Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: author

  • Poem: A Favourite Topic – 07/02/20

    Everyone’s favourite subject is surely themselves,
they can wax lyrical, wax lyrical all day.
Pinocchio lived in a little wood maker’s cottage,
and he had so much to expound upon,
such little truth to state.
 
And grow his nose did,
upon speaking of untruths,
are we punished for occasionally convoluting our truths?
 
As we take on personas,
to press ahead with a message or idea,
some fairy tales come alive,
but some exist with the knowledge that
some memories are best held quiet and dear.
 
But what of the tales we tell of ourselves?
A little bending at the wishing well where we reach into,
to drop our unwanted mirth?
For the ailing feeling has crept away, normalcy returning,
but only partially, you see,
and it seems useless in not exploiting a sense of victimisation
that was experienced the past weeks.
 
Now gossip,
town gossip,
as they speak of themselves,
and speak of that girl, or that boy,
from across the well,
where they’ll thrown their own lucky pennies,
wishing upon coins and stars,
hoping for something else to share
with others,
all about themselves,
while with most there’s a decent element of narcissism to disarm.    

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 250432 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Hidden Beauty – 07/02/20

    Poem: Hidden Beauty – 07/02/20

    There is so much beauty within our world,
so much to garner, to pluck from our sweeping sight,
to take into our soul,
to enliven the spirit,
to entwine the experience as ours and as well told.
 
But when one internalises and despairs
and experiences this aching bug which overwhelms,
one wallows, and it cannot be easily purged,
the beauty steps back,
it recedes into the crowd.
 
And sometimes I think,
how must I gather the sparkles dancing within my eyes
when to me, they appear like dull speckles of heavy foam,
sinking, heavy with the oil of misery and despair,
it’s all a matter of perspective,
how one assumes the surrounding air.
 
So much beauty, yet some beings are trapped,
they do not choose to instead view ugliness,
their perception is cast this way,
perhaps they’ve had a bad day, hour, even week,
perhaps they’re submerged in the darkness of depression and they can’t
claw themselves up.
 
Have a heart for these who seemingly humour themselves too much,
they are not all choosing to be this dark,
they might be wishing for brighter tomorrows.
 
Some aren’t as lucky to receive this answer to their prayers,
or their begging to the fairies who are supposed to light their way,
or the Godliness above who directs and watches o’er all,
the soul, the soul, the soul will be held,
it will be treasured,
and the hidden lustre in our hearts spread with firm painterly strokes.  

There is hope among the desolate grounds.

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

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  • Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Manipulative and depressed?
I’ve been assessed,
thank you to this deck of birds,
by my own hand, I’ve been able to determine,
that which the world may think of me.

Selfish and unkind is perhaps how I am perceived,
because of the manner in which I composed my words,
expounded my poetry.
Through depression, through illness and anger and tribulation,
that is what has come about.
 
I cannot dream of anything other than spurting forth what is within me,
to censor, to flag myself,
it is an indelicate picture.
 
Though, of course, some writings must be withheld,
but understand, with wellness,
my true being returns,
my flames riding the curve of my back.
 
And beneath the crescent moon which waxes and emits 
a necessity for persistence and change,
I will preen myself of any loose ends that don’t need to be there,
the challenge is not removing the flames which are unrequired,
in fact, damn it all, I’ll engulf myself,
you know this firebird will never truly expire.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: And Another – 05/02/20

    Poem: And Another – 05/02/20

    I feel an eye open
blink blink, blink blink!
A wary visitor, testing the waters,
whether it’s wise or not to be seen.
 
Never mind what it will see,
it is whether or not it’s safe to be open,
to allow me to view
all which I have viewed incorrectly over the years,
in fact,
I don’t think I’ve ever made proper use of it.
 
The eye blinks lazily,
like a crocodile’s orb, half plastered, it seems,
heavily lidded awaiting its true awakening,
to allow me to truly see.
 
And all the things through its sight I will gather,
I will garner so much from the once-dreary world,
I cannot begin to dream of what I’ll sense and see
because it’s finally time for me to breathe and be.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay.com

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  • Poem: Life Lessons on a Path – 03/01/20

    Poem: Life Lessons on a Path – 03/01/20

    An expansive view,
surroundings enormous,
and my heart,
it beats tightly nestled within my breast,
crying out as a reminder that I must be true.
 
True to myself,
like an enthusiastic whirligig which will always spin,
relentless,
without its own natural breath but making his own,
he survives.
Better still, he thrives.
 
I will continue to turn and turn
and find my niche,
where I’ll express an ongoing internal landscape,
more than I’ll display in person,
viewable only by myself behind closed curtains.
 
There’s a space within my soul
which I once ached to share,
to divulge without thought,
without consideration, 
an alleviation,
unnecessary wrongful confessions, which,
while conjoined to the quill,
I shared verbosely and with calligraphy so flamboyant
o’er and o’er, 'til there was nothing left in my inkwell,
let alone in the recesses of my mind.
 
I’m disinclined to share the inky Rorschach interpretations
of sullied silted experience,
and as such,
my preference is to unwind current struggles and tidings
remaining in my world,
from these I’ll take my fill,
I’ll share.
 
I need never grieve again for shrieking heights,
nor those days of pinprick slender sickness,
manic confusion,
psychotic delusion,
so many people met,
yet so few remaining.

No, I will only allow my vision to be cast over the plains,
the fields of my existence
which I can detail, and breathe in the embodiment
of calming words assisting my soul 
to become tamer, 
to become wiser, 
and to allow my offered text to reflect 
what's scrawled within my innermost pages.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: In the Clutches of the Sea – 02/02/20

    Poem: In the Clutches of the Sea – 02/02/20

    Look at this view!
It’s preposterous that it’s here, free for all to absorb
with our hungering eyes
that which is here, complimentary,
an expanse that screams extraordinary,
the water is deep azure blue,
little fish can be seen beneath the surface,
the sand nestles between my toes and nails,
and I feel fantastic.
 
