Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: Amalgamation of Intention – 27/08/21

    Poem: Amalgamation of Intention – 27/08/21

    Being aware of the signs,
    the euphoria,
    the joy of the times,
    the expansive brightened
    colours as they present
    while my soul begins
    to delve.

    The natural high
    developed into true knowledge
    via life, nevermore shall I worry
    about contemplation, nor irreverent Strife!
    I’ll pluck from the heavens
    amongst the amalgamating
    cloud patterns,
    an internal direction
    flows as I breathe with
    my dreams,
    absorb their intent,
    my gorgeous search
    for the rest of them.
     
    For, I am in alignment
    with my path,
    a seismic shifting
    after tumult,
    I’ve reached this point at last,
    wanting to give back
    to the world,
    cease to take,
    those times,
    selfish duration,
    it seems I currently have
    much to give, as of late!

    My direction makes
    light work of human aid,
    being able to provide,
    a listening ear,
    aware eyes,
    soft voice,
    gentle nature on display
    melding into the finest of days.

    My light and intention,
    true desire to provide,
    assist,
    give,
    such satisfaction achieved
    in my heart and theirs
    as we freely smile and breathe.

    It’s as though I needed
    to assert these thoughts,
    jot them down,
    recited, no longer
    internally heard,
    a vow to humanity,
    a truth of personal bliss,
    to give to humankind,
    expansion of love,
    the truest way to live.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image source

    Previous Post: Stream of Consciousness: Precious Artefacts – 26/08/21
    Previous Post: Soulful Nature – 26/08/21
    Previous Post: Weeping Willow – 25/08/21

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  • Poem ~Stream of Consciousness: Precious Artefacts – 26/08/21

    Poem ~Stream of Consciousness: Precious Artefacts – 26/08/21

    breathe in with the power of my soul,
    my inner truth, I enter my cavern, the whirlwind of my mind
    as extravagant windswept daze enlightens every phase,
    whether past or present,
    it is whole, in the right place,
    about face, I will take
    the first step in knowing that I,
    I am the creator of what
    I need to manifest,
    I have the strength, the desire,
    the power, to make my world amazing or something worthy
    of being devoured
    whole,
    in momentum,
    perfection in its truest form is what I once sought
    but now, keeping them at the length of my arm are those
    conformers, that I needed to be right, look like this or that,
    pull these nonsense, commandeered thoughts out of
    my hat
    and now flutter my eyelids,
    softly, softly,
    my world is present but the glory I seek to view
    is pure in ecstatic goodness,
    I tap and tap my mind’s eye, hoping to draw
    feelings forth,
    activate something deeper within,
    and I smile to myself,
    what have I created, in this moment of
    manifesting madness?
    I look back upon the paper,
    turn behind me at the pavement,
    then two steps back and three steps forth,
    as I look over my warbling thoughts,
    I head north within,
    to seek more precious artefacts.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Soulful Nature – 26/08/21

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  • Poem: Weeping Willow – 25/08/21

    Poem: Weeping Willow – 25/08/21

    Weeping willow reminds me
    of stormy challenges,
    of riotous heart poundings,
    of emotional damages.

    Weeping willow, fretting leaves,
    gives me a sense of hope,
    her bent back fingers
    laze,
    but within her, their pathway I know,

    like me, like you,
    as her,
    she represents such harmony
    within our souls
    there’s nothing raw nor taut
    if we’ve accepted that
    this world occasionally brings storms,
    and challenges and tribulations,
    crashing thunder, frightful thunder
    within our scope,
    within the pain, the suffering,
    the madness,
    we. are. able. to. cope.

    My weeping willow,
    garden feat’
    enlivens me,
    when she shows me that
    acceptance of turmoil is right,

    she’s there shrouding in the
    dead of night,
    even if I ask her if new, bold,
    resilience is right,
    I know, down to the last detail,
    every leaf, every length,
    what is mighty,
    being strong, fruitful,
    in this life.

