Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: blogging

  • poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    the dance the flautist sweetly breezes her melody,
    I can barely hold myself together
    that breath which creates wonder
    not an insolent din,
    fires once raged
    and sins were born
    but hell hath no current feature,
    gone, perpetually, is that scorn!

    no devils raging on shoulders,
    no carrying heavy loads to break
    weary backs,
    they do not prance their fiendish means
    above the line of fresh air,
    because, because,
    they are no longer there.

    free of sin
    and lightly taking in
    the trilling shrill song,
    breezing
    of the instrument filled with delight
    and winding heart song, streams,
    what is it they look for
    what is it they search for now?
    peace, serenity,
    and then jubilance all around!

    angels ring and angels call
    they embark upon journeys
    to those one-lost souls
    perpetuating the knowledge
    of a thousand years,
    the collection,
    the atoms,
    enlightening.

    purple: violet and lilac,
    yellow: citrine and gold,
    ruby in her richest red,
    and pink, mauves,
    all around.
    And rose gold surrounding
    that symbol of love,
    yes, this integral melody,
    beautiful piece,
    has been carefully constructed,
    for the flautist, carefully made
    like a perfect bouquet for her
    grown.

    He takes her hand,
    as gently as can be,
    enlivened soul,
    enriched loving eyes,
    they know truest loves meant to be,
    deep inside.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash.

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  • poem: arm in arm – 21/03/22

    poem: arm in arm – 21/03/22

    Multifaceted and colours of the spectrum,
    a man romantic,
    with heart pounding
    for his love, eternal,
    to return to him again,
    their binding shade,
    deep violet,
    wondrous spiritual shade.

    they entered the world with floating stars
    when she decided to calmly
    leave this planet,
    she was relaxed,
    she knows her charms,
    arm in arm he accompanied her,
    then returned to a land, near not far.

    Oh, how loyal he is to her,
    it’s not just memories that keep her alive
    his sentiment for her is so pure,
    loving loving eternity
    they will never come undone
    here, nor the skies,

    betwixt for forever, a future lifetime
    still as One
    they will always remain together
    in heart, soul and mind,
    truest aching love.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image by Jo-B from Pixabay

  • poem: harken – 20/03/22

    poem: harken – 20/03/22

    it is with joy
    that I thank this
    world that I live in,

    This Universe that makes my
    heart sing,
    a certain knowing that tender love
    does bring.

    I thank the Universe for my guides,
    the archangels for their presence,
    and with goodness and grace
    heaven sent, I thank the Lord for being
    there for me, even when at times
    I fail at acknowledgement.

    Raise my ears to the Heavens,
    scorch the skies with my passions,
    and Kingdom Come,
    there is magic in my circumstance,
    delirium in my instance,
    and an amazing reverie for us to view,
    to speak of, to sing with,
    my darlings, won’t you harken with me?

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay.

  • 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: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    poem: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    the waves take me on a journey
    where I’m lulled into a sense of security
    and notes like gentle hands wash over me,
    I am amazed and quiet,
    there is nothing remaining above the surface,
    a breath and I’m underneath,
    the seaweed, coral, clown fish
    are brighter than above-days,
    my heart is pounding ecstatically,
    once well-rested,
    there’s so much to take in,
    to see.

    engineered cobwebs from
    entangled jellyfish limbs,
    mesmerising affray,
    dilating metamorphic,
    fluid heads, bodies,
    passing my very way,
    I become at peace with this sight
    entranced at their careless might,
    manners so poignant with each other
    there’s nothing which escapes
    my sight; gone under.

    And further under, I bury myself in the
    silt and sand,
    mischievous with this land,
    another clown fish passes, then
    mum and dad.
    Oranges brighter than witches’ cones,
    I smile to myself,
    they entertain, and I know
    their intent is nothing to amuse,
    they simply, casually amble,
    stop, move.

    How beautiful such a simple sight could be within
    a quiet night under the sea,
    so breathless, yet free,
    won’t you accompany,
    won’t you slip beneath waves,
    won’t you join me?
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Image from Unsplash.  

  • 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: still the waters flow – 09/03/22

    poem: still the waters flow – 09/03/22


    Artwork by Lin Onus and Mandjad Productions “Michael and I are just slipping down to the pub for a minute” 2000

    (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

    water, our life force,
    as important as the air we breathe,
    value this we must, nurture it, cherish it,
    we do, shall, see?

    water,
    an elemental force, her importance, we heed,
    countering roaring fires,
    hydrogen and oxygen calm, in part,
    but citizens harrowed and tired,
    fled and flee,

    forget these moments?
    never,

    we shall not,
    smoke lingering on the breeze.

    we as a nation banded together,
    and of elements,
    fire, earth, wind, water,
    we encountered and employed them,
    to ignore the strength of these,
    alone or together,
    we’d be ignorant,
    and repeated recollection –
    nightmarish,
    awakening, split seams.

    then the stagnant life
    where we were hidden away
    socialisation limited for our needs,
    closed work spaces,
    many months of solitude,
    from society, away, away!

    now, no major flames
    or tempests fanning another destructive force,
    no fire-forced movement – “Hades”,
    pentacle, downward swipe,
    instead again, lives lost,
    pictures, memories, animals, remembrances of families,
    destructed homes,
    now lakes and rivers overflow…
    when shall we be saved, when will we know?

    but there’s fluidity and a resilience within us all
    natural disasters will not keep us down
    we, Australians, are strong and homegrown
    brave and true, working together
    we save each other
    we rise up with others

    for bold is our connection with Mother Earth
    we respect her, we revere her, we are in awe of her
    its power, her mighty force
    for the power she provides
    and the strength and cruelty with which
    she can decimate,
    be present, or run and hide.

    like silken thread we ride her waves
    undulating untamed like the dingo
    and his friend ray
    the flames they’re battered by winds
    but we stay true,
    together, united, resilience sees us through.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Artwork by Lin Onus and Mandjad Productions “Michael and I are just slipping down to the pub for a minute” 2000

  • poem: arisen – 28/02/22

    poem: arisen – 28/02/22

    even when I’ve not everything I need all around
    I have all I need when I’m here
    the bare minimum does not contribute to any sense of gloom
    nor quaint snipey conversations within the room
    my face doesn’t grow tired or long
    because I am here and now
    and by my side is… you.

