Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: blog

  • collaboration: the sea-faring page and the empress – Braeden Kennedy and Lauren M. Hancock – 19/03/22

    collaboration: the sea-faring page and the empress – Braeden Kennedy and Lauren M. Hancock – 19/03/22

    Thank you so much to my good friend and fellow Melbourne creative, Braeden Kennedy (@bak_doodlin_away) on Instagram) for drawing this amazing piece of art for me to set a poem to.

    I am powerful, he affirms himself
    creative, talented,
    incredible, and different,
    the cool sea-blue surrounding his
    heart, mind, and soul,
    cerulean blue, seascape days
    calms him as he
    calls upon the sign of the angels
    exhibited by the sun’s rays.
    warmed by their love
    their guidance from up above,
    he basks in their glory
    and feels the connection from outside
    and deep within,
    it will last, he tells himself,
    a cruel voice sniggers from afar –
    “if only, you think…”
    manipulations from the other side
    another world perhaps
    alternative rides,
    taking a ride on the train
    with these characters,
    he won’t forget,
    their words often
    harsh, grating, snide.
    one, passes, thrusts a handful of
    tarot cards before him,
    apparently he’s a seafaring page and
    she the empress?
    he shan’t grow unfocused,
    with his art, he won’t digress
    with his guiding spirit
    he soars away from
    the clownfish and the sea
    the mermaids,
    the distractions,
    the memories which do not please,
    and from within
    he calls again to angels
    to allow his creativity to breathe…
    (c) 2022 Poem by Lauren M. Hancock @laurenm.hancock

    Artwork by Braeden Kennedy @bak_doodlin_away & @bak_animations

    Please visit, like, share and support Braeden’s artwork! He is so talented and his artwork so unique. Thanks once again, it was great to work with you on this, my friend.

  • poem: the lake – 11/03/22

    poem: the lake – 11/03/22

    amazing though is this air I breathe
    wanton duck melodies from the lake
    make me sing
    their quacks and quacks speak of more
    than what’s implied by them
    with a dear friend around the lake I
    take a turn and admire ducks, smile at happy mothers,
    children, and puppies with men.
    I am animated, she listens with quiet calm,
    by her side, I need no longer need take her arm,
    for days of physical support are not near,
    there’s nothing to help me, nor there to fear,
    while anxiety can burden, it’s not featuring here.
    Our friendship, o’er long years,
    with gaps, sliced by angled swords,
    the silences lingered, anger had been present,
    could be heard,
    but through it all, a line of devotion and loyalty,
    illness an immutable thread
    but never each other’s enemies.
    She will always be my friend, she’d said,
    words which touch me now and blessed me then,
    a slight choking of the throat at gratitude from a
    wondrous, forgiving woman,
    for friendship with myself, would not have been
    the easiest to keep sealed,
    my angered mouth bubbled over at times,
    but she remained with great devotion still.
    I am not a goddess, I am not someone to be revered,
    I am not a higher being, I am simply myself –
    and when in the mood, other characters,
    so self-assured,
    but in the end, I am me, myself, and
    there’s nothing from that which can decline,
    to some I am the apple of their eye,
    and to some, they wish for me to evade their current times.
    I’ll focus on my loved ones, and kind friends such as she,
    there until the end, together, even in absence and solitude,
    her momentary absence not a mystery.
    I will and do understand her occasional need to pull away,
    gaze at the lake, with quietness away from my chirping
    and tunes,
    a moment’s peace, a mindful exercise,
    then returning by my side for the conversation
    to be properly seen through.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    March 2022
    Photo taken by myself.

  • poem: schizoaffectivity – 08/03/22

    poem: schizoaffectivity – 08/03/22


    SCHIZOAFFECTIVITY
    family can be a strange thing.
    One minute you’re loved then the next you’re like a pestilence,
    an unwanted being.
    Of course, bringing it upon oneself, well, that’s something different,
    but in the end, I was made the tyrant,
    laid away on the shelf
    though only temporarily.

    And I suppose, I suppose it is so,
    this falling-apart thing that happens to my mind
    when I go temporary awry,
    momentarily insane,
    is this the pushing button inside, or on my brain
    that makes me ill for two closed months
    when I’m made to be locked away,
    my words spoken loudly in vain?

    I am just a patient,
    mentally, I have delusions,
    grand, carried out about the land
    and while I whine and scream,
    still want to shine,
    in my hand a small cup
    of perilous potions to be sucked down inside.

    The system wants to treat,
    they do it in the best ways they can
    but some they cannot help
    people like me initially
    on medications I feel they burden me,
    I choke.

    There’s nothing different about health these days
    in fact, there IS, but in time I will realise
    that some just wanted to help
    some were happy for me to shine
    and like the ordinary world,
    with some others, they wouldn’t pay my words
    a dime.

    I understand I can’t always please,
    temporarily the medicine makes me want to heave
    there’s just so much of it,
    my addled mind,
    years ago progressed from bipolar
    to schizoaffective disorder,
    whilst in my “prime”.

    This tale can go on far, far longer
    but I won’t give away the book,
    I just want others to have a peek in,
    have a tiny look,
    and oblige me this favour,
    won’t you take my words,
    many were my saviours,
    but most of all,
    close knit:-
    family, friends, and a brave tolerant doctor.
    And her protégé, of course,
    but I cannot name her.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Cartoon photo by mohamed_hassan on Pixabay
    Original photo of myself

  • 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

  • post: i will be – 01/03/22

    post: i will be – 01/03/22

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock

    I will be the boisterous me
    I will grin and bear the dreams
    I will heal and steal that light
    the sun of the Son of the Sun
    I will rise when the prisms sparkle rainbow sheens
    I will be fortuitous
    and reach for desired dreams
    I will call and call for items like sticky pearls
    because they satiate my need for nourishment
    be and end all.

    I won’t fold beneath pressure
    I will contemplate and begin to once again know my other
    my shadow self I will tame and feed her charisma
    my Peter-Pan syndrome
    my rainbow sprite self won’t go under

    I will live with an inner dream
    childhood fantasies of writing and creating art and music
    are everything, as they seemed
    I will not complain nor will I whine
    because within is my great divine
    and I will reach it, reach her,
    the moment I speak I will become of her

    Let the laymen understand me
    and even let the complex mock me
    I won’t heed their warnings
    their shooting signs
    because this is my life
    and I’ll direct it just fine.

    Whittle down the edges of a
    childhood book with worn pages
    and travel with me
    travel, become,
    love is what keeps us together,
    and we shan’t come undone.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.   
    Photo from Pixabay
    01/03/22

  • 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