation within.
 
The thrill was most certainly in the pursuit,
The hunting,
It was within the chase,
And I realise that what my mind,
My imagination,
Can conjure up
Is far more magical and worthwhile than
Any gold or diamond or jewel sparkling within my eyes.
 
More than anything these material possessions can prove 
At a later date,
My internal world,
The breadth of my dreaming,
This is the true gift I should accept 
As a prized possession in my life,
It is irrevocably part of my healing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by myself.

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