Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: bird

  • Poem: The Birds – 03/07/21

    Poem: The Birds – 03/07/21

    I have learned the language
    of love
    not by loving
    but by being loved,

    by being understood,
    known as heard,
    my inner self has expanded
    into a flourishing wondrous bird.

    First the phoenix,
    decimate my life,
    self-destruction,
    soot, ash, burn, stir,
    potential is rife,

    so then I become
    a crane of hope,
    a sign of quietness,
    of wisdom,
    breadth, width,
    how I’ve learned
    to cope.

    I reach forth, a feather,
    hold it out to be grasped,
    the whiteness,
    sheer purity of vision,
    unspotted,
    not besmirched,
    unmarked,

    stridently,
    my wings spread,
    here I am
    now an eagle with
    perceptive eyes,
    I am scanning the world
    below me,
    for I, I have risen,
    and further will I rise.

    I soar and explore
    the dawn, the dusk,
    daily vision,
    awry is not my intent,
    no, not me,
    not I,

    I understand, wanting more,
    not less,
    won’t I call for more,
    snatch more from Life?

    Unknowing of full potential,
    but by goodness
    I’ll allow myself to explore,
    because I need it,
    I want it,
    to be heard,

    let me project my shaky balance,
    I am, on this point,
    going to be, one day,
    be so confidently self-assured.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Vivid Waves’ – 01/07/21

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  • Poem: Pretty Little Sparrow – 13/06/20

    Poem: Pretty Little Sparrow – 13/06/20

    Warbling, a pretty sparrow,
she’s come to visit thee,
to spread wonder and good tidings,
perfection uttered,
pure beauty to be seen.
 
She scratches around
the back garden,
throwing her head back,
intelligent eyes glinting occasionally,
 
she is here with great promise,
her effect is really something that
needs to be felt
to be believed.
 
Suddenly, inspiration flows through
your left hand,
images, metaphors,
swim in your mind,
 
she’s here to inspire,
you suddenly realise,
her presence within yours
a desirous prize.
 
How lucky you feel
that upon you she’s bestowed
her ability to assist you
with poetry, prosody, and prose,
 
the great joy you feel,
as electricity flows through your very being –
she flutters her wings now,
it appears she wants to be wholly seen.
 
No more scratching among the shrubs and twigs,
no more blending in with the boughs and leaves,
she warbles,
she tweets,
the triumphant beauty of her song
almost brings you weeping, to your knees.
 
But you’re unable to pay homage to your muse
because your left hand,
primed with pen
is moving erratically, furiously,  
injected with the power of thoughts
and their mystical clouds and threads.
 
What have you created? I wonder.
Is there something amazing across the page?
Your quiet sense of knowing,
the struck inspiration,
running cursive which shall be typed and saved.
 
And now our beauty flits,
flies high,
up and away,
we will sit here waiting together
for Sparrow’s next arrival
to inspire you another day.  

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

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  • Poem: The Animals’ Holiday – 09/04/20

    Poem: The Animals’ Holiday – 09/04/20

    The world stops,
one could hear a pin drop
though no one is present to hear its ping.
 
We are all inside,
relegated,
told to be safe
to take care,
to avoid each other as much
to save ourselves now and in the future.
 
The pin drops and in fact
something does hear it
why, it is a little fox
who has taken over his landscape once more,
without the humans,
the grass, the soil, the land
is his.
 
And the rabbits,
why, there they are,
tentatively sniffing,
their whiskers bouncing up and down
like wild antennas in a storm,
judging whether it’s safe to leave their warren,
its safety,
they finally decide, there’s much freedom to be had!
 
And the birds, the birds are startled
by the lack of human activity,
the lessening of smog,
of absence of large groups,
less cars,
and perplexed, they fly observing the scene below,
then, joyously they realise this world is becoming theirs,
more than it had ever been before,
and they swoop and squawk and soar,
tweeting and twittering with as many smiles
as their beaks can form.
 
