Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: contemplation

  • Poem: forged perfection – 03/12/21

    Poem: forged perfection – 03/12/21

    contemplation realisation
    as I understand how to bow to true sensation
    annihilation of the frantic degeneration
    that I stave off,
    these errors that lifestyle,
    away with that nihilism.

    I wander the garden of my mind
    releasing notions that I no longer need
    to find
    the patterns of daisies and cloying pansies
    fit for regeneration between my two eyes
    mind
    soul
    me.

    I know that I must carry on without yearning
    I will someday somehow somewhere find that calling
    have I not found it yet
    is my heart not dancing
    these words
    this poetry
    this prose
    what more can I continue to be asking?

    my passion in lessons
    in moving forward
    in growth patterns
    there’s nothing left but progress
    action-reaction-traction
    enabling myself to be
    to be to be my own forged
    perfection,
    a knowledge
    self-understanding,
    deep breath in,
    pure contemplation.
    (02/12/21)
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. (Words and artwork)

    Previous Post: what do you say? – 02/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose
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  • Prose: The Message, Unheard – 06/09/21

    Prose: The Message, Unheard – 06/09/21

    Words unfold upon my screen, toppling, clamouring over themselves, fighting to be seen.
    I’m important,
    no, my message is of the utmost importance,
    let me be heard,
    while the most relevant one relaxes away, folded arms.

    Its words are the most likely to go unnoticed; its is the voice of reason, the truth you don’t want to see, but it lingers, to the side, presence important, but not impinging. Just there, whiling away time, until you become most aware.

    It is the truth that, once realised, you wish to deny, for accepting it, and following through with action will only lead to temporary suffering, and really, who wants this now? Who needs pain, even if it only lasts for a version of ‘now’? But what I must come to terms with, is that the behaviours I’m experiencing, being exposed to, are exceedingly on repeat, with only mere weeks of interlude. The same insistent melody cranking in strange intonations that ultimately are the same cacophony. And can I live with this pattern my entire life, should I endure the same tired push?

    The Message smirks at me from the side, its curled upper lip making me uncomfortable, wanting to run and hide, for if I squirm away now, I can ignore the obvious path ahead, and I won’t need to encounter it. I can deal with excuses, revelations away from the Message’s thread. Then I won’t need to lie in bed pondering how the future will be, if I take this step, make this step, because I haven’t been able to cease that cacophony. The melody, discordant though relevant, which made me feel good, but in the end, was only for another end to be achieved.

    And I know this, knew this, always can see, but receive with casual measures, never openly giving in return because, I don’t play games of affection, with insistent interjection, impinging on one’s direction, I need to cease the received indelicate actions. Is it time to finally learn? That there is no improvement, no learning from my words. There is no ceasing of expectation, lingering there, the Message needs to be heard. I pull my socks high, place my feet into my boots, stridently meet the Message, face its obvious truths. I lean in to one side, allow it to whisper its keen observations. With pride, it straightens its back, chest thrown forward, it has been heard, has been acknowledged, that is a fact. My expression, stunned, I have been made aware of what to do. Whether I choose to use its knowledge or not, is up to me to choose…
     
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Beautiful Soul Knowledge – 04/09/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

  • Poem: Distance – 06/08/21

    Poem: Distance – 06/08/21

    the distance between myself and the south side
    of that road,
    the longest path I’m sure some have
    ever known,
    try to tiptoe along the lane,
    whisper under breath,
    assertions born tame,
    but they are still valid,
    present they be,
    a jolt, a justification seems questionable,
    but in the end, both visions and truth
    are vividly seen as the same.

    and now, as I wander down
    the evergreens which line
    the pavement, luscious trees,
    ever beautiful, ever seen,
    flourishing, blossoming,
    while I, I circumspect,
    within there is much to
    be seen.

    what to view? you might wonder,
    as I physically wander, whilst I myself wonder,
    there seems not much, but there is
    too much to ponder,
    I must make allowances,
    the membrane of my mind is
    calling for something more,
    to comprehend, from yonder,
    what’s awaiting me,
    what’s in store?

