Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: creative writing

  • Poem: The Game of Life – 12/12/19

    Poem: The Game of Life – 12/12/19

     Pinned to the game of life,
     spin it for a consolation prize, 
     perhaps you’ll win 
     something extraordinary,
     either way, relish the 
     pillaging of history.
      
     The girl pinned on the wheel
     is there unwillingly,
     but she is there to provide smilingly,
     there is always something to 
     gain from her presence. 
      
     Around and around 
     and upside down,
     you’ll always win from her,
     the game of life, this suits her. 
      
     She’s unable to remove herself, 
     free her stiffened limbs, 
     but she is here and she is potent
     with her hidden mysteries. 
      
     She can speak of them freely,
     but why bother, 
     some would balk,
     others would make her a pariah 
      
     Best she smiles away and 
     preserves her words
     spin the wheel of life,
     there’s nothing of substance 
     which she wants to share,
     nothing special which she’d rather say
     
     Her silencing is absurd.
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Way Back When: The Snow Globe – 11/12/19

    Poem: Way Back When: The Snow Globe – 11/12/19


     Turn this snow globe upside down,
     shake it left to right,
     around and ‘round,
     watch the glitter settle, 
     upon a now-glistening figure,
     upon her nose a mere flicker, 
     a perfectly pretty picture. 
      
     Way back when,
     things were simpler, 
     her angst wasn’t as present,
     no sense of preoccupation, 
      
     when she could slide into her bed,
     or curl up on a hill, 
     and voraciously devour the life story of another,
     of their words she’d have her fill. 
      
     How she ached at their poignant moments,
     suffered along with their harrowing experiences, 
     and looked up to those brave enough, 
     to detail the troubles and horrors of their lives,
     whether self-inflicted or because of another’s devices;
     strife is considered strife. 
      
     So, she learned their tales, 
     their pains, their sorrows
     and took on their experiences, 
     wondering how some of them walked away unscathed,
     but in truth, she knew, that like her, 
    they too likely still carried hidden scars of suffering, 
     the snow globe’s shining glitter isn’t always as it seems. 
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Trysts Which Twisted My Heart – 09/12/19

    Poem: Trysts Which Twisted My Heart – 09/12/19

     Behind the bushes are where I can rest, 
     quietly, softly, my heart beats, still rushing, 
     you were my object of interest,
     my complete obsession.
      
     I remember those moments as if they were yesterday, 
    when I was there by your side 
     gazing sideways at your face longingly
     and you failed to acknowledge my interior picture,
      
     my brokenness blown in a breath,
     up and away,
     dispersed in the ache of 
     my blessed yet cursed day.
      
    Because when you arrived as your charming cheeky self,
    confident, 
    self-assured, 
     knowing you’d achieve what you hoped,
      
    I prayed that you’d treasure me for me,
     that I’d see you more often
     But, our trysts were simply that,
     nothing more meant to be. 
      
    The tendrils behind the bushes 
    grow and curl above my waist
    towards my face, they lengthen themselves
    as though they are meant to be there
     
    reminding me of the twisted nature of our arrangements
    which weren’t even there in concrete measures,
    only when you decided to return communication, 
     my burning words of yearning fixation. 

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
  • Poem: I Seek – 08/12/19

    Poem: I Seek – 08/12/19

     I search high and low
     for someone to discover the truthful internal me.
     To connect and accept, 
     a momentous moment to take hold.
      
     Because I have been searching, 
     aching, 
     crawling for so long, 
     in order to achieve that state of bliss which we call
     “Love”.
      
     What does it feel like or mean to be truly accepted?
     To be considered as enough, 
     more than enough so
     for another’s world?
      
     In which you would be their everything, 
     amazing for them, 
     nothing more would they want, 
     their journey, their search 
     would also be done.