    I know you’re tired of the same old love poems
    dedicated to you and I,
    perhaps things are about to change,
    perhaps we’ll move on, move forward,
    move forth,
    we are too good for dwelling upon the
    prior circumstance –

    we will move forward.

    no matter how long it takes,
    how many angsty bitter tunes and rhymes
    I won’t be like that today,
    at least, not this time,

    I wander our memories,
    childhood, adulthood things
    as I clean with slow ease,
    wondering what to bin, what to keep,
    what to allow as designated for others,

    and I realise how quickly time’s passed
    before my very eyes,
    and I contemplate what happened to the stars,
    the moon, oh the stars
    when my world was up in arms,
    I was angered, bitter, untidy, nasty,
    cruel to mankind,
    it wasn’t pretty,
    but it was only a spell,
    for a tiny moment in time,
    and recovery is poignant,
    it is turbulent,
    but it’s occurring,
    within hours.
    within minutes and seconds, darling.

    And those who decide to stand by me,
    as friends, as warriors, as heroes,
    times three,
    many have been here in the making
    but only three remain somehow,
    maybe more,
    but they’ve no designated doors,
    not yet, anyhow.

    I am watching and waiting for the complete revelation,
    about the words they will say and unravel
    tongues engorged like a tame good-willed Cerberus,
    I don’t know, not quite, what they can do,
    but I’m excited to see how the utterances will
    help me,
    assist me,
    my mindset, my confidence to entirely return.

    Lovingly, achingly, away from me,
    I’ve made my childhood bed, and what about you,
    dear sir?
    Shall you rise from my head?
    A memory, a mere memory?
    No, shadowy darkness and smiles,
    spirits assured.

    Now drink to us.
    Both seemingly arisen from the dead.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.   
    (28/2/22)
    Photo by spirit111 on Pixabay.

  • prose poetry: the turning tides – 26/02/22

    prose poetry: the turning tides – 26/02/22

    fighting against the turning tides, the waves rise and crash upon the open shore, begging for appeasement, begging the waves for more. The fish and seashells and mermaids and mermen crawl from well beyond the shore. There’s barely anything left upon the seabed, so tumultuous it has become indeed, from tridents these waves of terror have been sent, and wreaking upon my life the charlatans and evidence of danger all around, whose going to reinstate that purple crown? That glowing iridescence that lingers above my head, once there, once gone, and once again now dead, then revived all around?

    There are starfish lingering in the bed, in the crevasses, and one large, large star within my head.
    “I am terrific,” it says, “I am here and now, won’t you reveal, won’t you remain unashamed, somehow?” I smile to myself, for this pink and yellow starfish is actually amazing to me, she’s how I see, I breathe, I be, through the very evidence that is wrought deep within me. Myself as a mermaid, no, that is not right, I need to be five pointed and note-worthy, without means of a fight. And toss and turn now, deep within my rest, I grin widely now, because I feel blessed for having entered into this scene, this amazing joy it does bring, the tides crashing upon the shore, shall I ask for more, for more, for more?

    And now these dainty little crabs dance up from beneath the sand, left way this and right way that, they don’t want to hold hands, instead a conga line they proceed, with no difficulty, of course not, please, under the sea is where they will be, under their sea indeed. The tides will evermore change but they will still irrevocably remain the same. Precious beauty and pink and blue, with danger zones nil, just a rapid wash of hues. The sun shines down brightly today, this very day, and escape, escape I shall not, come whatever may.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay
    (26/02/22)

  • poem: to bloom – 24/02/22

    poem: to bloom – 24/02/22

    Image from Pixabay

    To bloom within means not unravelling oneself, not pulling apart the petals, but securing them to one’s own mooring, so she can be seen for who she truly is, and was and still is. Underneath all, she is full of goodness, despite the anger, the sadness, she has her own manner of charms. She has much love and charisma, but flowing over before the negative ascension and dramatic type of karma.

    Please do not misconstrue the shades which line her face, the complexion yellowing, a life and lives once gone, seemingly gone to waste, no, focus instead upon the glory within her saddened eyes, the glimmer of blue hope and the way her orbs take in the electric scope as she struggles with mental health and achieving a disguise. There were so many underhanded comments among her visit an other world, when wishing for a life with more ease.

    Reading and assessing her times, the pages lie quietly there with scribblings, handwritten notes, colour-coded, unknown is the manner in which she knows how to speak. Chaos be the matter, and chaos was at large. Largely within her mind, but certainly around her. around

    But she will be permitted to Heaven’s door one day, and asked not to leave but to continue to fight all affray, so yes, you are correct, she has not bloomed yet again again today, yesterday, nor directly this and another forthcoming day, but by goodness is she learning to co-exist and reconnect, and given the complex circumstances of her illness, that’s a mighty lot to achieve and say, she just sometimes needs to Vent.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay