Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: To Make a Difference – 05/07/20

    Poem: To Make a Difference – 05/07/20

    Wanting to make a difference,
trying to be heard,
I've spoken at length
and, I fear I've pained some 
minds,
eyes 
and ears,
still, I insisted on 
sharing more, and more, and more.
 
I’d apologise for
being fixated,
but, I am compelled, 
I want to
share my truths,

will they, have they
made a difference?
Could you relate?
Were you moved?
 
I know I need to
pull back,
drag drawstrings on the
crazed kite that’s
whipped so free,
decrease the momentum,
I need to drag, drag,
drag,
my words straight back to me.
 
To corner them in
a box,
a private site for
me alone,
until I can assess
what should be shared,
not haphazardly at you thrown.
 
Sometimes I share so
I feel less alone,
knowing that others
are sharing my
experiences, too,
 
makes me feel like
my varied path with its mistakes
and pains
may have more of a learning curve to 
ride and view.
 
I cannot help that
I’ve overloaded,
but when I look back
on my words,
 
I’m pleased that I’ve
shared, 
that I've opened up,
perhaps to you,
and to others,
this has drawn us closer.
 
Understanding to be allowed,
interwoven,
ne’er to be undone,
these moments, experiences,
truths of mine,
recollected and digested
together.

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

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  • Poem: Heartbeat to Heartbeat – 5/07/20

    Poem: Heartbeat to Heartbeat – 5/07/20

    Like the sound of rolling thunder
on the distant hills,
my heartbeats clamber to be heard,
(to be heard),
received and acknowledged by you,
at your breezy window sill.
  
Your hand reaches out
to grab the distant beats,
the uniquely peculiar patterning
that pounds, and pounds
and pounds,
 
from my sill to yours,
a distant utterance
which begs to be translated:
what does it call for?

When transformed,
will my percussive pattern affect
your strong and courageous, 
masculine disposition,
into quietly affected, weeping eyes?
This vulnerable beating is all for you.
 
How harrowed I once was 
without you,
without this link,
how now when I look back
my life seemed utterly empty
and terrifying,

I was morose,
broken,
somewhat together but alone,
 
and now that we are here,
window sill to window sill,
glancing into the darkness
wondering at the other,

you’ve brought me back to life,
and I can send you my
heartfelt rhythmic dictations,
my life force 
representing my dreams,
my quietly built courage.
 
I want to receive your beats,
to capture your fervour,
perhaps one day we will
meet face-to-face,
and I’ll embrace you,
my surprisingly welcome saviour.

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

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  • Poem: A Regretful Birdie – 05/07/20

    Poem: A Regretful Birdie – 05/07/20

    I’ve been a little bit out of sorts,
my home here has been,
shall I say,
unsettled?
 
Like a bird fiercely destroying her
carefully-made nest,
I’ve been somewhat selfish,
and uncaring.
 
I’ve pecked and I’ve pecked
to force the hand of certain truths,
I’ve dragged apart a
consistent image,
 
to reveal holes,  
jagged self-awareness,
revelations which
refuse to soothe,
 
this birdie attacked
her woven home,
but repair is not
so far off.
 
Forgive me,
I beseech thee,  
I didn’t mean
to tear this apart.
 
My once-comforting realm is
now littered with
unwholesome,
harsh-trilled tunes,
 
this little birdie deeply
expresses her regret,
I shall set about repairing the damage
for me, for us, for them, for you,
 
so setting foot here is
less confronting,
enabling our ability to relax,
to easily breathe,
 
I just want to share
and interact,
present the freedom, not constriction,
of thoughtfully crafted poetry.

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

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  • Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    I am transfixed,
here is my ability
to stare down those eyes –
you take me near and far to
your paradise.
 
You have dragged me from the cold,
the frigid icy depths,
and set my heart beating freely,
I’m gasping life again.
 
Your selfless gift of air
I can barely comprehend,
the self-annihilation of emptiness;
I no longer need to fear nor dread.

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

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  • Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Where is the bite,
where is the snarl,
where is the slightly obnoxious
nature to my scrawl?
 
Why is – here –
softness shown
when all I wanted to portray was
bite, snarl, bite?
 
Isn’t it odd that
revealing vulnerability
can make me feel
so empowered then
sickly weak inside?
 
Like reaching to touch
the underside of a
floaty blue bottle jellyfish,
it is enticing, appears so tender,
yet danger silently lurks,
its mesmerising imposition,
the impending poison
speaks of
my scrawled pains, too.
 
I can rediscover my spikes,
my ability to cause chaos,
the alliteration,
the harsh 
ck ck ck,
no wide mouthed assonance,
no openly assessing audience tasked with
observing my aching abnormalities,
 
I’ll sink my teeth in,
create a toxic pair of punctures
for my poison to glide its way through.
 
Then the venom
can flood,
overwhelm this
Surviving Victim –
am I truly such a thing?
 
My latent negativity can
overwhelm them, you,
last night you subtly alerted me to this.
 
I have sadly travelled
throughout recent years
on a path of personal
bitterness which repels,
 
and negative swimming thoughts
toward myself,
they’re not purposeful,
but they are well practiced,
this bite has become well-worn.
 
Am I truly an overly grumbling entity
who should simply
brighten her mindset,
because that is
easier to see?
 
It’s not so simple,
I’ve lived with
snark and bitter tones
the last few years of my adult life,
 
I shall try, however,
to allow the kindness
to rise from beneath,
penetrate my being,
and speak such kinds words
to myself
because, maybe I am deserving of these.
 
