Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: author

  • poem: kookaburras – 07/03/21

    poem: kookaburras – 07/03/21

    Kookaburras sing their laughter, two fighting for acknowledgement, one with the other, and galahs smile with their cheeky beaded eyes winking, oh my! and the lorikeets feast on our figs, damn it! Mum wants to know WHY. Why is it they are so greedy, sitting on the boughs so precious, looking for something delicious for a bird so pretty, one two flew the coup, out the nest, and well, life is just beginning. Slowly, slowly, starstruck, one is startled and soars to hide but her presence is noted, taken, assessed and made begotten, wondering what did she do to be ignored by hand holding little buttons?

    There is the cryptic and here within are the clues, of life we must undertake many different, many hues, I am certain that there will be challenges, here now I acknowledge the twittering magpies who always stay home with their children, and knowing their loyalty, I know our pills must be taken in order for the positive side of myself to inevitably be spoken and seen.

    Bespoke I was obsessed with but I must take nature in, for what she is, I am not truly a tempestuous thing, nor the tempest, not in reality, but here, I must feel the wind, the breath, and understand I am truly blessed and my life I can renew, and once again begin.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    07/03/22
    Image by Sandid on Pixabay

  • poem: running from – 05/03/22

    poem: running from – 05/03/22


    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

    im running from the light
    sometimes it burns it sears my retinas
    im running from the light its too good to take,
    these prophets, seers

    i don’t need their hints at fate which aren’t
    even accurate as of late
    I can determine my own cloud
    witness this
    I’ma tempt and leap all bounds

    I want to explore the darkness
    trail in shadows but still exist in light
    a dichotomy of reasons, new tomorrows
    in which I aim to take both sides with flight
    with light
    with fight

    the shadows treasure me hereon in
    they know I know what it means to sin
    but the stagnancy of these fails to pour in
    I don’t need heredity circumstance
    I have no need for falsity
    I am here and now I am visible
    low or highbrow

    I don’t care to run any longer
    the past is not worth a shard
    a victim’s mentality
    arriving on a birthday ever so early
    gravitated armour
    shaded malignancy

    I don’t need these
    I choose the light,
    It captures me.
    what am I running towards?
    the new me. Why?
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash

  • poem: the crow – 02/03/22

    poem: the crow – 02/03/22

    the raven dances before my eyes he’s really quite a dream

    dark enveloping sight to be seen I want to be taken by him

    he rolls his r’s he dances, charms, his deep blue eyes engorge

    and pretty pretty provocative he flaps his wings: –

    what a dirge…

    never battle weary, never battle heavy this path is owned by him

    and him and I we touch the stars the dark moon heaves the skies

    I heard his words they’re in my heart

    but I cannot fathom the sooty, blackened art

    so unto him I cry.

    but I will dream of another man

    I have my crow he’s native bound house dwelling on sand

    he’s the perfect familiar to a darkened ‘line

    with nine lives to live but on number 10

    I guess this cat has more times to thrive

    and she, oh she, will, coupled with he, will conjoin

    entwine, divine,

    and dine upon each other’s feasts,

    their souls will know, be, hailed unto thee

    the sunset’s reds and blues don’t matter the horizon glares before our eyes

    but for a crow and for a cat and the wandering accompanying later bats

    we will divine with magic all damn night,

    we will divine with sheer and utter delight.

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

    Photo from Pixabay

  • poem: neighbourhoods – 03/03/22

    poem: neighbourhoods – 03/03/22

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

    I’ll take you on a personal path, one where love and light exist. Where the flowers blossom and grow so large we might mistake them for a place of romanticism and trysts. Where the stars will never cower in shame, where the voice within will speak truth all the same, where your eyes will widen, and childhood memories will become unfrozen, the melodies of the world will sing to me.

