Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: Blessed – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Poem: Blessed – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Audio: Blessed 
    I am blessed here,
in a home so warm and loving,
no matter if it’s empty,
aside from myself,
I can feel the love lingering,
it is forthcoming.

It reaches,
grabs hold like little hungry fingers
would reach for a
snack or chocky milk,
enveloping around me,
arms tight and strong
and true,
like a relationship that
may not fall apart
because the path there was willingly learned,
to be calm and respectful, too.

I am quiet here,
though my fingers tap and compose,
I am strong here,
I don’t need the scent of mature, picked lilies or daffodils,
a single beautiful rose.

I’ve suffered in silence,
and I’ve been subjected to much,
but I won’t allow rigid experiences to permeate any further,
I’ve been in a dither, I’ve been bothered,
and honestly now I am
blessed in this house,
upon all hours.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jess Foami from Pixabay

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  • Poem: An Illusion – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Poem: An Illusion – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Audio: An Illusion
    My hands present as aged and weary,
my flesh paper-thin and melting 
like an image of Salvador Dali’s,
with bones like soft honeycomb,
where bees cheerfully settle in.

Their wings frantically beat
they seek nectar from the rhythm,
the rhythm,
hands slowly try itching them away,
off my skin,
away from an arm which they travel upwards,
ignoring my slow decay.

Other insects join in,
stinging mosquitoes,
beautiful butterflies
who live but three days without sin,
it’s rather unlike the diaries of old,
to go three days without intentional error
would utterly amaze.

The bees are now concerned,
combatted by the wasp
whose angry demeanour wishes to fight
my friends,
in my shin’s honeycomb land,
the buzzing, the droning,
whom will succeed at their intent?
At securing a home of marrow-less matrimony?

A fly settles on the wall of my wrist,
sardonically smiling,
he decides to join in the violent tryst
of bee upon enemy
upon melting candle-wax skin,
dream-like
or like a nightmare,
reality is falling.

In the heaviness of a veil
which draws itself away from my subconscious,
I'm once more myself,
no more strange images,
curious bees
butterflies, maddened mosquitoes,
wasps whom will not leave.

My bones are themselves again,
full and not deprived,
weariness dissipated and skin almost
pristine,
I am alive.

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

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  • Poem: The Din – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Poem: The Din – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

    Audio: The Din
    Filter the rain from the mountaintops,
where acidic droplets beat down,
an acrid taste,
a burning sensation
of skin besieged by astringent vowels.
 
This was not intended,
though this was required,  
her purging,
pairs of eager, shiny boots
step forth,
 
the small crimson soldiers attack,
an internal awakening
as hearts and minds ache,
hers will visibly crack,
it’s not only her sufferings that stun,
it’s her experiences, too.
 
Their blood lust for her mind,
they wish to invade,
pillage,
and never give back,
these blood-stained soldiers, miniature beings,
worth nothing alone,
yet together,
they could save lives, if agreeable to this.
 
Yet they press forth,
through her skin they pierce,
there’s nothing to do with permission here,
her thoughts, they appropriate themselves at their will,
care and concern are remiss.
 
Staining upon her clothing,
staining upon her skin,
her purged catharsis,
unwittingly melded,
she flails,
she falls,
to their silent din.
 
The vibrations are enough
to cause her cacophony,
she will lay here until dawn rises,
quietly still,
until it's the morning.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 3321704 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Strangely exhausted,
an afternoon, heavily slept,
too much, too much,
ill memories draining,
they won’t rise delicately,
rather seep down below the mattress,
will not gently fly away.

A drainage system
below the surface
of a city, a being,
more than four times hastily gone mad,
residual pain wafting from
the wide walkway pipes,
potent,
uncleanly,
needing purification:
the sensations do not need resurfacing.

But a town mayor deems it so,
right and correct to flush this town of
mental muck
though the waterways will never
flow with pure, clean goodness,
it doesn’t hurt to try, though, does it.

Her drip,
drip draining like a cannula,
a personal IV,
feeding pain-controlling and cleansing
elements to this human city, this sleeping being,
in an instant there is a rush of 
blue then red dyed magic entering into her veins,
her memories become less aching,
less hounding,
can the system be cleansed,
and her self still remain saved?

