Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: Invincible – 12/04/21

    Poem: Invincible – 12/04/21

    Sometimes you think you’re invincible, 
    able to take on the entire world, 
    chest puffed out, 
    arms proud, 

    but darling, understand the situation 
    and the weaknesses, 
    I wouldn’t want you to be unnecessarily 
    harmed or pained for a short while. 

    Take some deep breaths, 
    relax, 
    know that you’ll progress without this bravado, 
    you don’t need to show off to others, 
    you don’t need to be acknowledged widely for your
    inner and outer strength to be known. 

    Everything will be fine if you leave it alone, 
    the world will keep turning on its own, 
    events, disasters, 
    negative persons, 
    all will rise and fall without the throw of little stones, 
    calling of names, or smiles turned into violent frowns. 

    Take a leaf from my book, 
    isn’t it easier to remain calm, 
    isn’t it smarter, wiser, to be truthful and wear that mark 
    upon your arm, 
    there is no need for armour when 
    your heart is already in a mode of protect, 

    no need for assault or retribution
    to those who have been niggling for so long, 
    intruding on a life from times now so old. 

    Leave him, 
    leave the situation, 
    allow the feelings to rise, 
    be filled to the brim, 
    but then dissipate, 
    there’s something poignant in crying out
    the anger then allowing it to echo away, 
    its very own din.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    Poem: Does Time Really Heal? – 09/04/21

    I wonder to myself, does Time heal most wounds?
    Does it help scab over the surface of gashes 
    more permanently than over a clumsy bruise?

    Will it fix the mistakes, 
    the errors of time gone by?
    Allowing for a reprieve, 
    a chance to redo the actions, rather than saying goodbye?

    Or perhaps Time heals the wounds and allows the person
    a chance to move on after aching for many moons. 
    Maybe the healing is a motion that simply occurs
    the less we think of them, 
    a widened universe that wouldn’t allow us to forget them so soon,
    but then thoughts of them gently intrude. 

    We needed the chance to digest the actions, 
    the gashes, the slashes, emotional warfare, and then…
    we have healed, it has taken Time, this we do know, 
    forgiveness may appear stupidity or ignorance, 
    but people are human, and mistakes we must allow for, 
    and dismiss, and for the future, know.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.    
    Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash               

  • Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    Poem: Quality – 09/04/21

    I darn the threadbare blanket, 
    there are weaves showing to me, 
    I’m not alarmed by its fragility, 
    it’s actually perfect to see.

    Because it signals much use, 
    desirous times,
    this blanket speaks of laughter, friendship and truth,
    is loving deemed a crime? 

    This blanket’s been with me through a lot, 
    covering, securing, protecting, 
    I darn the holes away, 
    renew it –
    it’s anew!
    with only little errors to view, 

    but are they really errors?
    This covering signals the bond between you and I, 
    it links me to others too, 
    with these friends there’s no need for goodbye. 

    The threadbare areas are reminiscent of our 
    times where we lingered, conversed, and loved, 
    the blanket itself is signalling the quality of my friendships
    with few and far in between, 
    a small quantity of quality now, 
    what is there left not to love?

    I am no longer bereft by the smaller number, 
    it’s not about quantity, 
    it’s about cherishing who and what these friendships are,
     
    the blanket caresses us, 
    carries us under,
    I am grateful for them, 
    and everything. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.           
    Photo by Nery Zarate on Unsplash        

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  • Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    Poem: Sway – 07/04/21

    A dainty bow signals a gentle approach, 
    the lady will accept without any form of reproach. 
    She takes his hand and they twirl, swirl with glee, 
    palm to palm now, 
    solemnity, 
    there is no chance to flee. 

    In perfect style, they then waltz and careen,
    to others it’s as though their joyfulness has ne’er been seen, 
    but today, it is on show, 
    it is accumulating, 
    like maidens smiling in a row, 
    greeting their dance partners, 
    in beautiful outfits, decorated from head to toe. 