For how does one know when a bird is smiling?
How does one know when a fox’s heart is free and calling?
How does one know when a rabbit’s frantic heart is now
calm and content?
The ability to leave his home without fear,
and explore the land without a sense of calamity impending?
 
The animals are taking over,
it is their time,
their ability to take their holiday,
while we are inside,
they live it up.

While we’re inside, they’re happily enjoying their Outside.

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

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  • Prose Poetry: A Tune For the Bird Who Brightens my Day – 05/04/20

    Prose Poetry: A Tune For the Bird Who Brightens my Day – 05/04/20

    Precious and sweet, in a method of glistening blue, she rises to me, she flies to my open hand, and whispers, “How are you?” My melodious being, my little birdy in special cobalt feathers, she understands what I need during my lonely waking hours. A touch of do re mi and as happy as can be, she presents some well-formed notes to me, not tentatively or wavering but with strong confidence that ensues. She wishes to ensure that my brightness returns, and shall remain, with her tuneful songs, more notes arrive and they shall grow and soften, as sweet as the scent of fresh rain.

My little, little birdy, where did you come from, and where do you go? After the moments in which you cheer my mindset so? You disappear into the wilderness, away toward the horizon, and sometimes I feel guilty when I stop for a spot of contemplation. For, what would occur, what could I do, to capture my free little bluebird all for myself, so I could have her joyous songs forever within my ears? There would be no need for her to sing to anyone else. Although, I understand that these thoughts are selfish of me, and I must reconsider how I deal with my bird in my dreams, because she surely has important tasks elsewhere of cheering others up.  

I must be kind, I must be generous, to allow my birdy to share her love and song with others in the world during their moments of distress, for there is no need to be greedy, as I know she’ll return and sing to me, even when I feel inclined to dance, side step, step, and twirl, ever so freely.

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

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  • Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Broken, he seemingly fell from the heavens, into your considering view. Into your loving care and concern, he assisted at healing you too. As you nursed him back to health, hand rearing, listening to his joyous, tenuous calls and providing your skills of motherly loving, you watched him and his confidence grow tenfold, in the days you spent together.

    Then disaster would strike, oh, the horror, as differing birds came to sweep your Birdy away. Yet he is now looked after by a larger other, of his own kin; you smile to yourself, knowing he is finally grown enough for freedom with his own kind, with his other hopefully he will stay. Though, close to your heart his memories will forever remain, and you wish for him as a guardian of your land, you know you cannot will him to be anything more than free, as the moment that he flew from your hand.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

    Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

     “Quit jivin’ turkey!” she said to me. 
     I most assuredly was not joking in any manner, way, shape or form,
     Because I had a certain need.
      
     A gamey desire for bird’s meat,
     I had quietly asked permission for a slice of thigh or another cut of leg,
     But this little clever Cornish chicken knew how to mess with my stomach and head.
      
     “Quit. Jivin’!” she repeated, glaring and skipping away as she said this to me. 
     I tried to give chase, but she was too nimble,
     Far too quick for the likes of me. 
      
     “Oh, but how I only need one slice, one little piece!” I emphasised. 
     “This you will not miss! As a clever Cornish chicken you will regenerate, 
     The piece will be replaced and this process won’t be amiss.” 
      
     She angrily ruffled her feathers, 
     Shook her humanoid head, 
     And then some screeching from the depths of her,
     I could not fathom how she simply would not share. 
      
     Because as a humanoid Cornish chicken, 
     Her flesh would return quickly, 
     This we should all be aware. 
      
     She was selfish, 
     Or, was I asking too much,
     No. Not at all,
     I grabbed at her thigh and felt her beating heart,
     She scrambled desperately, for me to be overthrown. 
      
     But I realised I was not like other humans,
     I would not, could not unfairly take,
     I had to wait until she offered a slice, 
     Being courteous was awfully nice.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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