    Fingers dragging
    but perception is
    calm, and the forecast
    is bright.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Fran on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Writer’s Blocked – 23/08/21

    Previous Post: Boldness – 24/08/21

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  • Poem: Writer’s Blocked – 23/08/21

    Poem: Writer’s Blocked – 23/08/21

    I don’t feel like writing,
    no inspiration to scribe,
    my subconscious thoughts
    once delirium,
    no vacuous,
    I want to hide,
    to burrow my thoughts beneath
    the doona,
    my sheets,
    embarrassed, uninspired,
    where have you gone, Poetic Dreams?

    Replaced instead with moods,
    dreary, morose,
    I cannot see positivity further
    than my nose,
    what happened to the ability
    to contemplate? It seems
    it’s gone with the wind,
    awaiting a delivery, please.

    Extract from my mind
    the encumbrances,
    the barriers to ambiance,
    the inability to fly freely
    with the pen,
    my mind, it needs to mend,
    to see itself, its contents
    in the reflection
    then thought’s will be
    quantified,
    quantifiable,
    my ability returns
    to be seen.

    Gently, tenderly
    then will great haste
    and aplomb
    my pen’s ink dances
    across the paper
    sending my soul alive
    from numb,

    pulsating with fervent hope,
    delectable swirls and loops,
    my frantic handwriting’s proof
    that listless writer’s block
    can be wiped away
    with hopeful, passionate views.

    I shan’t allow my feelings
    which depressed,
    to return, again,
    at least not so soon,
    I will bask in the luxurious luminance
    of the inspiringly full and
    enlightening Moon.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Incandescent – Lines of 7 – 23/08/21

    Previous Post: Bright – 21/08/21

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  • Poem: Adore – 20/08/21

    Poem: Adore – 20/08/21

    Tempt the temptress, her former lucid life,
    where round and about the memories
    her behaviour once was rife,
    and haunting her, within her sheets
    is music sounding on repeat,
    that jingle jangle, emotive, replete,
    hanging on the edge,
    fumbled footsteps on a road so steep,
    into history these words shall keep.

    Taunt not the woman for being dumb-
    founded by the options before her,
    numb, was she, her vision pure,
    or so it seemed,
    far less than demure.

    But undertaking the melody is syncopation,
    unexpected haunting dreams,
    the -ah-ah-ah of off-beat rhythms,
    heartbeat pounds, beating mallets,
    her ribcage is the prison.

    Because it was her heart that was the cause,
    the prisoner, too, so wondrous yet lost,
    yearning for that which should come to be,
    would it ever be? Her soulmate, would she see?

    Understanding there are many out there,
    available to pick-her-apart,
    and knowing that which would also drive,
    sending her mind and pulse, alive, alive!
    But it was required, really,
    that her baggage be left,
    at the entranceway before her path
    could be walked yet,
    reaching, open arm, open hand,
    open palm,
    for someone to love her,
    and him in return.

    The bittersweet madness of the executed times
    would send her cursed tale
    forward, centre, and front,
    but care little would the true one,
    the one who will decide to watch her with
    widened, adoring eyes,
    sweep her in his arms and enliven himself
    with her wit, her truth, her character, intelligence,
    and charms,
    no excuses, no lies.

    She does not boast, she knows truly within,
    she’s worth much more than bad behaviour
    experiences,
    expletives within!
    Wipe away times of hurt,
    unappreciative, taunting words,
    moving forth to the future,
    where she won’t ever need to call for anything,
    anyone,
    yearning? No, hear her, watch her eyes learn.

