author – Page 6 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Spells – (The Last) – 17/11/20

My words became spells again,
my words they wove their magic,
the images proved so sincere,
yet tired they became,
the end:
so tragic.

I sewed the moments one by one,
delved in and out the topics,
recreated potency handfuls by handfuls,
the result:
confusion of moments.

The truth of the matter is
perhaps the words were not right,
misinterpretations outdoors
flew high into the sky.

Anomalies present from whatever one might
want to know,
lay your head upon that grass,
rest there gently,
I’ll watch the subtle growth.

Time can tell certain things,
many different things,
nearby blossoms absorb the moments
in which they breathe the sounds
with ease.

They take on the subtle intricacies,
borne as silent witnesses,
voices raised in dire frustration,
won’t the scents calm them
along the breeze?

But will they be subdued,
relax themselves?
Unravel the tapestry,
work it all out?
I think those others eavesdropping can
quite obviously tell.

My words once were magic,
to others they became spells again,
I wove them,
and I weave them,
and I let others carefully attend to them.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

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Poem: Always – 28/10/20

Rolling away those pains,
I can sense them there,
making me rigid,
making me aware.

They cause such shudders,
unwanted power,
overriding me,
making me suffer.

But I can sense the beauty ahead lingering,
emotions to encompass,
overwhelming feelings,

the ability to have sorted,
wiped away the discomfort
that was present within me,
now –
forget-me-nots,
my mind feels free.

I shan’t be weighed down by
ancient unwanted thoughts,
shan’t allow myself to feel pained,
suffer,
I can be self-taught,
to glow and shine,
stripped away of any negative moments,
replaced by instances of
shared light-heartedness,

they’re fluffy,
bright, light,
yet potent.

And it’s better this way,
decisions made,
brighter, fulfilled,
less encumbered days,

beaming, flashed smiles,
unpressured discourse,
lacking in animosity,
hopefully always in style,

concern and niceties to fill future times,
positive memories to be saved
for many a-while.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

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Poem: Gasp – 26/10/20

I gasp.
It wasn’t expected,
to see this sight today.
But then, I smile,
because in a way,
I have been quietly asked to let go of personal dismay.

I’ve set my sights on improvement,
within my life I’m going to change,
and I’ve already made self-alterations,
I can view them on the page.

As they’re read quietly, in my own style,
I acknowledge what I’ve already done for myself,
forming new habits takes a while.
Learning to look after myself,
my mind, my body,
I can amplify what they are needing,
for what they are calling.

For I try to now listen to them,
and my spirit,
to these three, I’ve forged a commitment,
to care for myself mentally, holistically,
to do so means in a manner positively
and wholeheartedly.

No room for doubt or fear,
or wondering if there’s enough strength in me to steer,
I will attend to my life’s direction,
I will be illuminated in the sunshine,
and heal and succeed, re-connection,
heal, mend, and attend,
I’ve already performed the interventions.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Danny Lines on Unsplash

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Poem: Gentle Flower Petal – 11/10/20

Gentle flower petal,
how beautifully you twirl,
within the lake
amidst my reflection
that stares back,
showing something that’s
strangely unlike me,
not precisely the same,
but still heart strings are tugged,
emotions swirl.

Pink petal, pink petal,
how fragrant you must
have been
before you were immersed in this
seemingly picture-perfect scene.

And within this not-so-mirror image
which stares and stares right back,
I wonder to myself,
what is lacking?
And when will it come back
to my hands?

Perfect petal, you swim
as though you’re gently
treading water,
peacefully bobbing above
the waterline,
no flow to drag you under.

And as you enter my reflection
how you feel immersed
in the warmth that engulfs you,
so precious in this land you are.

You’re in uncharted territory,
you’re unknowing of the world in
which you’re floating,
even I cannot fathom my
true reflection
because I do not know
every turn,
every nook and cranny’s exploration.

But petals can get lost
down these winding paths,
there’s blockages,
scar tissue in the grooves
from life’s aftermath

but gently, Petal, you will float,
over and away,
only to return to explore again
another day.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Poem: Hoarder – 08/10/20

He hoards not objects,
not physical implements
but emotions,
he caresses them,
they express their feelings
heard and meant.

He greedily
takes these from others,
swipe, snatch, grab,
one hand carries the contents of
another’s heavy heart,
another carries pain and loathing
in the other hand
which seems it shan’t ever depart.

Into a precious round
glass bowl he places
extracted stolen feelings
watching them swirl;
it gives him a mildly pleased feeling

as though he’s appeased
his internal sufferings
by borrowing –
that’s what he calls it –
emotions which he will supervise
until the morning.

Because he only needs
access to these
for a night and a day,
it is his means of survival,
his nutritional content,
shall we say?

He feeds off other’s expressions
because truly, he cannot
forgive nor accept his own transgressions.

He needs to heal himself
with the emotions of others
as though patchwork sewn,
slapped on,
to disguise the
holes within his cloudy aura.

He is tainted by prior actions,
and he repairs himself
temporarily with that
which is stolen,
it’s enough to please him
until the coming of morning.

