creative writing – Page 61 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Finding Your Footing – 05/10/19

 There may be occasions where you’ve lost your footing, 
in fact, many times, possibly. 
Where your legs and feet scrabble for a holding, 
a firmer footing, to cease the potential of falling deep, deep below. 

When your heart is almost in your mouth, 
the fear is palatable, tastes of thick iron rust,
the bloodied mess that is your broken organ, 
still beating, but a complete and utter mess. 

There may be occasions where you slip and fall, 
into the abyss of the great unknown, 
speaking of darkness and unsureness 
and times of great distress and unknowing. 
 
These, my friends, are occasions which enable learning, 
where you can take what you will from the putrid or frightening moments, 
and make of them something worthwhile, 
a learning process where you drag yourselves up 
and out of the murky dark.

The strength of character displayed from 
when you fall and how you pick ourselves up demonstrates a 
certain strong will and determination 
that I know you must be proud of possessing. 

Because darlings, I know that you can make it 
through these pains, these issues, 
You’ve done it before, 
And you can do it again. 
Just listen to your aching heart and plaster it with bandages of courage; 
You’ll make it in the end.

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October 5, 2019

Poem: Apparition in the Night – 04/10/19

 The apparition comes in the dead of night
 One unblinking unnerving pupil
 A ghastly flowing body
  
 He enters my dreams soundlessly
 Through the cavities of my broken mind he travels quite efficiently.
 Never ceasing to amaze,
 This apparition knows how to communicate entirely wordlessly.
  
 How he emphasises his point
 Drives into the ground his defiance
 That his phantasmagoric appearance is required
 For with the night he has made an alliance.
  
 Tucked away within my mind is he
 The corners and avenues where he travels does he
 Knowing solely what he is looking for
 That one key for opening that mighty blocking locked door. 
  
 Then my secrets will spill forth,
 All, the lot of them
 To be viewed, 
 To be sifted through by him.
  
 He will never find that key
 Never, not even in my weakened state of sleep
 My dreams now provide a barrier
 Impenetrable they are, 
 No gaps, the lock is heavy, wrought, and my intention for it complete. 
  
 Phantom, you may now take leave of this scene,
 Your presence is unrequired here, 
 Your expulsion is as exactly as it seems.

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October 4, 2019

Poetry and Prose: Myself as the Other – 03/10/19

Sometimes, oftentimes, I’d wonder why. Why was I so awkward, so different, so quiet, so damned shy? I’d go through life wanting to avoid the stilted conversations, the dialogue that barely went beyond the obligatory “How are you?” “Good, thanks,”, and a cheery but weak-willed, “That’s good!”, knowing that it wouldn’t go much further than this point, this query and mildly obvious revelation.

Would I ever become comfortable enough in myself to mix easily with other people: strangers, unknown beings? Or would I be forever in discomfort, eyes begging for a means of escape, where I could go without needing to be obvious about my need to be alone and contemplate?

But then new experiences came along, fresh faces, different names, all a whirlwind of growing conversations and opportunities, explosions of learned moments within my mind. And I became more comfortable, at ease with myself and others, although I never learned to be completely as secure and comfy as I did with myself as the other.

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October 3, 2019

Poetry and Prose: A Lilt in My Rhyme, Thank You Very Much – 03/10/19

“A lilt in my rhyme, thank you very much,” I order, not ask.

“You’ve got it, lady,” the bartender says, and turns his back to me. He commences his current task.

Lady? Lady? I think to myself. I’ve never been called that in my life, at least not that I can recall. Sure, baby, honey, and so forth, but never a full-blown lady.

The bottles and glasses clink and the blender whirls, the cocktail shaker with its ice cubes makes a nice heavy thud all of their own, and I, smiling to myself rest my chin in my hand, looking as pleasant as could be for my first date with What’s-His-Name. These dates are always the same; same formula, same format, just different person, different name. I’d rather a lilt in my rhyme than an extended purr to my name, and by goodness was I going to achieve this wish, one and the same.

He shows in the doorway. My heart beats frantically. This one looks like a catch. My date approaches me with a great air of confidence.

“What are you drinking, my lady?” There’s that word again.

“A lilt in my rhyme, why do you ask?” I reply with a cheeky grin.

“I do like them feisty,” he says, a twinkle present in his eye. And how do you think the night will unwind?

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October 3, 2019

Poem: Crashing Waves – 03/10/19

 The waves hurl themselves onto the rocky shore
 As though on a suicide mission
 I wonder what it would be like to feel those jagged edges biting me
 Protruding through the breaking waves
 Their strangled sounds strangely comfort me.
  
 I dare to reach forth
 One step at a time
 A momentous awakening has come about this healing time.
  
 And like how I come to the sand for serenity and to show respect,
 myself, I blossom inside
 feeling and breathing good health.

 the racing thoughts in my mind
 the strange understandings still in place
 will eventually be wiped away
 replaced with thoughts more socially acceptable and commonplace.
  
