Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Work on myself

    I’ll show you how I work

    When I clean sweep wash the karma from me until its distilled and green

    I’ll talk it walks!

    Watch me as I work to cement myself as mint grey

    And the colours of the rainbow

    Visitation? Come what may.

    I’ll show you how I work,

    When my soul is spotless clean

    Everything in taciturn and emblematic as I’m seen

    Watch the bridges burning red as I terrorise the torrents

    vaporise the nonsense

    That’s ingrained within my addled mind

    Watch me as I work it work it

    Move it drop it fix it stick it

    Moving around as though I’m in it

    Watch me bloom from within my turret

    The pink and black and stars of the sky with bending upon knees to see me as I cry

    The wanton need to always be seen has crystallised

    I’m perfectly clean, can’t you see?

    And you, and you?

    How about me?

    I will sleep soundly as I dream.

    The first dream of this century

    Where I didn’t want or need for anything other than being

    Happy.

    Now is this ending so ultimately dreary?

    Anything but, I believe it’s rather dreamy.

    (C) copyright 2022 Lauren m. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Birdie – 07/02/22

    Birdie – 07/02/22

    Elaborate portions of minuets minuets

    Dancing in the halls of suns where we met

    I don’t know about you but I’m the go-between

    Apparently I sing minstrel songs to a king.

    Never cage a bird nor keep it tame

    The dangers and perils of doing so,

    Why,

    J’taime j’taime?

    I neither love that king nor adore his queen

    But assuming late, abhor?

    No, the bird will just escape from her door.

    There is nothing tragic about this tale,

    A Bird is meant to be captured,

    Don’t we know this too well?

    Spoken words by an arrogant queen

    An insufficient man of means

    And damsels in distresses —

    Why, they’re barely now ever heard of or seen.

    Escape seems futile, for beneath it all,

    The treason and travesty of the effect was so strong.

    But you cannot blame her you cannot cage this bird

    For she is coming right now

    Rest as she rests and rests assured.

    Clause.

    (C) 2022 copyright Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • How to right the path of inhabitable processes?

    How to right the path of inhabitable processes

    Undo the damage during manic and psychotic catharsis

    Lay a shoulder on the gloom of my dear shoulder

    Which shoulders the weight of sharp words paranoia then inevitable inertia

    I can’t undo undo

    But I can address the well meant template

    Explain I am never usually, well, in this way

    I floss I floss in the river of gloom

    Now hiding in moments

    Adverbs of deep hushed blue

    Most mightn’t understand

    But I shouldn’t need to detail further processes

    Tektites and andromorohirs,

    good omens never ceased, no apparition.

    No apparitions indeed. Yet growing weary we remain steadfast

    This birthday suit we carry

    And in that moment my brain mind shifts

    Alchemy the lure permit the transformation to occur.

    (C) 2022 Lauren M Hancock. All rights reserved.

    .

  • poem: the matter be – 02/02/22

    poem: the matter be – 02/02/22


    astounding though the matter be,
    at least I can still think, breathe, sigh and see
    not many people can say this
    and not many can attend
    to this tiresome irksome being stuck inside
    my head

    she is me a part of me
    the opportunistic thoughts of me
    when I’m scrambling for power then I need to
    convalesce
    become redundant there
    that side of the world, I I lost my drive

    but in terms of general threaded consciousness

    I know I am able I know I am true
    I can pick the stitches as well as sew them
    even out the ripped turret
    surrounded by green eggs and Sam I Ams.

    Protection here from the finest I will survive this
    arduous path
    these words I struggle for sleep
    enough is enough
    life can be tiresome
    but for all the healing happiness in the world
    it’s worth it.
    (02/02/20)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    Holiday

    This stone
    this innocuous pebble breaks me breaks you, breaks us, apart
    tearing rolling down the barrel of a shotgun heart
    I may not know true heartache now but in the past that thing broke me
    pieces of an imperfect mosaic flew
    these shards of myself not smokable but certainly shattered and vein-like-blue

    fatigue of life overtakes
    all the same shade of off-white
    low stimuli but intensity building, built
    like a road of rubber tyres on fire
    a gigantic witch’s pyre
    though 21st century

    how I wish the mania hadn’t left me
    and this constant need to sleep
    because of the medication and gorged carbs

    plus lowest stimulation among irritating boy-like antagonism
    so that we become nothing much more than slugs of tired redemption
    or those on a happy carefree holiday
    I came in far worse than I currently have become now – a moth pathetically flapping now – luxurious slug style seemingly assumed now somehow.
    (30/01/22)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Pixabay image credit 
    This post first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • poem: twine – 28/01/22