    let me see what there is to gain
    from dancing through rapid-cycling
    thought trains,
    take a ride on the great red caboose,
    the trajectory, its path,
    there is much to transport,
    have I the capacity, mental fuel?
    why, of course I do.

    and as I hop aboard this vehicular entity,
    parading around the south side with
    ridiculous ease,
    I no longer wonder,
    and damned will I be to wander,
    when I can take the heights of self-indulgence
    to an nth degree,
    carry it around with me

    with great honour.

    and prismatic will that be,
    rainbow glow, hues,
    spectacularly,
    I’m not afraid to show a glimmer,
    a glittering
    fantastically,
    ride those streams of consciousness,
    bare the nudity that comes with
    baring one’s soul freely.

    there’s no ego,
    no arrogance,
    when all I wanted
    was to share a window within.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Caleb Jones on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘Open Arms’ – 05/08/21

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  • Poem: Hush – 15/04/21

    Poem: Hush – 15/04/21

    Sometimes I want to be quiet, 
    far from conceited, too loud and proud, 
    humble is what I will be, 
    I’ll smile before I speak, 
    think before I utter, aloud. 

    Quiet contemplation
    is what is needed in this case, 
    I won’t allow my heart to fail me,
    should these words, lest they go to waste.

    I know it is important 
    to take time to speak with ease, 
    I know it is wise, once more, 
    to not permit the certain need

    to be heard all the time, 
    to be boisterous and child-like, 
    but how can I alter
    when I feel so under attack
    with these utterances of mine?

    So, hushed is what I’ll be, 
    if I don’t speak, 
    there will be no analysis of me, 
    no written conjectures, 
    no debates of sorts, 
    I will be hush, hush, hushed, 
    and that’s the style I choose, 
    no need to consort. 

    But will silence really save me?
    I’ll learn to care not for judgements,
    I’ll dust them away with pleasure and ease,
    an ultimate form of deliverance,
    can’t you see, won’t you see?

    And in the end they’ll all be appeased,
    no need to hear from,
    let’s have a break from prattling about me,
    is that what they want,
    is that what they need?
    Or only momentarily will the silence be required
    to be?

    I must remember this is for me,
    my mental health is most important, too,
    let me chase the feeling of being free,
    my time here will be in lieu,
    silence can speak of many golden truths.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

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  • Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

    She became lost in her daydreams, her thoughts while awakened, the sparkling moments during which her life was reassured and free. When a contemplative little smile was upon her lips, the dreary world outside could not come within. She was protected by her angels and passed love ones, they formed a circle, a colony around the areas where she was most weakened. Here within, they protected her crushed heart and soul, broken from her wanting dreams.

    Her angels knew how to make her smile, they whispered words of teardrops from Heaven, laden with sweetness and reassurance that she would make it through the morning. How her heavy heart ached, but they massaged the thump-a-dumping organ into something more palatable, more wholesome, less heavy and cumbersome. Something that could be socially acceptable for the beings upon an often-judgemental Earth. But as she was had been enough; she was perfection for her place in Heaven.  

    How there were many answers for her prying queries and questions, the posing thoughts that needed to be addressed by her pained mind each day, every second. Why was she this way, why was she perpetually made the victim, and why was she permitted to live through each distressing scene? It wasn’t difficult to view the situation; she was beautiful, inside and out, her very presence caused others a great commotion. But why didn’t they see her for herself, a unique being, different from everyone else, who required times of contemplation — she did not always need the hoorah happening.

    She remained still, eyelids slightly flickering, like the wings of a tentative butterfly intent on tenaciously hovering just above that height of five point five feet, high enough to feel spectacular, yet dangerous enough to know no higher. She laid back in her mind, allowing her feelings to wash, to overcome, and realise that in essence, it does not matter who is judging, because who she is now is a great success because of her shortcomings and life errors she’d triumphed over, willingly overcome.

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


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