 But I will not lose my vigour nor my ardour 
 Learning more of discovery, healing and self-respect
 The waves continue to crash
 My eyes divert from the scene as they capture human movement
 Ah, there he is: 
 I almost thought he wouldn’t make it.

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October 3, 2019

Poetry and Prose: Swinging Stages of Creation – 02/10/19

I go through stages with my words, my artworks, my creations. Lighthearted, jovial, childish antics. Then I’ll swing to the right, suddenly serious and in love, purging myself of the almost-sickeningly sweet tastes I have devoured when fed adoration from his gifting hand above. I swoon, how I swoon, when together we are in my words.

Where to next? Maybe back to the storytelling, the longer expressions of my mind and imagination, the telling of tales, freshly beginning? Or should I remain where I also now find myself comfortable, no more humorous creature poems to be spoken of, instead remaining in the flight of heady love, my expression of how we once were and how we now always are? Should I speak for you, address my intentions, of encouraging you, inspiring you, to accept who you are, self-acceptance internally wrought, prompted, but also heaven-sent?

Or shall I not plan, but write as my heart desires? I have many tales to share, many worlds to recollect and connect, my arms can only reach out for so many, but I hope to reach you all, with my heart of hearts I hope to reach you, to speak to you all. I aim to express my heartfelt emotions, my best, to produce what I can with no judgemental pointing or disapproving voices. But because I know there is always the presence of that type, I shall smile in my whimsy, and dance the night away, critical beings I shall not acknowledge, instead I shall dream where I now comfortably lay.

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October 2, 2019

Poem: Intertwined – 02/10/19

 Keep me warm, keep me warm, his heart said to me
 Hold me near, keep me close, his eyes spoke of his fears
 Love me tender, love me true, his lips formed his precious request
 Hold me near, love me more, never abandon,
 Appreciate me the most, never less. 
  
 As his hand slipped into mine,
 Intertwined fingers, 
 Yours and mine, he said with a smile.
 Love me eternally, I’m always here for you,
 Let us stay, let’s sit for a while.
  
 My hand casually relaxed upon his chest,
 Feeling his heart beating frantically,
 Was this how my love made him feel?
 Excitable, edgy, heightened, at its best?
  
 A racing heart and a raging mind can cause devastating effects,
 But he wasn’t of that type.
 He was perfect and he was mine.
  
 Instead I hold him, 
 Instead of him holding me,
 I nurture him, I cherish him, 
 Convince him that I will not leave. 
 
 This I do so without words, 
 With a simple but gentle touch
 Our hearts are intertwined like our fingers
 Together we have become.

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October 2, 2019

Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

She became lost in her daydreams, her thoughts while awakened, the sparkling moments during which her life was reassured and free. When a contemplative little smile was upon her lips, the dreary world outside could not come within. She was protected by her angels and passed love ones, they formed a circle, a colony around the areas where she was most weakened. Here within, they protected her crushed heart and soul, broken from her wanting dreams.

Her angels knew how to make her smile, they whispered words of teardrops from Heaven, laden with sweetness and reassurance that she would make it through the morning. How her heavy heart ached, but they massaged the thump-a-dumping organ into something more palatable, more wholesome, less heavy and cumbersome. Something that could be socially acceptable for the beings upon an often-judgemental Earth. But as she was had been enough; she was perfection for her place in Heaven.

How there were many answers for her prying queries and questions, the posing thoughts that needed to be addressed by her pained mind each day, every second. Why was she this way, why was she perpetually made the victim, and why was she permitted to live through each distressing scene? It wasn’t difficult to view the situation; she was beautiful, inside and out, her very presence caused others a great commotion. But why didn’t they see her for herself, a unique being, different from everyone else, who required times of contemplation — she did not always need the hoorah happening.

She remained still, eyelids slightly flickering, like the wings of a tentative butterfly intent on tenaciously hovering just above that height of five point five feet, high enough to feel spectacular, yet dangerous enough to know no higher. She laid back in her mind, allowing her feelings to wash, to overcome, and realise that in essence, it does not matter who is judging, because who she is now is a great success because of her shortcomings and life errors she’d triumphed over, willingly overcome.

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October 1, 2019

Poem: Boastful Love – 01/10/19

Like a lion I can bellow, like a lion I can roar.

Like a kitten, I can curl into your crooked elbow, relax myself and purr. Into a crumpled heap I can fall, into your wanting arm.

Here I am not boastful, as I am occasionally wont to be. Here I am quiet, subtle, subdued — here it is just you and I, the vibrating resonance of the breaths of us two.

Rise and fall,

rise and fall,

until slower we become, simultaneous, as one,

sleep beckons to us, to the humming of our pacified dreamscapes and

the freedom of our wild and outrageously intricate love.

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