And then he will
hunt and hoard again,
applying that to whichever part of himself
is sadly and ostensibly broken.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Joseph Frank on Unsplash

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Poem: Perception – 06/08/20

Perception, my view of my world varies greatly.
Some days I will be bright and bubbly,
others, my nervous stomach cavernous, painful, empty.
My perception is like it’s being drawn across a dotted line,
where will the line stop?
Will visions of positivity or potent feelings be mine?
 
How I see things is not determined only by my internal workings,
rather, influenced by others and the way I react to their activities,
their feelings,
I do not dare sit here and blame,
I simply state and tell,
this is how my perception is swayed,
this I will reveal.
 
Of course, my inner cogs turn and gears grind
when reacting to something that upsets me,
affects my perception in my life,
but I cannot blame anyone for how I react or feel
simply because I should be able to control myself –
self-control, you know the drill.
 
And I wonder, how do others’ perceptions come about,
how are they constructed, do they remain constant
through an encounter,
level throughout?
I’m not sure, I’d have to speak of this with them,
what causes another person’s thoughts and
feelings to suddenly twist inside of them?
 
For some, it may be a riddle,
for others, I may have a slight internal view,
but if they fully alert me,
and I share my perceptions on that with them,
won’t we be all the more knowledgeable?  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Saffu on Unsplash

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Poem: Power of Words – 05/08/20

You exist because you can,
you perpetuate your meaning because you will,
you know that to be is to cause problems
to those who wish upon you only ill.
 
Time is ticking for you, my dear,
there are many positive things which could be extracted,
but instead you realise only the darkness and poison,
you draw them out from you,
inept, you feel.
 
Some patterns are full of thrill,
and some patterns are hard to kill.
 
For the role you are undertaking,
it is one of change,
it is one of danger,
you intended to take a different path,
and now you’re mocked for this,
 
scorned for this,
in a dream, you are made to be the one
they laugh at,
because you are in your thirties and
changing your direction at last.
 
The mocking laughter pins into your flesh,
biting in the meat, causing prickles,
pain and suffering, no less,
and the direct gaze of their judgemental eyes
is wearing you down,
you simply wanted to move forward,
to leave behind what had long ago been sown.
 
And now you stay back to confront the culprit,
this is something you’d never have done,
to fight authority's bullets with verbal bullets of your own,
why, for this you deserve your own small throne.
 
And the irony is that when you do speak,
he rushes off,
pretending to do something
and never returns,
now here you have learned,
the power of words, my sweet darling,
the power within your words.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

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Poem: Starry Eyed – 01/09/20

They couldn’t help it,
they had stars in their eyes.
Bright burst of fireworks encapsulated in their sights,
little pin drops of explosions,
one by one they shine and shone,
filling their beings with life and fire,
delighting themselves,
fear, they had none.
 
What is it about confidence that oozes delectability?
And what is it about inner strength that speaks to not only them,
but me?
Because, I, as narrator of this tale,
I am also here to be affected,
lights and sounds within my view and ears,
can I share this, can I tell?
 
I am not the only one with stars in my eyes,
when I look at the those before me,
those who succeeded in their own style,
and the others who admire,
who view this situation for what it is,
entirely pleased be they,
it is involuntary.
 
Stars in our eyes,
this I’ll admit,
when I’m looking at us,
looking at it,
success is not an option,
success is the only way,
the ironic moment comes when I realise
I’ve been staring in the mirror with the others,
together,
the whole time, always.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

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Poem: Eclipsed – 30/08/20

You eclipsed yourself onto my heart,
etched yourself amongst Sun and stars,
a silhouette of burnished red and brown,
a luminescent glow of you all around.
 
Your pattern, your shape,
my mind recalls,
the beauty of your face,
your expression,
I’m in thrall,
and I remember the smiles we shared,
so many days and nights together,
I am basking in the memory of your glow,
ghostly light upon me thrown,
alabaster shine upon us both.
 
Hand in hand,
you took me into your view,
fingertips laced together,
we shone, reflections of youth,
and together we created an energy unseen
by the lower land,
eclipsing my heart as you
tightly grasped my hand.
 
What will happen, dear,
when we must part?
The irreconcilable moment when
hand leaves hand,
and hearts extract entwined valves
from each other,
for one must depart.
 
I know this time will come and to it,
I revolt, as I say,
I wish I could stay in your presence,
please don’t desert me,
please remain.
 
I cannot do this on my own,
I imagine myself sadly call,
I’ll gaze into your light,
continue to further fall, 
fall further, and fall into the night.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by JOSHUA COLEMAN on Unsplash

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Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

My body is a river,
I rush over you,
soothing as a salve or balm,
running over your pebbles,
smoothing their jagged forms.
 
My delicate hands dance,
my currents rise and fall,
to you,
my body is a river,
with my flow
I can cure you of all.
 
Aching, yearning,
pain which must be departing,
despairing,
depression,
lonely,
to cleanse you of these is my calling.
 
So, my liquid licks and laps
against your shore,
the in-between where
hunger and pain are raw,
unknown, a certain calling,
your fingers reach for me,
I flush you with calm respite,
truthful news,
release from your gloom.
 
You no longer suffer,
you are brave
for having survived your internal ravaging,
but because my body is a river,
you were permitted this vital saving.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jessica Furtney on Unsplash

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