Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    My body is a river,
I rush over you,
soothing as a salve or balm,
running over your pebbles,
smoothing their jagged forms.
 
My delicate hands dance,
my currents rise and fall,
to you,
my body is a river,
with my flow
I can cure you of all.
 
Aching, yearning,
pain which must be departing,
despairing,
depression,
lonely,
to cleanse you of these is my calling.
 
So, my liquid licks and laps
against your shore,
the in-between where
hunger and pain are raw,
unknown, a certain calling,
your fingers reach for me,
I flush you with calm respite,
truthful news,
release from your gloom.
 
You no longer suffer,
you are brave
for having survived your internal ravaging,
but because my body is a river,
you were permitted this vital saving.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jessica Furtney on Unsplash

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  • Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    It doesn’t matter how bad life gets,
hope can still trickle into view,
positivity like a painted, beaming smile
on a canvas reminding us that
a positive perspective is the
correct view.
 
No need to succumb to despair,
I know it can be difficult
but know there will always be at least someone there
with a shine in their eyes,
an offered brightness to your day.
 
And then with you,
an ability to look outside of yourself,
not introvert,
but bloom,
share what’s within
our hearts, our minds,
what they have to say.
 
Do not view yourself in the negative light
some may wish to behold,
brighten, with hope,
you’ve so many tales to share and tell,
 
Broaden your horizons
further than just your despair,
because, in doing so,
you can inspire others to reach out
from their pains,
this can be accomplished almost anywhere.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Lesly Juarez on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Aloud – 24/08/20

    Poem: Aloud – 24/08/20

    These four walls are like a haven
but to some, they could be misconstrued as a prison.
I choose to reside here, taking my meals and my naps,
 
speaking at length, researching, creating, typing in bursts,
it is my little home, it is my little world,
and I only leave when I’ve need to –
 
I’m isolating myself, I know.
 
I should be downstairs,
spending time with my others,
socialising, eating together, taking tea together and our suppers,
 
but I somehow just want to be alone,
I reach out when I feel on my own,
but, the fact of the matter is, I’m learning to like my own company.
 
No desperate yearning for an unknown other,
to fulfil my life, to make me feel as though
I’m emotionally satisfied,
 
no ongoing calls to different people to
find the right one
in fact, I have enough love in my world to peruse,
 
and while alone, I can be whoever, whatever I want,
no need to put on false pretenses,
I can read, I can sleep with ease,
 
and the truth is that I know I won’t be judged
for spending time alone,
this is how I am getting to know myself.
 
And I’m really enjoying it,
I have to say this
aloud.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Leohoho on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    I murmur into the darkness,
whisper softly,
I breathe,
 
complex heart-song,
twisted tuning,
haunted melodies,
 
I open my eyes
only to see
a triptych of beauty,
 
artistic finery,
talent conjoined
with colour refined in shades only for me.
 
I murmur,
I murmur,
I murmur,
 
softly, now, see?
I traverse through my mind,
my brightness the spotlight
 
which allows me
to see the artist’s
work, one of a kind, freely.
 
Internally I heave,
and I breathe,
heavier still,
 
and I postulate that this
will be everything
that I have ever wanted,
 
needed,
been required
to ever see.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Quelled – 22/08/20

    Poem: Quelled – 22/08/20

    Night time should promise depth,
and warmth, and promises,
whispers of sweet tomorrows, and
tight caresses,
dreams, and deep rest,
instead: 
three hour’s sleep,
then wide awake in the same evening,
sleeping for half hour shifts,
then rising, eyes searching for the time,
wishing it were later, silently begging.
 
This sleep pattern is skewed,
it is all over the place,
I am suffering each night,
nocturnal, without wishing to rise so early or late,
what I would give for a solid night’s sleep,
my eyes are bloodshot,
dreary,
if I could stomach something
I’d surely feel less queasy,
and truth be told,
I just need proper sleep,
I could pop an extra pill and it would all be so easy,
but I am reducing this aid,
and this is a sure sign
that my mind needs adjusting,
to create chemicals to 
replace what the medicine
provided to quell my overactive mind.

But when I rise at six in the morning, 
after an hour of amazing uninterrupted rest,
I feel bright and satisfied that my body was 
exhausted enough to bless me with that extra slumber - 
I feel close to what could be this morning's very best,
and I know that later in the day I'll rest some more,
it's not so bad, after all,
just I'm living in a strange topsy-turvy style.

At least I'm getting some rest, 
it all adds up, 
better than never ever sleeping at all or never enough.

It'll only be temporary,
this topsy-turvy, Nocturnal Me,
I've been on this med for years,
how could I expect it to be undone so easily?
   
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ann Danilina on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Double the Fun! – 21/08/20

    Poem: Double the Fun! – 21/08/20

    It’s your birthday tomorrow,
I awake up from a nap
and there are two cakes,
one in your favourite flavour,
and one in mine.
I only suggested,
never insisted.
Never knew there would be two.
Perhaps there’s going to be two separate celebrations,
aren’t you a special one, I smile: this we already knew.
 
One for us, our immediate family,
then one for the remaining –
my two far-off brothers, currently our ‘extended’ family,
it’ll be nice, actually, to watch your eyes shine,
complemented by the candle lights,
to giggle and understand that you’re having twice the time!
 
The mud cake is all yours,
you can have the richness,
it suits you,
and the sickeningly sweet salted caramel can be for us three,
but mainly for later,
perhaps sneaked in for you and me.
 