Then, my acerbic tone may dissolve,
the cuts upon my paining tongue,
healed or removed,
whichever self-imposed punishments
I practice thrown away,
 
I can hopefully again be labelled as free,
having shed this layer,
this skin,
this disease,
of coldness, sadness, and dismay.
 
One can still retain the bite
without making the world feel uncomfortable.

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

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  • Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Have you ever been so crabby because
you’ve been without your coffee?
Don’t deny it,
I know you know what I’m talking about.
 
Nothing will do as a substitute,
the black tea,
holistic herbal concoctions,
coffee, coffee,
the strong caffeine hit,
 
it’s what I am needing,
it’s what my soul hounds for, 
this substance I am seeking,
desperately begging for.
 
Don’t tell me that I’m petty,
that I’m a pseudo-addict,
I need this to function properly,
can’t you hear my futile cries,
cannot you view my need?
 
I know there are others just like me,
put your hands up,
express your empathy,
 
let us join together
and perhaps you can
provide me a large pot
of steaming liquid so dark.
 
I’ll mix in creamer and sugar
with such flamboyance,
my heart full of splendour,
the first sip is what I’ve been dreaming of,
that which my heart has been
aching to be delivered.
 
And this sip finally rolls onto my tongue,
scalding my taste buds,
running down my throat,
such a welcome sensation:
I love coffee the most.
 
I survive on it,
I thrive off it,
it doesn’t wire me anymore,
it’s pure functionality,
I need it to be,
please allow me to push aside
your humble cup of tea.
 
And now my kitchen is stocked up,
beans, grind and instant, 
whichever mood I’ll be in,
and with wonder and amazement
I’ll take in this spectacular substance,
 
and survive all day long
with a smile across my dial,
I must drink and drink and drink,
to satisfy my high tolerance.

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

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  • Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Sometimes you can tell
what is lingering beneath
the surface,
the shining reflection
stares back at you,

and you understand
you’re that person
who wants and needs 
to express her existence,
through illness, 
through wellness,
which status, 
it does not matter,

your arranged words
determine the
careful revelations of 
your circumstances.

You then wipe the
reflection aside,
slap the surface away,
dig desperately
through the lake where 
memories lurk,
until you discover

bones and meat
and elbows and toes
and further down
your treasures:

your sparkles,
your fizz,
your fairy wings
which helped you rise
and fly lightly around the globe,

that light which had dragged
many unfortunate moths, 
toward their ending flame.

Yet you are far more intelligent,
you won’t allow yourself to burn,
with your wings and sparkles,
you sprinkle your 
considered phrases and words,

and then fly up and away, 
your tales are no longer unheard,
laden with surprises,
won't you continue to sparkle and shine?

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

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  • Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    I wonder:
Is there such a thing
as paralysis
of creativity?
The centre of
my thoughts that hold
intrinsic meaning,
 
where fireflies dance
and darkness looms
and fervent flames
of passion can
fill this room.
 
This room,
which houses techniques
and methods of madness,
has been disabled,
of smooth movements
it simply cannot
slide nor speak.
 
This is not a lacking
of inspiration
but rather a
hostile sense of
forced contemplation.
 
And I can sit here
patiently waiting for this
centre to regain fluidity
its natural flow which takes
 
my left foot, right foot
gently forward
until I reach,
closer you,
 
but this quiet solitude is disturbing,
so, I shriek,
paralysis now shocked,
returning to life,
 
stale tastes and thoughts
flow, unwelcome,
ridden of,
from this now-chaotic scene.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay

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  • Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Could you condense yourself
into a single line?
You, every fibre of your being,
exposed, viewable, entwined.
 
Who’s that knocking at the door?
Pounding,
“I’m here”, your intrepid war cry,
single line, single file
your name scrawled with mine.

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

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  • Poem: Still Surprisingly Numb – 02/07/20

    Poem: Still Surprisingly Numb – 02/07/20

    As our car enters
our street,
around the bend
the surprising sunshine greets,

glorious, positive, shining,
it strangely has
no effect upon me.

Where once I felt the
warmth, the sunshine’s smile,
now I remain hollow,
there’s nothing brightening
about.

All I can remember,
all I can recall,
are the feelings of
emptiness,
when will I succumb
to something
more positive?

It seems that while the weeks
of introversion have
yielded some success for me,

the negative side
of excessive rumination
is that my eyes are now
stained pensive,
accompanied by a
despairing lullaby,
with no clearly visible dreams.

Bright colours,
warming garments,
vivid flowers,
used to heighten
the corners of my lips,

though now at these
I stare blankly,
my eyes and heart
are underwhelmed.

When did I permit
all to be ordinary?
Artistic inclinations
no longer on the rise,

a dulling effect
upon me now,
a colour is just
a colour,
no feelings or associations
to see,
to tempt my mind.

To look out the
window to the garden,
yes, a winter’s bed
is still beautiful,

the way the sunlight
basks upon the plants,
bird sculptures seem to dance,
bird baths slowly collect,
gently clanging hanging chimes,
a world carefully constructed
yet it’s no longer part of mine.

When will these
feelings pass?
I feel so stuck,
encumbered then by this negativity
which fails to cease,

I need to rid myself of this
pessimistic realism
as I have deemed it,
there is no need to fall into
a wintry storm,

where the unwanted snow
dumps its fall of
powder-soft drift,
and I don’t even scramble because
I cannot be bothered
with freeing myself.

So, I freeze,
due to my despondency,
my inability, 
my lack of desire to escape
will long keep me
from roaming free.

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

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