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

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  • Poem: Writing to Escape – Spoken Word and Text – 12/07/20

    Poem: Writing to Escape – Spoken Word and Text – 12/07/20

    Audio: Writing to Escape
    As I sit down to write,
my muscles ease,
feet arrange neatly into place,
my fingers at the ready.
 
This is my time,
where I will shine with tendrils
of arrangements that are 
written not only for me,
but for others, too,
I don’t simply write for myself,
I have a sense of duty to them,
for from within me,
like a geyser I expel my truths.
 
Confessionals, confessionals,
my autobiographical poems,
they’re the one and the same to me,
I do not aim at whetting the appetite
however, I do wish to flood certain seas.
 
To share and to reveal is something 
deemed worthwhile,
perhaps I’ll reach many or a few,
maybe my words will resonate with them,
their circumstances conjoining with mine, also,
 
and as I sit down to write, I am focused,
I have great intention,
and I know that what I produce 
will be the best I can
arrange for myself this very night,
I need to be left alone,
quietly,
without any intervention.
 
Because interruptions,
these cause me great distress,
I’m sitting here recording,
on and on,
because at subtle turns I make verbal slips,
new recording!
I’m doing my best,

if an unsuspecting arrival were to 
rudely arrive at the door,
I’d be mortified,
I already fear being heard and
viewed as conceited,
for the words I record and record,
that speak only of me.
 
But this exploration of myself,
as I sit down to write,
no longer to edit and read,
to analyse the past, the present,
upon a platter, display the future,
and anything in between,
 
the haphazard nature of rabbit traps
and paw prints leading into them,
I guess the rabbit was not so wily,
she needed to be a little more observant.
 
This rabbit danced around those traps,
now look, she’s here, whole in whole,
to be seen.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Magic Trick – 11/07/20

    Poem: A Magic Trick – 11/07/20

    Magic trick,
you’re a magic trick,
you make my face brighten, warm, and shine,
 
Magic trick,
you're a magic trick,
you cause me endless joy,
wry head shakes, claps, and smiles.
 
Like a magic trick,
you suddenly appeared in my life,
I may have chased down your existence
but truly, you were worth it,
 
Because, Magic Trick,
my Magic Trick,
you brighten each facet of my life.
 
I am your diamond,
or so you say,
with my playfully haughty self-esteem,
I shouldn’t believe those words any day,
 
but maybe I was a different gem under pressure
from millions of years ago
whom you have rescued from this
occasionally cruel and cold-hearted world.
 
I sparkle, you mesmerise,
we each have our power,
our ability to impress without words,
 
my dearest, you bring comfort
when I won’t express what’s ailing me,
and those other magic tricks who were
intent upon disappearing,

I’m so glad they vanished,
let me sparkle and shine
because I am the one who you cherish.
 
Place your cloak over both of us
and we’ll travel away from this world,
into a land of anonymity and 
soft, mesmerising twirled details,

we’ll live by the mountains, 
by the forest, 
or the sea,
anywhere where our presences live
for each other,
purely you and I to be seen.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
Image by Kranich17 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Audio: What to Feel.
    Can I feel the moment?
This fateful occasion heralding?
When I realise that
things have been growing
and stirring,
how this is not
how the interior
was once mapped,
the scanning reveals a foreboding view.
 
I am astounded,
into fearfulness I’ve
been slapped,
 
my duty of care to myself
is incredibly important,
because, what I am pre-empting,
the consequences, the conclusion,
may all be my fault;
the past is a regrettable fact.
 
I’ve been told not to worry,
to please, return in two years,
I will return sooner, because,
what was discovered
causes my inherent fear to drive
its nail nearer,
its harsh end forces me to
dread and shudder.
 
Literature also informs
me to not necessarily worry,
but how can I not?
I am stuck, stuck, stuck,
in that moment,
during that phone call,
test results later numbly held in hand,
the fact that
growths are present
sends me into a firm, well-stated panic.
 
And sadly, I begin
to contemplate those who are important,
because how would they
feel if I were to leave
prematurely, if you will,
 
these are certain lives
I’m interwoven with,
fiercely, with love,
and who would wish for what I fear?
For what I’m envisaging,
the future truth will be but my curse.  
 
Am I overly paranoid or concerned?
Worrying for nothing?
I think not,
though,
why whine?
The results were benign,
 
I am aware of this reality,
but those occupying space within my body,
their unwelcome appearance,
I know they can easily alter their composition,
subtly morph into evil and became further invasive.
 