     And link hands would we,
     together against the world,
     nothing will stop us from being our truthful identities,
     whatever we wish to become,
     together we will meld and ne’er come undone,
     because darling, let me say,
     you might really be the one. 
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Swing High, Sweetheart – 06/12/19

    Poem: Swing High, Sweetheart – 06/12/19


     We swing high and swing low,
     exhilarating heights, devastating falls.
     Because what occurs where we 
     play nice and then with fire? 
     Our hearts are entwined, 
     we are lost in rapture. 
      
     Our love may seem innocent and sweet
     like child’s play,
     rising high and dipping low,
     smiling adoration. 
      
     Yet painfully we part from one another,
     the very next day in each other’s company.
     There is little to see but dedication
     from our severed scene.
      
     Rising high then bop,
     falling down and thump,
     it’s like a never-ending cycle 
     where we can’t decide
     who is the propellant and who is the flame? 
      
     I surmise I would be the antagonist,
     it’s just how I am,
     the flame, 
     the one to catch the stirring propellant
     is you, 
     one and the same. 
      
     We can fall apart as many times as we like,
     But in the end, we always conjoin. 

     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Here We Go Round the Merry-Go-Round – 06/12/19

    Poem: Here We Go Round the Merry-Go-Round – 06/12/19


     I picked the best horse,
     he looks to be a bright blue stallion,
     head thrown back
     as though caught in the height of action.
      
     His mane, tufty in appearance yet made of plastic,
     surrounded by two females, pink and purple
     whose eyes aren’t bothering to view him.
      
     My stallion isn’t distracted,
     he is here and he is present,
     in mind and body and soul
     I will ride him on this merry-go-round.
      
     He will always beat the females
     who appear there simply to preen,
     not for any horse other than themselves
     their attentions are for themselves, it seems.
      
     And as I win the race with my stallion in first place
     I know that I could have performed the task myself,
     with my human legs running upon the ride
     as a sprinter’s dream.
     But it’s nice to have something leading the way,
     and persisting in its dreams. 
      
     So, I dismount from the stallion
     pat his mane gently all the way down his spine
     I thank him for his galloping ability
     and wish I could make this merry-go ride mine.
      
     Not because it caused me a thrill,
     not because I wish for eloquence or speed,
     but simply because it allowed me a break from my life,
     where I was in front, a forerunner, a winner,
     without needing to beg to be seen. 
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: A Home Away From Home – 30/11/19

    Poem: A Home Away From Home – 30/11/19


     A home away from home,
     where we can dare to dream,
     we carry our luggage, 
     our memories with us,
     a plethora of experiences. 
      
     A building in which we house 
     our deepest darkest scenes,
     and lightness in all mannerisms, 
     and some things perfectly in between.
      
     With our eyes peering curiously,
     and smiles widening on our faces all the while,
     we can scan through our tales and winding spells
     in a style of carefulness or happiness which abounds. 
      
     Because when quietly recalling our memories,
     with friends or family, or even just little old me, 
     we can feel joyous and buoyant 
     and so self-assured
     that everything is effervescent 
     in all their scenes. 
      
     We can relive, 
     we can feel, 
     we can dance inside,
     abound in delight all day,
     because these memories we have
     catalogued and stored 
     in our house of homes
     are where we enlist our hearts
     as our emphatic and empathic zones always.  

     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: The Sun is Pleased – 29/11/19

    Poem: The Sun is Pleased – 29/11/19

     The sun beams down upon me:
     he is happy with me today. 
     Sometimes he is disappointed,
     other times he may be sorely dismayed.
      
     But I can tell from his 
     loving warmth which spreads
     upon my complexion 
     that today he is pleased with me,
     and the steps I am undertaking in my life
     to cause positive action. 
      
     I am able to draw upon experiences which, 
     though once painful and caused 
     such internal suffering,
     can now be turned into something positive,
     as though to say,
      
     “Look where I came from, 
     and where I have been,” 
      
     then the comparison of what is fruitful and kind, 
     and what I have become,
     why, I’ve become myself again:
     from previous terrors there is 
     no need to run and hide. 
      