    Goodness will come to those who listen
    at every turn.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Viewing Me – 19/08/21

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  • Poetry Collaboration by Amber and Lauren M. Hancock – Chrysalis of Hope – 16/08/21

    Poetry Collaboration by Amber and Lauren M. Hancock – Chrysalis of Hope – 16/08/21

    Nestled in the womb of creation,
    perils face the existence of human civilisation;
    birthing much chaos and delirium, 

    unknowingly, we settle in,
    unaware of what our future both promises 
    and what it may bring,

    ever-open hands reach for warmth
    outside our hollows,
    to worldly next-of-kin.

    Hope bears feathers, perched in soul,
    humming a frequency beyond words;
    the eternal cacophony gifting gold from the unknowns,

    upon this hope we glide,
    and then, as though, now sliding into
    pirouettes with symphonic style,

    the treasure bears more than we believed
    able to be delivered,
    let us adore these with calming eyes,

    ecstatic hands, while feathers drift, softly land,
    vivid types of wisdom only known to
    enlightened woman and man.

    The imprinted consciousness
    upon the soothed clean conscience 
    of our astral journeying pillows

    embodies the archaic knowledge 
    of the ancients whose remedies 
    and generational lineage lays

    patiently in hibernation for the
    pivotal metamorphosis of the spiritual development 
    of man amongst turmoil of the cyclical yugas.

    In chrysalis, we lay,
    pods enclosed with passion, with verve,
    growing, minutely, each passing day,

    fragments becoming whole,
    engorging ourselves, we know that when
    we enlarge our intentions, and mend and heave hearts,

    there is no matter in internalising
    this primordial knowledge
    other than understanding we are coming to a close,

    and still the beginnings, unknown,
    our subconscious thread speaks of moments,
    instances, which enlighten even if we do not fully attend,

    but it is with innate knowing,
    with peace and passion,
    that hopefulness and truth breathe as a whole.

    Copyright © 2021 Dios Raw and Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    – By Amber (Dios-Raw) and Lauren (Lauren M. Hancock)

    Previous Post: ‘Tween Hearts – 15/08/21

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  • Poem: ‘Tween Hearts – 15/08/21

    Poem: ‘Tween Hearts – 15/08/21

    Wonder streams through gaps
    ‘tween trees,
    shrubbery welcomes gusty breeze,
    laughter twinkles above horizon seam,
    magic brightens eyes,
    I’ve no inclination to leave this scene.

    Hands entrust
    something precious ‘neath
    benevolent sun,
    heart pounds,
    mood ecstatic,
    forged bonds,
    yes! Cries of yes
    affirms tearful nods.

    It’s the beginning
    of something precious,
    glimmer in excess,
    gems cut a shine,
    refractions bold,
    I stress,

    dances of rainbow shimmer
    upon her delicate finger,
    his proud chest puffed forth
    in a glorious manner,
    as though a proud peacock,
    strutting about now
    with his love,
    eternal partner,
    fervent dove,
    his salvation,
    his lucky treasure,
    his precious love,
    now and forever.

    The breeze bears witness
    to this union,
    cemented, emphatic,
    bold and nuanced,
    there’s admiration within her eyes,
    his cast grateful passion
    as he glances nigh,
    for they are as one,
    wondrous breeze streams past their joy,
    circumstance is hearts quickened,
    such beauty before I.

    And now I retreat into
    the freshness of the forest,
    thinking I’ve viewed something
    so special,
    deep down, I know,
    I am aware, that
    his manner, so articulate,
    and her acceptance,
    thus glorious,
    is enough to decide
    that in my life,
    I’ll welcome every warm,
    heartfelt circumstance
    with enveloping acceptance.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Previous Post: ‘The Hot Room’ – 13/08/21

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  • Poem: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Poem: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Haunted are her eyes
    above a winsome smile,
    wistful character is she,
    hoping for more
    in a while.

    Fallen by the wayside,
    all her trickery,
    her witchery,
    her cosmetics,
    her haberdashery.

    By goodness what is told
    beneath those furrowed brows?
    Heavy times envisaged,
    poignant moments told,
    she loves to flicker
    her eyes from the
    land to the sea,
    a calming peacefulness
    takes over she.