All I can do is wait and take care of myself,
and become calm,
anything but nervous, panicked, or agitated.

A/N: I wrote this piece to settle myself, and to centre my sense of internal gravity again. I wasn't sure whether to post this as it's very personal, but I thought maybe it may help someone out there, or allow them to relate to my emotions.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  

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  • Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Audio: Beautiful or Ugly
    Your anger.
It starts, hissing,
a face contorting uncontrollably,
a tic here,
you’re growing stronger and far more beautiful
as your emotions arise,
of your internal nature I become aware,
each decision you decide.

Most people view your state
as ugly,
as something appalling,
but your anger, darling,
it shows me your turmoil is 
well and alive;
you’re amazing with how much you feel,
I’m being honest.

Your stomach twists you
into knots,
the grinding of teeth makes you
remember, remember,
the taste of frustrated tears
squeezed from the corners of
eyelids that will never
Forget-Us-Not,

Your ability to avoid the truce,
the agreement,
to live and let go,
your stubborn nature is wondrous,
it is sheer beauty to me
because it displays your
dedication to how we once were,
to how our lives used to be.

Thus, allow these tears to stream,
lava-like,
vulnerable,
they burn troughs deep
in your puffy, irritated cheeks,

and remember that though I’ll
not always be here
I will always be there
if in your heart
you’ll cherish me.

Your anger,
such beauty,
to some, it’s pure ugly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Tymon Oziemblewski from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    I'll express everything to you, dear, 
I am anything but silent.

My thoughts growl, 
grumble, then shine,
like a cross curmudgeon
who's been taken aback 
by something 
strangely pleasant,
something he'd been 
wholly unaware of.

Then, I transform into a 
rising, flowing,
ecologically-friendly bag
blustering in the breeze,

useful and able to be 
disintegrated,
but in the wind 
I unwind, 
like a kite, 
I am carefree.

I am this soaring, 
colourful plastic kite,
I was that ill-tempered now
brightened woman,

and occasionally I’ll 
surprise both you and I
with exclamations of 
unhindered laughter; 
our heaven,

the joyful giggling  
in your apartment complex 
with its walls 
so paper-thin:

at the neighbours’
tired, thumping reactions,
we spared no flowered damns
for our carefree, 
witty, raucous din.

A free form that flows,
where I will travel?
No one quite knows,

I’ll settle my roots,
a modern day view,
no longer grumbling,
nor full of air,
words wheezing out,
gassy, heated ill-views;

Is it worth constantly listening,
aloud, you once pondered,
the attention mostly
focused on you?

And you winked and
smiled cheekily, 
your heart was unprotected,
you meant no true offense,
with me you need no armour.

But, you do listen,
I am ever so pleased you do.
Your apartment sings with the
songs of my drafts,
over and o’er I reiterate them,
sharing the changes with you.

I know you
sometimes suffer,
at the hands of my
oppressively
repetitive work,

but you do this
not as your duty,
but to please this
once-airborne being 

who sought you out 
not because 
she was simply lonely,
not because of 
any selfish need,

but because she truly  
admired you 
and desires
your continued, 
charming company.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by danoliver2 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Lingering – 09/07/20

    Poem: Lingering – 09/07/20

    The silence greets me.
The questions which I have uttered are left
lingering,
their syllables carelessly thrown
to the wind.
 
It’s not a struggle to have let them go,
in fact, they’re a release,
a moment of crisis,
a catharsis,
 
and I know, I know,
that not every utterance should be
an emancipation,
but lately, most have been.
 
What is wanted, what is required? 
Being a poet, I can be selfish, if I decide,
of needs and desires
I need not necessarily deliver.
I can humour myself and my needs alone,
indulgent word fantasies like thickets grown.
 
But then, where would I be,
with no audience to breathe with,
to greet?
 
No more morning sparkles and shine,
their visits revealing notifications,
understandings that I’ve created something
that’s cast a modest net,
caused an effect.
 
Because when I link with my readers,
it’s the most wonderful feeling,
my mission has been successful,
I’ve helped them enter my realm,
 
how ever grateful am I for their presence
and careful scanning eyes,
your presence encourages me to continue
detailing my pain and paradise.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay

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