Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: beauty

  • Poem: Rolling Waves and Green Pastures – 02/10/20

    Poem: Rolling Waves and Green Pastures – 02/10/20

    Rolling waves in my mind pass by,
    sumptuous, decadent,
    tidal, in their own time,
    I smile to myself as I feel the ebb and the flow
    of my thoughts travel singularly
    then as one,
    a conglomeration of multitudes,
    my will,
    coming along so beautifully,
    they could temporarily stun.

    This is my time,
    my springtime of my middle youth,
    where I have now grown and prematurely gone to pasture
    and I am taking in all I can,
    this is truth.

    I am relaxing in my moments,
    I am sinking in the hay,
    I am enjoying the fresh wind,
    the air,
    the breeze,
    it softens me,
    I smile to myself,
    and I wish that I could stay.

    I am at one with this world,
    I am becoming the strength I’ve long searched for,
    what I’ve needed,
    what I’ve come to depend upon others for,
    but now I am powerful,
    and I can ride those waves as though upon a creature
    battling the crests,
    with magical chimes and
    announcements sounding all around
    that I have arrived.

    I am profound,
    or at least, I believe I am,
    I hear these sounds,
    I take in the smiles,
    the welcoming body language and calls
    of my family,
    from the land, the water,
    the pastures,
    oh, such wanted sounds.

    I am accepted,
    but more importantly,
    I am accepting myself finally,
    I am here,
    in mind, body and spirit,
    finally,
    as one, not separate entities,

    and off the cuff,
    I compose gentle words in my mind
    as I watch the waves
    rise and fall,

    my heart,
    my mind,
    my presence,
    I will accept myself,
    flaws and all.

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

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  • Poem: Paper Cranes and Airplanes – 09/09/20

    Poem: Paper Cranes and Airplanes – 09/09/20

    She sits there with paper at the ready
    wondering what it is that should keep herself busy,
    the beauty and wonder of creating
    a paper crane
    or a slick air-mobile to cut the air
    so precisely.

    The crane calls to her,
    the idea of it makes her heart flutter with hope
    what is about formations in paper that can provide another being
    with the ability to broaden their emotional scope?

    The airplane wants to be made,
    to splice its way through the stars and clouds,
    perhaps lean upon the luminous moon
    not a man in the moon but a plane full of them
    little figures of existence to be
    positively at hand.

    But she chooses the construction of the crane,
    she knows that each fold will lean and paper attend
    strength imbued
    growing
    courageous

    paper dreams to be made for you.

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

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  • Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Wildflowers aren’t only beautiful because they’re free,
they beckon to us from between the blades of grass,
thick trunks of trees,
their scent permeates the fields,
tickles our noses when we bend to admire,
we must understand their beauty’s power.
 
They are softer in texture than they look,
just like many of us, who carry our hearts hidden
within beating grasp of tightened fists,
scared, afraid to show ourselves to others,
in the magic that may unfold,
we should realise, like wildflowers,
we are wondrous, and should free ourselves,
herald our brightness to the days and
reign with our internal strength and power.
 
And at night we rest,
like wildflowers calling,
breathing quietly,
respiring,
and know that we can recharge 
like the blooms for the night,
rest in a group yet still in folded solitude,
our delights,
we will open once more in the morning,
if we dare be brave,
our arms outstretched like petals,
mouths wide open and yawning,
our hearts presently unfolding,
we call to be found like those 
wildflowers of the forest.

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

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  • Poem: Making Mountains Out of Molehills? – 08/07/20

    Poem: Making Mountains Out of Molehills? – 08/07/20

    I glare at the
splotches of raw colour
in the mirror:
one, two, three,
four, more.
 
An adolescent’s
dreaded nightmare;
immense, angry, welt-like, firm.
 
They’re like curious mountains
which have arisen overnight,
swollen and painful,
because I insist on 
irritating their surface 
though I know 
it’s not right,
 
they flare, they throb
with each unsuccessful
squeeze I make,
 
who knew a war’s
been waged against me,
one I’ve unwittingly
been forced to undertake??

How to remove these
painful sites from my face,
clear my complexion
as if by magic?
 
I feel as though I might
require some form of
divine intervention,
because these mountains,
not molehills,
are certainly not budging.
 
Makeup:
foundation, concealer,
could work a treat,
but only if these
unsightly visitors sat flat
at 180 degrees.
 
If they were simple,
mere blemishes,
I could paint them
into obscurity,
 
however, this
aggressive adult acne
is really
my current reality.
 
I sit, perplexed,
wondering what to do,
it hurts when I
attempt to drain them,
the thought disgusts and
revolts me, too.
 
