Conspiring melodies, tongue-in-cheek parodies, beginning to recall memories, shove them down, place myself at ease.
Jilted rhythms, a sonata heaves and breathes, escaping the melancholy, Dear, there seems no end to these.
I waltz through artwork, it is my time, my time to spit forth images, not rhymes, that was a dragging tune that brought itself to harken my ears, enough to resolutely accept, enough of the feigned prowess, remember, always remembering, who you were before that pink dress.
(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved. Image from Pixabay.
Healing has a language, I whisper softly, airily it knows, of the simplicity and the duality of wondrous beauty, poetry and prose, the writers and the poets swing each way in kind, whimsical deciduous trees sway our way, whispering in turn, and slightly, just slightly out of time.
speaking a language, in tongues befitting a dark dagger-like crown, with a purity hidden deep within auric angelite surrounding anaemic complexions with truths damned-well-tolds, a peeking into the gloom of their dastardly hidden rooms, roam, oh how I will roam in lairs of darkness, invitations extending to no luminescent process, luminal passageways to their hearts, navigation with most careful of prowess.
I wait, I await the next move, next breath, whispered words my way. I awaken to the heat of the sun upon my chest, arching toward a grinning face, expressing his thoughts in pairs, triplets, like slices of opal they are luminescent, glorified, surrounded by greys, rather like the view of some of my recent past lives; rainbow flashes, encased by moody, dark dismay.
I look within and ask myself, do I possess a devilish factor that screams for an entity, for one to become mine, true epiphany? Speaking from the outset, I realise I am mostly an anomaly, in terms of depth and darkness; I can persuade my shadow self to grow and escape with me. Gently, I call it forth.
The darkness rises and light recedes, a training path, a captain’s need, and wondering about the truth of the open palms, read them, read them, don’t use them to disarm, please! Only tell me my path, Teller, the path which I do seek, and the rest, well, the rest, take it away, deplete! I need no bad news, neither do I need an understanding of coming undone, I have already been there, and to take that path again, no, I shan’t further join with darkness as one.
But my ‘darkness’ is a purer sort, it comes from a good, rich place, I do not wish to harm anyone, I am powerful, I am shade, I am depth; I know which parts I need to resurrect. There is always be an ‘evil’ side to every soul, if it is cajoled out, and there is a dark side that is safe to rise forth and know, and there is the light, the light source that begs everyone to touch, see, the miraculous nature of human nature, positivity. But we, and myself cannot exist without shadow, without shade, it’s a contrast to make the light shine bright, and without the depth how could we appreciate the true soul, which is darkness and light, together, conjoined as we should know.
It’s time to explore the power within, both brightness and depth, and watch each other grow. For those whom are willing, those whom are able to seek this chance, the path sought will be interesting, soul-searching, perhaps spirit bending or destroying, but always at the end, growth, and inflation of the mind’s abilities, understanding of one’s eases and difficulties, why, these are what should matter, in the grand scheme of things. Self-exploration, a great factor indeed, dare I say an essential need?
I sit here by this loom — Hand making, hand weaving fineries For our sort beneath the moon. It is quiet here, absent are those memories Which once took up space within my cranium, The mind of mine where thoughts permeated of you and I, Once alive, now we have died.
Those recollections, Memories, Introspections, Interjections? No, not anymore. I don’t allow them to rise forth, Grinning ghosts and ghouls once dragging Like a wedding veil or dress trailing upon The rocky floor.
No, our memories shan’t live on, No, no, they will never rise, Into the air like helium would, No air balloons for me to view, No future tears to cry. (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved. Photo by ImAArtist on Pixabay
the magic of the Universe calls spiral patterns curl reminding us of grandma, mother and child the lush serene nature of breath glows from Gaia’s glorious eyes enlivened spirits exploring elves glittering sprightly sprites. I am amazed by the clouded blue before me above rainbows threaten to fall magnificent oceans, raging and still, waiting for the next wet treasure from Nature’s dripping eyes a blessing unto the animals forest dwellers and rainforest homes deserts with Libyan sand and zircon from a mystical land we should roam; emerald green reflected in the water of savannah’s dreams. Magic all around this world we call home cherish it we must trees to shoot forth, the jungle cats sleek and pleased birds soar on high eagles rise, swans dive. Precious be the little bugs who escape most eyes rescued spiders then released from harm by hands who love them to hide entranced, enchanted by the world we have here already created for us respect Gaia let us not destroy this bliss remain spellbound know her love, seal Nature’s union with a kiss.
This is inspired by a prompt on Instagram called ‘Spellbound’ from @mlhmusings. The title alone inspired me to write this piece, which is admittedly very different from how the artworks would have guided me on their own.
I am spellbound by you, little darlin’, the little us which may never come to be, I am dreaming of you, sweet darlin’, the most precious princess we might ever see. Mesmerised I am by you, darling, thoughts of mystical magic you will flash, sweetheart, will you ever share your life? so many trials and tribulations threatened to thieve your conception, your true inner light will outlast.
Some don’t encourage your arrival, dearest being, neither cajole nor inter you to shine the glory of your wondrous face: divine, the mildest then brightest expressions need never go to waste, apple of our eyes…
My heart, our hearts, we shine with you, the ability to distinguish and slice through pain, Love will carry us through, a close-knit family, finally, our own, wishes naught yearned for nor cried for in vain, together, our lives will finally ring true. same, same and same.
Our precious being, won’t you see? how eagerly awaiting we are for you to breathe, darling, view us, hear me, we welcome you with open arms, embrace your family, Star-child who decides to grace us, visit us from afar, accompanied by divine melody, sent from eons up above.
(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved. Photo by guille pozzi on Unsplash
The universal white light surrounds me, an ethereal net, damp, floaty cloud so soft I bounce into, not against it… freeform, flow, billowy nature’s growth, it is like an extra being within the room, some giant, invisible, quietly huffing and puffing, he smiles as he cloaks my aura, now no longer a sunny yellow disposition, but made into a vagrant’s imposition…
I am now unwelcome in this land, my journey blocked pathways, no obvious pillowed dreams.
I silently make my wishes known, my love must be acknowledged, for the other, feelings owned, the waves within my mind and being speak of delicate imperfection. We wrangle in motion, arms flailing, tongues lashing, and I realise, without an understanding, what on earth has happened, I am seen only as a bother that must be cleanly slid away, beneath the rug, swept under, and this giant ghost of an aura which surrounds me now was employed by the best of them, a master in charge, something, someone from on high.
I cannot determine his leader though, the degenerative nature still swims in his intent, and I know I must rid myself of this vagrant label before I become too spent. Enough of these games, I shrilly call to myself, and he, wherever his head and ears to register might be. A cloud of fluff is now not that exciting to see…
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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