Advanced happy birthday,
I hope you have a wonderful time,
blowing all those candles out!
Celebrating, amazing, I will proudly watch your joyfulness thrive.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by April Pethybridge on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

    Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

    I exist in a cavity which yawns,
through it winds the breath of a midsummer’s gusting around a yew tree’s
gaps and leaves.
 
This cavity has been hollowed out by a pneumatic drill of life,
its thoughtless operator did not check for underground hazards,
didn’t concern himself with the overhead wires
and animals upon their tails as hangers,
no, this negative space has been constructed only to my liking,
a place for me to exist,
my hiding,
he understood my needs.
 
Somehow, how can a widened interior house someone whose own interior
is still healing,
still shattered in areas, still widely-known for easily breaking?
I present in a different manner to stop the worrying,
to stop others holding concern, I am happy, though inside I could be better.
 
While I am unfulfilled, I am full of desire and drive,
within this small cavity I exist undisturbed,
able to construct my thoughts,
the drill shudders and trembles around me,
wanting to make more space for this growing body,
because, growing like my heart and soul, which repairs themselves slowly,
this place feels like home now.
It does, truly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jerry Zhou on Unsplash

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  • Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

    Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

    words have power
i’m sure we’ll all agree
that words have strength,
wouldn’t you like to see?
 
i must reiterate that certain letters have bite
and some arrangements have sting
and when unacknowledged, watch the fire rage within.
 
i wonder whether it’s all worth it,
the ability, the drive to want to fight,
to stand up for what is right,
what is noble,
what is correct,
filled with might,
 
we are known for being powerful far longer than after our
inkwell’s stopped remaining wet,
no matter the censorship,
our words can never be truly wiped,
we will never sit with errant regret.
 
words can hold one captive and steady,
they can hold one as victim too truly sweet,
waiting for the sense of amorality to hit,
and I think,
is this it?
is this moment of truth, exposure to the cold visceral really worth it?
 
i could sit here contemplating the stab within my drawn arrow,
the poison behind my dart,
the strength behind my sideways swing,
the scrawled directions to a stairway still,
why is life directing us this way,
mismanaging its power,
righteous words, they manage to take,
these words might wish to heal.
 
though, they are not so powerful after all,
at least not in an offensive mode,
in fact, they can smooth over the sorrow,
I suppose, in a way that’s far more potent
than any attack method that could be
shown to those pulled into line,
life is dragging us in tow.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by David Pennington on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    When I was much younger,
I dreamed up a fairy tale,
in which I was treated not as an 
obedient princess
but an adamant, decisive queen,
strong-willed yet still compassionate,
rescued from my bitter loneliness, 

and accompanied by,
walked alongside through life
next to a wonderful, endearing king 
in this world which often strikes against those who
pause to dreamily admire the sky,
while busy lives hustle and bustle,
rush on by.
 
Together we would dance and dance,
and seem like forever 
we were holding hands,
our twirling,
our waltzing,
my dipping,
for me, he would eternally care.
 
Then as I grew,
reality sunk in,
a realisation I didn’t need a man to save me,
I could fall and crawl and lift myself on my own,
princess I was not,
queen neither was I,
but my world,
my decisions I owned,
I had the courage to walk it alone.
 
No matter how I longed for
love, affection,
devotion,
when I was ready,
I trusted a king may still eventually show,
 
perhaps the first would be the last,
his appearance might be a type of curious offering,
life’s rewarding,
within my heart a new fairy tale 
began emerging -

although through love, 
I did not need saving,
I needed firm self-acceptance to continue  
developing and growing.

I could stand by myself, 
all alone, 
but sometimes it is nice 
to not be on my own
and as long as equality would be present, 
reign true, 

the yearning and hoping 
for another to complete the picture,
there is nothing wrong with that, 
perhaps my dream wasn't so childish,
nor so outlandish to quietly treasure and review. 

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Alise AliNari from Pexels

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  • Poem: Besotted at the Bar – 14/08/20

    Poem: Besotted at the Bar – 14/08/20

    I am absolutely besotted with him,
he is charming, and manipulative, and glib.
I am wholly delighted with him,
he is worthy of being taken home to meet the family,
this would be just such a welcome, wanted dream.
I am absolutely enamoured with him
he has, with haste, pulled the wool over my eyes,
my darling, I am obsessed with him,
won’t he let me take him home with me tonight?
 
His attentive glances,
his wide smiles,
his hands, how they gently gloss over mine,
his soft-spoken introduction,
his brass, hearty laughter a welcome contradiction,
he taught me his bliss
from the flicker of his wanton tongue
which spoke shapes in vowels and oohs
that would make any woman come undone.
 
His pronunciation anything but a contrivance at the time,
he certainly got his reaction,
his sympathetic looks when I told him how complex it was
in the all the manners in which I had been broken,
his promise of how he’d fix things with the superglue from his heart,
my sweetness, how clichéd he is but how endearing is
his enthusiasm to fix this broken
women not as a project
but restore me as a work of art.
 
Perhaps I have misjudged this man who sits before me,
open and seemingly honest,
listening to my stories,
head cocked gently to the side,
a sign of listening carefully?
He clasps my right hand softly, with eyes widened,
sympathetically.
 
I cannot help feeling safer now,
that perhaps this is not manipulation but genuine care
and concern,
who he really is, there might be much more to learn,
just as I have so much to reveal
whilst we rest upon bar with elbows,
sipping our drinks and getting to know each other’s worlds,
maybe he is right for me,
let’s throw caution to the wind,
a casual visit home soon to the family,
let’s see what my loved ones have to view, assess, and tell.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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