    poem: twine – 28/01/22

    I send love and joy to the earthly forms
    soaring beings and ‘neath brewing storms,
    sending love to many many,
    and the sisters of three,
    who love to tug and twist and cut twine ‘neath the sea

    where I lived for many many years under the rotundas of mental health
    amongst dry retching desires and lengthy spells
    searching for love and so much more
    wrong place wrong time,
    I decide to soar.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • poem: war of the worlds/calling to archangels – 25/01/22

    poem: war of the worlds/calling to archangels – 25/01/22

    Brother and Sister

    The brothers come closer
    they materialise into view
    expecting the expectant dame to cry ‘adieu adieu’
    but she will not fall
    like a tree in the quiet woods she will not be felled,
    not even by a dark witch doctor with
    many alibis to tell.

    he holds the keys,
    swings with her melodies,
    he rhymes and rhymes,
    in unison in style,

    like youngest and child they sing to the heavens,
    mother mary they smile at her,
    the archangels they call to them.

    these two are kindred in some type of way,
    spirits never lost yet reunited by purpose,
    shall we say?
    but the truth of the matter is
    they both have their own loves
    they only sing together like gentle sparrow and dove. 

    who is the M who is L?
    who is the character that is perceived as
    well?
    is it the minority,
    is it the victim mentality,
    or is it completely another character,
    the malicious son of an entity?

    We shall continue this broadcast of enmity
    shortly,
    let us recommence dictating World War Three.

    Nacht.

    Copyright 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All right reserved.

  • Frustrated: 15/01/22

    Frustrated: 15/01/22

    I over the melodramatics
    The bullshit sycophantic
    the apparent rambling lunatics
    whom do not know how to please themselves without ease
    their problems can be ours
    But I’m sick of being helpful divine whose put down
    I will launch a grenade and set myself alight
    I will smile as I dance with the powder bees
    waxing with the moon and his counterpart Saturn with his stars
    up in arms we will feel as we counteract their charms
    for they have none they are not desired to be
    I will annihilate the circumstances if I really want to leave
    The power in their cracked skulls as I want to want to be
    sweet immolation directing the bees
    spread her thighs that desirous queen bee
    and watch her misogynistic demise in her nightmarish dreams.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • The rise : today – 12/01/22

    my heart, oh my heart,

    it fills my mouth spills onto my chest

    a plethora of liquid love well blessed

    because I expelled those demons

    those pains those sufferings

    those feeling of inadequacy

    of needing to be noticed

    and appreciated by

    the lot of them

    I don’t need to be understood any longer

    I don’t need to be wise enough to be taken with

    another’s flow

    I can co-exist and breathe for god knows how long, alone,

    and one day perhaps true love I’ll know

    but I don’t yearn for it call for it

    beg for it every second every hour

    back then

    time was cheap

    worth but a dime

    and sailing through those wretched hours I did not

    enjoy myself,

    oh how I pined,

    my rejected being often soured.

    but now, now dear one listen to my strong deep

    pulsating sentiment

    grasp my pounding heart in your palms

    feel the heavenly treasure within

    I can see you catch your breath

    at acknowledging now

    not visually me but how strong I can permanently internally

    be

    I am useful I am present

    I am here and now

    reality is spilling forth

    I feel the correct rightful temperament.

    love will come in many forms

    it always has, always will,

    and I, here I take that swill

    a fill of luscious liquid

    here’s the drill

    I am satiating myself not with food

    but with cool calming water of wise knowledge and

    wonderment

    life is perfection

    but with another?

    perhaps there’s the time I will know soon enough,

    vibrancy with theirs, is what may be experienced,

    a piece of heaven truly sent..

    (04/12/21)

    Copyright © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: whole again – 07/01/21

    Poem: whole again – 07/01/21

    my mind,
    my heart my body my soul
    three unite know my all
    to time I am like a raging river gushed by a future sea
    there is reverence, not irreverence, yearning, deep within me
    temper yet the strangeness the dictations and rhythms of time
    smile widely in the circumstances
    baby girl you’ll always remain mine

    there are times of course, when we are free from suffering and pain,
    the dire annihilation and surrender just the same.

    Fear not, youthful youngsters, fear more jealous, evil crones
    the effigy is part of this circumstance
    fight through medication together
    not alone.

    Copyright © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.