    I shan’t dance along by the riverbed, though dead it may appear, for underneath there is life, true life, crawling with breaths, bubbles of air. The animals are there, causing sabotage and strength and they won’t ever be tamed, not even during Lent, for their position in the world is clearly at large, big, white beautiful snow leopard, and he’s keeping you and I in perfect charge. We are allowed, no permitted, to wander the garden at large, we are allowed, no, promised to be taken upon deck, above board, of this world, heaven-sent. The charms and wonder within our scope, prisms here, envelope hope, do not chide us for having fun beneath the sun, we are special, we are wanted, and our skills shall never ever come undone, in fact, they’ll soon take hold.

    We are as unique as you and he, and she and they, beyond the breeze, each holding hope, an awareness, scope, of deep meditative breaths and dangerous calls. We are the animals who get things done, we are the children who once ran from fun, and we are the young adults who allowed our worlds to come undone, all in the name of joyousness, all in the name of immaturity, to these which we would run. We have shaped up, of course, those days are simply memories, horse, carriage, dragons, chopped, singed trees, but of course, I do not wish to envelope ourselves further, we’re already entwined and are together, together. Matter not these days, they were puffs within airy clouds, the sun hailing all around, harkening from horizon-bound. I won’t shatter in due course for I have repaired and I’m coming good, I’ve always been good even when I’ve not wanted to be so, that’’s how I escaped all those neighbourhoods.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Photo by TheDigitalArtist from Pixabay

  • poem: the saviour – 03/03/22

    poem: the saviour – 03/03/22

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

    Jerusalem is bathed in the most portentous of light
    for this place it has time
    time for the change of seasons
    for a time of worship
    for my lover
    who would fly there in a heartbeat

    the land I cannot describe
    nor can I open my mind, to this world
    their sacred words are like churning songs in my mind
    where I will listen, I will pray, I will TRY TO FIND
    the answer that’s on everybody’s lips
    who is He
    and is He to stay?
    Is he a human being this time or did a demon meddle,
    this is NOT to stay?

    the dream scapes in my mind show delve and ride
    alongside hell horses
    they have reigned this time
    what with our earth spinning with nuclear and disaster
    and foreign aid and daddy oh papa
    he understands this situation is dire
    we must reunite before it becomes so much harder

    the flag our peoples flag waves in the dainty breeze,
    red yellow and black
    Mabo, Mabo, Mabo, won’t you see?
    I organised my time into ins and outs, meetings and times,
    I’ll be talking to another master soon,
    already inspired by one living close to one night,
    former words writes, so devout.

    So now I’m here in Jerusalem and perhaps the news is bad
    I didn’t bring any bad karma
    I wiped it and determined my next scope
    lauren laughs she cackles within
    then peals of giggles and laughter with her friend tom
    he loved her oh he loves her
    reunited, with my beloved lover, tom and raven, all at once,
    So self assured.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Photo from Pixabay

  • poem: perform – 28/02/22

    poem: perform – 28/02/22


    by Lauren M. Hancock
     
    I wanna dance the night away
    away from the tirades and smiles and the drains
    from the bastards and the potions and the trees that won’t
    bend to them
    the portentous little rascals who think they have the best of them.

    I won’t dance in the ocean, no, no,
    I won’t dance in the lukewarm sea,
    I won’t float in the bubbles where the fish might surface
    without mermen
    I won’t dance in the ocean
    I won’t toil, succumb to the lot of them.

    What I will do is this,
    I’ll prance to Schumann and Liszt
    and Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov
    Prokofiev and Dvorak,
    and then Mozart and Handel will grasp my heart
    with the lot of them
    I will perform Bruch and Lalo
    and beg, no, beg, for future, golden tomorrows.