    Without her layers,
    which peeled away
    one by one,
    she’s naked as the babe
    she entered the world as,
    all magic spells come undone,
    without the falsity
    of rare moments of rage,
    she no longer finds herself
    or others
    disharmoniously caged.

    For their prison was this –
    requirements to abide by society,
    she just wants to flow now,
    rippling waves,
    breathe, gasp freely,
    ride the swells of less commotion,
    battle away prior despair,
    no longer a ‘witch’ but a
    fair haired innocent maiden…

    What was wrong with her sorcery?
    She’d not ever know,
    only condemned for being
    different,
    not lining up in
    conforming rows,
    her magic is what
    she held pride in,
    what made her so proud,
    shriek and cackle
    she wishes now,
    to elaborate aloud.

    They have changed her,
    made her ‘pure’,
    sootiness cast away,
    undo, undo,
    bring back the smudges,
    the unsightly smears,
    her darkness is, was, forthcoming,
    can you feel it, dears?
    There’s so much she has to say,
    watch as the pretences fall away.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Tania Medina on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘The Hot Room’ – 13/08/21

    Previous Post: ‘Interior’ – 11/08/21

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  • Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Orchids wilt in the hot room.
    It is summer here, outside, a belligerent winter
    with a dying, poorly Moon.
    They have thrown themselves from their stakes.
    Stakes which were there to provide safety,
    protection,
    backboned projections.

    The orchids, they are careless, for they have
    left their safe havens,
    their ties have been cut,
    severed from the heaven they once
    grew towards,
    now wilted, lethargic.

    What a sorry sight for eyes,
    used to falling upon beauty,
    now dejection and misery,
    once-taut, now lacklustre under the
    oppressive heat’s fury,
    the split system churns out
    Celsius, five and twenty,
    degrees of measure too hot
    for the orchids,
    whom cannot stop wilting.

    Their heads, they can barely lift,
    too much of a trouble it is to subsist,
    rejection of the support
    because I cannot, will not,
    do not want to entertain that foggy breath
    of mist,
    morning time offers some solace
    when the fiery heater does its trick.

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

    Previous Post: Interior – 11/08/21

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  • Poem: Interior – 11/08/21

    Poem: Interior – 11/08/21

    The fullness in my belly
    tells me how blessed
    I am to smile,
    to grin until cheeks ache,
    what madness,
    corners of lips will remain
    widow-peaked,

    I’m grateful for the satisfaction
    which comes from not being
    lonely and hollow,
    many yesterdays,
    potential tomorrows
    promised to be laden with
    such sorrow.

    But I have changed mindsets,
    it is nothing short of amazing,
    withholding health from myself, I had,
    now, pleasantries, luxuriating,
    I would not allow myself to
    experience any possible bliss,
    deprivation, for firm reasons,
    and now I’ve relaxed,
    relinquishing control,
    what personal power this is.

    It should matter not,
    should not be all about,
    what one looks like
    to the world,
    how one presents is only
    one sheen, lustre,
    shimmer of a pearl,

    what we are made up of,
    the interior,
    our strength,
    our power,
    our desires,
    truth of the matter,
    these are what really matter.

    Disgruntled nature within,
    cataclysmic, self-loathing,
    hatred growing,
    wanting, desiring, that physical
    changing,
    but it is with true consciousness
    that we should be engaging,
    not just with the world
    but ourselves,
    power-pressing up against
    closing-in walls,
    free yourself,
    it’s truly triumphant
    to be strong in this world.

    No longer aiming for tiny,
    but aiming for happy and healthy,
    already halfway there,
    won’t I growl a prized cacophony?

    I can be anything I want to be,
    and I choose to be me,
    the only authentic form,
    shape, person
    in this world
    that I can truly be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Johen Redman on Unsplash

    Previous Post: With Ease – A Swan Song – 09/08/21

    Previous Post: Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

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