Heated beneath my feet are the tiny grains that are like
texturised and tiny rice grains that I can squeeze and squeeze just for laughs,
for the pure enjoyment of it.
It collects in the gaps between my toes, and it exfoliates,
how I love,
how I adore this feeling.  
 
I cannot believe I’ve never seen a beach view as pristine as this,
that’s the problem with being so less-travelled,
or rather, the privilege, for now I am permitted
the ability to be amazed and absolutely swoon.
 
I tiptoe toward the water,
such a game this is for me,
I’m like an overgrown toddler,
growing closer and closer,
the shore is surely a marvellous place to be.
 
And when I reach the lapping lips of wetness,
I grin widely,
this is wonderful, to feel the trickle on my skin,
I can hardly stop my body from buzzing.
 
I go in further,
to my ankles,
to my calves,
to my knees,
the little fishies!
They coalesce and swim around,
perhaps they’re attracted to old skin on my legs
which I was unaware could be found.
 
And then I heave, I throw,
I thrash my body into the depths,
like a mermaid with extra elastic effect and I am now
submerged, enveloped, encased with the welcoming
embrace that is the Sea,
I allow her to tame me and take me,
free in her hold,
in her clutches I can surprisingly still breathe.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

Image by julia roman from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Gratitude – 02/02/20

    Poem: Gratitude – 02/02/20

    Priceless are those moments
where we smile and laugh, from ear to ear,
where each other’s company is appreciated
like lollipops in children’s playful but greedy hands
we are sweetly loved
we are tightly held dear.
 
I appreciate them all,
they are my world
outside my private space,
my personal world of everything
we are gathered around to share our stories
to know that we are loved.
 
It goes without saying
that I can, I will, I do show them that I care
because in specific years I showed them that perhaps I really
didn’t.
 
The enormous sense of welcoming to me
each time I felt and needed to come back
a slow build to triumph,
the personal progress made mainly thanks to them.
 
They caressed me,
cotton-wool-balled my mind,
allowed me to sleep whenever required because
time heals
sleep heals
this is what I was always told,
thank you for permitting my return, my repeated infancy,
when I was struggling to crawl.
 
The most sentimental moments are those in which
I have the sense of family, love, and friends,
support is here in a structure that some aren't lucky enough
to ever find.
 
I count myself one of the lucky,
I’ve been blessed with such care, concern, empathy,
that I must one day repay them is a given,
sometimes their love is overwhelming.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Intrusive Eye – 02/02/20

    Poem: Intrusive Eye – 02/02/20

    The attention of a single eye,
Strange orb,
Rounded intruder,
cuts through my defences in a cold loving manner
as though speaking of how I must
allow its invasive behaviour.
 
I’m open to this,
my goodness, I’ve been made to be available,
barbed wire tugged aside
to reveal, well,
flesh and muscle for assessment.
 
The naked eye surveys my exposed skin
I’m no longer impervious to attack
because it, it has stripped me clean,
a fact determined,
I’m invalidated.
 
I am made clear of any misunderstandings,
my desire to close off, just for a few moments
spoiled, annihilated,
because this beady eye is akin to 
a fortune teller’s ball,
it can see through what’s presented,
and this is no fairy tale at all.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: From Misery to Triumph – 01/02/20

    Poem: From Misery to Triumph – 01/02/20

    I am in a state of inertia,
even breathing is a heaving encumbering illness,
unwanted, my ribs rise, lungs bloat,
with the air that’s steadily keeping me afloat.
 
My eyelids are weighted,
leaded with invisible heavy loads
fit for adjusting and comparison,
each eye, though, is equally laden.
 
I struggle to rise from this depressive state,
it’s difficult once self-condemned,
a being needs the reassurance that of
their efforts they are worthy.
 
But I’m upon my bare stomach
and I can’t bring myself to even crawl,
nor to slide along to advance forth,
am I able to do anything at all?
 
Then I remember the words spoken to me:
try, try, and try again,
don’t give up,
the voice is echoing,
for safety I am yearning,
from this abhorrent state in which I lie
I must advance myself,
I know I must, I must.
 
Thus, with palm and palm I drag myself,
each movement is monumental in my eyes,
though small and steady,
I acquire, I acquire, I advance.
 
Eventually I look back,
how far I have come,
a little wisp of triumph from my wick
I’ve avoided smouldering myself,
from this tribulation I will rise,
this success is the beginning of a future aggregate,
of everything which will shall come to pass,
this I do surmise.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: The Raspberry Crusher – 31/01/20

    Poem: The Raspberry Crusher – 31/01/20

    I taste the tartness carelessly left coating my teeth,
raspberry goodness,
sour, slimy, almost eye wincing
still ripely sweet,
 
my eyes widen,
a great surprise,
as I absorb the flavoursome layer,
my tastebuds tingle, they tango,
sweetness most certainly assured,
if we’ve detoxed from refined treats prior.
 
The naturalness of Nature’s offerings
I am yet to feel ungrateful for her juice
pressed forth into my hand,
as round raucous raspberries they sang and danced
until I gently rolled them between forefinger and thumb
crushing them,
caressing them,
sweetly, carefully.
 
The juice stains
it drips close to my white dress
I bound aside but
alas!
 
A crimson tear,
captured within the fabric for all of time,
a reminder,
of fruity bloodshed,
I lick my hands,
grin from ear to ear.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

Photo credit: MasterTux from Pixabay

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