I have an important date
scheduled which I 
need later attend,

but I suspect I’ll be sending
my apologies
if I can’t make
the blemishes heal 
and cleanse,
fastidiously empty my pores,
leave them open once again.
 
Well, it looks as though
I’ll be staying home,
I’m not vain for 
avoiding company,
the solitude of my home is 
where it's safest,
where I can hide these
mountains raw and glistening.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
Image credit: Clip-Art Library

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  • Poem: Bloated Wattle Buds – 07/07/20

    Poem: Bloated Wattle Buds – 07/07/20

    Delicate wattle buds
hanging preciously
in the air,
framed by their yawning captor
who, with great regiment
keeps them together.
 
The picturesque scene
a corner-bound
introvert’s dream,
stems forcefully
held in Captor’s cavity,
like binding a spell,
there is intention,
this method has been
carefully crafted.
 
While one may initially
joyfully glance upon this
pleasing scene,
 
the controversial feature,
by us, the pollen is not meant
to be captured;
it is meant to roam free,
 
bloated balls of yellow,
tickling masses for striped bees
and pollination,
as they were intended,
 
not for them to be wrenched away,
stolen by a gardener’s gentle need to
grasp hold of beauty in order 
for it to be specifically seen.
 
But how was
the gardener to know?
The vivid yellow
drew the pollen
to her,
 
perhaps reminded by the 
patriotic nature
of yellow and green –
“our land is girt by sea”,
 
though, she should not
be held accountable for
anything other than
introducing the pollen’s
cruel captor to the bunch,
 
a vase an unworthy adversary
for bees which require
pollen like this,
to continue their
fervent collections.
 
The presence of the
buds begins to annoy me,
what, with their false bravado
and natural cheeriness,
 
I shan’t destroy this arrangement,
but I am considering
putting it away.
 
Out of sight and out of mind,
I release unto the hidden pollen
a welcome, famished swarm.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image credit: Myself

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  • Poem: The Hummingbird – 25/02/20

    Poem: The Hummingbird – 25/02/20

    The hummingbird buzzes quietly,
She is home at last,
Without the combative competitive bees
Whispering in her ears
Deafening her as closer and closer they come
Because she is set to feed and sudden aggression
Comes over her
As she desires the delicious dining within the precious feeder
She needs
She requires
She must collect
She must consume
And these hissing whispering busy bees
Insist on playing in her outside room
Where she is meant to work
Never abstain
But be precise and retrieve
Her life is antisocial
But she must work around others
To achieve that which she yearns for
The truth
Her feed
Her sweetness
Dripping beak.    

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

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  • Poem: Found Beauty – 15/02/20

    Poem: Found Beauty – 15/02/20

    Seek the beauty within their eyes,
Their swollen pupils are quiet
yet they speak with booming silence.
 
When you view the allure between gentle palms,
The softened skin strokes,
Muscles unwind,
A heavenly song.
 
When you find the wonder within another’s truth
When you can connect with their experiences
feel their joyous nature and with them experience anew.
 
When you don’t seek superficial beauty but
Appreciate the internal view you’ve been shown
that’s when your heart will blossom,
that’s when your heart will truly grow.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

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  • Poem: The Rainbow Bower – 14/02/20

    Poem: The Rainbow Bower – 14/02/20

    Something shiny,
something bright,
she collects with her clutching fingers for an
internal sense of delight.
 
Like a bower bird yet not,
tall, gangly, lean,
her vigilant eyes dart for specific shades which will
perfect that rainbow sheen which
she’s placed upon her bedspread,
 
laid out for her eyes to sumptuously absorb their beauty,
her very own rainbow
created by her own hands,
materials found and designed.
 
She is becoming more like that bower bird
yet by the world mostly unseen,
though still one of a kind,
here she needs not fight to be heard,
a potent lustre, it gleams.
 
She doesn’t collect to impress,
to lure another into her nest,
no, these shades are purely for her,
her heart beats wildly as she blots spilled ink
in colours known only in her realm.
 
Turquoise mixed with a purple sheen,
what would you call this?
Peacock green, she labels him,
he is now part of her luscious scene.
 
And the ripe aroma of baby pink with clashing red,
what will she label that?
What will her imagination draw upon next?
 
She rolls in the hues now,
her eyes brighten and enliven with her soul,
her spirit, it soars, encapsulating the room,
while outside her window, watches the playfully observant Moon.
 
This rainbow bower has much to offer,
she has much to extend to this world
but only in the privacy of her bedroom
can she truly extend, to exhibit her colours
or collect the shades,
because outside these four walls,
if she shared her triumphant secret collection,
the world would be blinded,
temporarily yet wondrously amazed,
she prefers to remain in hiding.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by cm_dasilva 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: 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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