     The illness, the illnesses, 
     the secondary causes, 
     the uncontrollable sense of living,
     it was in no way assured.
      
     I lived flighty, in soaring delusional heights,
     I didn’t know what I was doing,
     only wished for worlds to explore
     and as I crashed and burned many a-time,
     faux pas and mental instability a-plenty,
     I wonder now,
     how it is that I am still here,
     alive,
     writing line upon line. 
      
     But I have healed from the brokenness,
     the fragility,
     the shattered scenes,
     and here I am, 
     living freely and openly breathing.
      
     I am here, 
     and I will take each opportunity as wholly mine,
     there is no need,
     no reasoning,
     to falter again,
     or trip down the line. 
      
     The sun twinkles in the corner of my eye,
     I think I see him wink. 
     I now know for certain that he is inextricably pleased.
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: The Loneliest Duck in the World – 25/11/19

    Story: The Loneliest Duck in the World – 25/11/19

    A masquerading duck has arrived at the scene. She likes to make her appearances special, with a long duration since her former showing. Here at these magnificent balls she is desperate to make a splash! Because this masquerading duck is so beautiful and loves to dance and chat.

    What is the point in her arrivals, her persistence in being seen? To some she’s just a useless hen who seems to do nothing more than gabble and preen. She is viewed by others as a selfish socialite, but they couldn’t be any more wrong in their assertions; she simply wishes to be viewed in bright light, surrounded by the deep depth of darkness within these nights.

    She should not be judged for marrying the richest drake on earth, with him having been three times her age he had passed away well before she was meant to leave this earth herself. And she was lonely in her world without his love: she had no ducklings to raise, no adult ducks to praise and advise, so what she loved to do instead was be with others throughout the exciting nights.

    In these masquerade balls she dances with such ease, she lifts her wings and flaps and glides, as delicate as you can please. And when it comes to her making small conversation, chit-chat, if you will, with her outgoing sociable awaiting bird friends, she doesn’t hesitate in her generosity to buy them champagne in flutes, gin and tonics, and wine in beautiful glasses to brighten the mood. Although she is lonely and eccentric, here she is, being appreciated in this scene the most.

    Then when she will leave these premises in the light of dawn, she will remove her garb, her showy harness and her mask, and there she will be, tired, but happy, and nervously awaiting the next event. She will be too excited to experience and share some more with many of her lively friends.

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: The Apparent Angel Sent to Me – 23/11/19

    Poem: The Apparent Angel Sent to Me – 23/11/19

    Ah, I remember you.

    With your curly ringlets, angelic darkened hair, your deep pooled eyes which I fell into, how I stopped and stared. You were there waiting for me, so it seemed, sitting outside the cafe, wearing special gemstone rings – onyx, and a brown sparkly stone for good fortune – which at the time greatly appealed to me. Gemstones, their meanings and usages were important back then to me. During times of mental illness, I clung to anything that might or could heal me.

    I knew inherently that we were meant to meet, it was as though you were a traveller coming upon my grounds, to search me out, to feel my heart pound. Or was there another intent?

    You humoured me as I babbled about your gemstones, you listened somewhat attentively to my poems, but it was at this moment I felt a personal affront, because you uttered words of quiet insult. “Is that it?” you said to me. Like my work, my piece, was not enough in itself. Still, there I remained, lapping up the company, the invalidating attentions that this apparent-angel was providing. Looks can be deceiving.

    Then there came the time to leave, we both instinctively stood at the same time. We automatically shook hands, as though I’d made a deal with the devil, rather than with something of pureness, like an angel with his surrounding light. “See you soon,” we both said ominously, as if a warning, a premonition for something frightening.

    But the truth of the matter is, I never saw this angel again. I suspect he had been sent for a purpose, but I won’t go any further into this. Allow me to say though, that I was likely not viewed as a potential risk to whomever was behind the assessment. The puppet master behind the scenes.

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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