    I smile upon the scene playing in my mind, 
    the partners sway and sway, 
    closeness here to find, 
    their emotional capacities sing, 
    they’re together through everything, 
    they’ve selected, 
    they’ve chosen, 
    ahead a vast ocean of positivity Life will bring.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.                   
    Photo by Scott Broome on Unsplash

  • Poem: Amends – 05/04/21

    Poem: Amends – 05/04/21

    It’s considered ludicrous, 
    as this pencil draws as pen, 
    impermanence detailing permanence, 
    can history make amends? 

    In truth, in part, 
    will hope, will fresh knowledge renew?
    In truth, in whole, 
    intentions grown strength to strength 
    and full. 

    But, unmanageable, so it seems? 
    By a world of common sense and 
    split former seams,
    will future tense stretch in excess, 
    parading that which should shriek with joy, not distress?

    I speak of stitches, 
    popped at their entry points, 
    I mention stitches, 
    now being repaired thrice by thrice. 

    I speak of strings ringing with vibrato, 
    these fingers are tremulous, 
    gently rolling, 
    creating that beautiful musical sense
    now and for all tomorrow’s calling.

    But is there enough enveloping scope, 
    in the melodies nightly hushed, 
    in the tunes gently told,
    because one could be argumentative 
    and find insipid flaws 
    in shattered rhapsodies already spoke.

    One must be patient, 
    and wonder not, or perhaps continue to dance, 
    it’s dangerous around certain fires, 
    but some flighty ladies love to linger and prance.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Image by Kateřina Hartlová from Pixabay      

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  • Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

    Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

    The cloak and the dagger lie in the foreground, 
    awaiting to be employed, 
    ready for use. 

    What part of the present screams for perusal, 
    what part of the current? —
    tried, terrible and true? 

    Sheath that dagger, 
    hide beneath that cloak, 
    hear the nightly winds rustle 
    through the still-golden oaks,
     
    and if there’s desire for much more, 
    when the moments ought to be bottled,
    admired, 
    should culprits turn to run,
     
    ambiguity in tired breaths as
    innocence gives chase,
    justice will be told, 
    lest my breath expires, 
    laid to waste. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.                   
    Photo by Christian Lue on Unsplash

  • Prose: Celestial Beings – 30/03/21

    Prose: Celestial Beings – 30/03/21

    I wonder where we go as we sleep; I wonder where we travel within our dreams. Do we rise from our consciousness, into the cluster of the atmosphere, smiling, giggling, intertwining? I understand that some won’t dream, while others are cloaked with an ailment of not being able to see, while others are afforded the opportunity of recollection; they remember their dreams. Their moments of deep introspection. 

    Sadly though, some dream less devout, illness encompasses them, and they’d better off images be without. Their hardened hearts, their swift take, take, take, of whatever they can from the fellow man, well, why, this is their dream, and I know that it should be wiped away, vanished, completely unseen. 

    But, I want to talk about travel with celestial beings, not travel with the average, untoward man upon the Earth and down below. I wish to sing the beings’ praises, while knowing that I don’t know how to exist within the memories without saving them, although what I can do is immerse myself in their potency so greatly that the sensation at least won’t ever be forgotten. 

    Their glowing brightness, their ability to sing, sing, sing, heralding the coming of better things, and I know, I understand, I realise, that this path I am on each night, is the right one, despite the lessened waking hours, despite my inability to remain asleep, despite everything, I am able to revisit my celestial beings. 

    It does not matter that I cannot recall them in my thinking. They are there, I know it.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
     

  • Poem: The Wild Card – 11/02/21

    Poem: The Wild Card – 11/02/21

    I am curious:
    how much of this tale 
    do you know for yourselves?

    I am inquisitive: 
    which part of it makes you need to 
    live and breathe, and want to dive and delve?

    I am aware there lies certain conditions of the body and mind, 
    the pages whipping in the gust, 
    their varied intent,
    settling in, seemingly randomised.