    My violin, its fingerboard, blacker than the devil’s sin
    demons alive within, won’t you reign them in?
    And listen to my talent, reinstated through
    tyrannous hard work,
    I’ll make it, I’ll make it,
    you’ll see, this body will perform.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay  

  • poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    Holiday

    This stone
    this innocuous pebble breaks me breaks you, breaks us, apart
    tearing rolling down the barrel of a shotgun heart
    I may not know true heartache now but in the past that thing broke me
    pieces of an imperfect mosaic flew
    these shards of myself not smokable but certainly shattered and vein-like-blue

    fatigue of life overtakes
    all the same shade of off-white
    low stimuli but intensity building, built
    like a road of rubber tyres on fire
    a gigantic witch’s pyre
    though 21st century

    how I wish the mania hadn’t left me
    and this constant need to sleep
    because of the medication and gorged carbs

    plus lowest stimulation among irritating boy-like antagonism
    so that we become nothing much more than slugs of tired redemption
    or those on a happy carefree holiday
    I came in far worse than I currently have become now – a moth pathetically flapping now – luxurious slug style seemingly assumed now somehow.
    (30/01/22)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Pixabay image credit 
    This post first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • darling love me do – 01/01/22

    darling love me do – 01/01/22

    Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

    darling, love me do.
    you promised to look after me, my heart, my soul you keep,
    you watch over me, gently stroke my hair, envelope protect my soul as I sleep
    and in wonderment I feel relaxed enough to release thy demons of starvation
    comfortable to freely eat
    junk food I can see, I can hold, taste, see, feel without disdain,
    without aggravation, it’s as though we were from yesterday

    remember those times we enjoyed those laughs,
    when we were wide eyed and smiling.
    like two gangly giraffes?

    My love, love, my wide eyed hope, allow me to provide the scope, I stared at you, and then I realised,
    I suddenly would know,

    you are the One. No other man would stay with me these tense terse hours, emergency department, demands shot, barked, fired. You know, you understand me, you are my hidden key, I have realised ever so slowly. That you’re the one for me. Forever be with me.
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: i will wait – 19/12/21

    Poem: i will wait – 19/12/21

    I wait for that moment when hearts will rise and beauty
    will glisten in both sets of eyes
    watching from afar away from my form
    I feel subtleties stiffen news break soft damn

    hands held in manner of peaked prism
    saying darling what you are thinking
    and I smile with little spurts of healing
    like a volcano rushes with ominous pace
    it travels there
    weaving and styling in its sleek attitude

    he shows that there is not barrenness there
    his intent I can always taste
    as though thick molasses
    syrupy tempting goodness

    knowing to have it is not worth it
    but the memory of the taste, well,
    I cannot dress myself the feeling
    the dirtiness of the heady experience,

    living with his intentions upon my back
    I cannot help but know there’ll be many
    more of them and I cannot help
    cannot detail the anger which comes
    from being managed

    so
    this magma bearer
    can move on
    unlock that pick
    that love-locket along the creek’s bridge
    we tried friendship before
    really did
    like vapour evaporates so easily
    there dissipated our love .    
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Photo by Ryan Moreno on Unsplash

    previous Post: micropoem: authentic magic – 18/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

    Insta: @laurenm.hancock

    This post ‘i will wait’ first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • Poem: the swaying violinist – 17/12/21

    Poem: the swaying violinist – 17/12/21


    as I sit by the fireplace I wonder,
    what is the occasion we are all searching for?
    the virtuosic line of violin sweeping the pavement and
    rising with dear dear sentiment
    vibrato so wide and with dissent with disapproval
    the other turns down his smile and walks away
    he does not like this piece
    this celebration of mine
    a joyous showiness filled with mirth and grins and sways and swings
    trip-lett-ing –
    flautando then glissing
     
    falling falling for him as he walks from my view
    this mistake this mistake I’m putting myself through
    but it’s fine, it’s permissible, to fall for the wrong man
    for at times we can wine and dine ourselves with our
    superficial charms and demands

    up in arms are we when he and I waltz together
    myself him and that violin we are tiptoeing
    we are prance-footing
    to the beat to the beat which is spread with the most ravenous of ease,
    to please the soloist we must make amends
    and allow for its treatment to be stretched
    it’s a show, you see,
    and he must turn and face me.
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Philip Myrtorp on Unsplash

    Previous Post: by the gods I have been blessed – 14/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

    Insta: @laurenm.hancock

    This post ‘the swaying violinist’ first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.