    Like her, he needed saving,
    but it’s as though he calmly waited to be found,
    the blow softened from another well-trusted, 
    I’m whipping away their cobwebs, 
    the path ahead is easy enough to find now.

    It’s all set to be trodden upon,
    won’t they reap what has been sown?
    Certain pieces of this puzzle discarded, 
    and others’ presence completely unknown. 

    Now, the wild card,
    rugged character, 
    in the playing deck is quite uncommon, 
    his frequency is not plentiful, 
    and his presence here is never forgotten.
     
    Thus, while searching for his twinkling stars, 
    remember the constellations which have been
    gazed upon
    by millions and millions more, 
    so appreciative from afar,

    this player, in his rarity, 
    his appearance, he is speaking, 
    to me, to us, 
    to you, to them, 
    his relevance akin to a promising
    three card spread,
    a bright destiny which won’t stop calling. 

    I yearn to provide some solace 
    for ambiguity is what I’ve leaned upon, 
    in time, many souls will repair themselves,
    heart, body and mind,
    the wild card smiles upon and with them as one.
     
    There will be much motivation to spring forth
    to allow progress to heal,
    these facts are done and dusted,
    more predictions to be told soon,
    positive forecasts, will they bloom,
    will they yield?

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Debasish Lenka on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Search – 04/02/21

    Poem: The Search – 04/02/21

    Tree-man gathers and smiles in the plains that are his own, 
    shrubs and bushes alongside also grin and rustle, 
    they watch as he explores his land, 
    attends to the fallen leaves as gently as if each were a sacred sign, 
    they are, in fact, because they’re quietly home grown. 

    Each delicate marking, 
    each unique shade of yellow, brown or green makes his
    heart swoon, 
    his mood heady 
    for he is seeking his queen, 
    a tree-lady whom he can share his life with, 
    not just as his own.

    But there are few tree-people in this land, 
    they’re a rarity as such, 
    in fact, he’s only viewed his family, 
    never had the opportunity to reach forth to another tree-person
    to embrace or touch. 

    He’s been searching so long for that leafy being who will 
    meld with his heart, 
    to accept the language of his artful words, 
    his kindly soul, 
    his hopeful spirit and warming eyes crossed with subtle stars.

    His journey has taken him high and low, 
    and deep within, there’s a part of him which knows
    that there may never be that tree-lady waiting out there for him, 
    but he accepts this as potential truth, 
    doesn’t weep, 
    doesn’t sigh, 
    he is strong enough within himself to know that 
    he can carry on happily,
    and perhaps the dreamed-off meeting is secretly nigh. 

    Meeting someone would just make his life all the more complete. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Image drawn by myself, copyright 2021.

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  • Poem: Changes – 04/02/21

    Poem: Changes – 04/02/21

    I liked the way the pain was numbed, 
    as though an anaesthetist injected me, 
    cruel jab to be kind, 
    no feelings of any style, 
    was it easier to not feel those emotions of old, 
    none to be felt, seen, or held?

    I became empty, 
    days monotonous, nothing to look forward to, 
    that become pain in itself, 
    the knowing that the unknowing promised all the much
    the same, 
    nothing forthcoming, 
    no southerly, northerly direction, 
    east and west hadn’t heard of me either. 

    Memories would be brought back in excruciating and extracted style, 
    reminiscing upon the joys with emotions of sorrow and hurt, 
    devastation and longing, 
    but the truth is, 
    there was nothing to salvage from that path, that view. 

    Once so empty, 
    now feeling so full, 
    my heart swells, 
    it blossoms, 
    my path here was arduous but I made it, 
    a tentative shaky-cornered smile appears, 
    and I’m suddenly feeling so blessed to have made it through
    the storm and the cyclones and the hurricanes, 
    and everything that the gods could have thrown at me, 
    this moment I righteously own.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Virgil Cayasa on Unsplash 

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