Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: dreaming

  • Poem: Welcome – 24/10/21

    Poem: Welcome – 24/10/21

    I await the moment when we will meet,
    eyes mixed with perplexity and curiosity,
    unsure of what to expect, or what will be said,
    but a connection, there will be, and not only
    in my head.

    I will smile at you, shyly,
    you will beam with ease,
    making it easier for me to approach,
    or you to draw closer, indeed I will know,
    as will you,
    that this moment is pivotal,
    something refreshing, anew.

    In our lives, we will welcome
    laughter and delight
    and everything great that I could fathom,
    there’s something important that comes
    with realising the truth,
    knowing what will come,
    and dreaming is what I shall do.

    I will welcome you and this moment,
    whenever it is right,
    my walls are already lowered,
    I am not complicating life,
    there is no circumstance anymore that will
    stop our meeting day,
    listen to me, softly, World,
    the time seems almost right –
    this I will say.
    (24/10/21)
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

  • Prose Poetry: Dancers from my Dreamscape – 27/04/21

    Prose Poetry: Dancers from my Dreamscape – 27/04/21

    Perhaps there’s a waltz in the room while I’m stuck in my head. I imagine the costumes, the dresses, so pretty. The lightness of step, but winding of intents, I wish I could join them. But here I am, a quiet observer instead. 

    The pairs of beautiful dancers, they twirl and slide, their feet lilting gently, heads and eyes held high. They are sure to be admired; the sum of their grace is a strong total. They are a sight to behold, in my mind, in my mind, in my mind. Their fluidity is whole.

    Some things need to be detailed without much plight. There is no angst, upsets, or strife, simply brightness of life, amazing days. We create what we want, we accept, we receive, we look down upon a gracious heart on their bended knee, what is this, what are these images speaking to me? 

    Sometimes, I struggle to create. But then I look into my mind’s eye and reach from deep within what I cannot initially see. There are important moments, memories, images, emotions and feelings to be gleaned, and for the sake of the process, allow me to display these waltzing kings, princesses, princesses and kings. 

    Finally, the swishing of rich dress fabric ceases to become audible. The dancers’ faces become sombre as they line up one by one facing their other. A curtsey or a bow, and up and away the women and men become on their own segregated way, perhaps they’ll meet one another again very soon to rekindle their love upon a poignant day. 

    I smile, I smile to myself. What a wondrous sight was brought forth from my mind. And I shall not analyse what it might mean, how it made me feel, or what it could speak of ahead of time, no, no, no, I will simply admire and gently, meditatively breathe. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by alevision.co on Unsplash

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  • Prose: Celestial Beings – 30/03/21

    Prose: Celestial Beings – 30/03/21

    I wonder where we go as we sleep; I wonder where we travel within our dreams. Do we rise from our consciousness, into the cluster of the atmosphere, smiling, giggling, intertwining? I understand that some won’t dream, while others are cloaked with an ailment of not being able to see, while others are afforded the opportunity of recollection; they remember their dreams. Their moments of deep introspection. 

    Sadly though, some dream less devout, illness encompasses them, and they’d better off images be without. Their hardened hearts, their swift take, take, take, of whatever they can from the fellow man, well, why, this is their dream, and I know that it should be wiped away, vanished, completely unseen. 

    But, I want to talk about travel with celestial beings, not travel with the average, untoward man upon the Earth and down below. I wish to sing the beings’ praises, while knowing that I don’t know how to exist within the memories without saving them, although what I can do is immerse myself in their potency so greatly that the sensation at least won’t ever be forgotten. 

    Their glowing brightness, their ability to sing, sing, sing, heralding the coming of better things, and I know, I understand, I realise, that this path I am on each night, is the right one, despite the lessened waking hours, despite my inability to remain asleep, despite everything, I am able to revisit my celestial beings. 

    It does not matter that I cannot recall them in my thinking. They are there, I know it.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
     

  • Poem: The Thundering Waves – Spoken Word and Text – 22/06/20

    Poem: The Thundering Waves – Spoken Word and Text – 22/06/20

    The quiet solitude
as waves roll in,
their silent crescendos,
thundering vibrations
only I can feel within.
 
The rumbling of
their presence
marks tremulous
tumultuous moments,
fear impending,
a sense of doom
all around.
 
When did I
sign up for
this battlefield?
 
One in which
only I
can sense and
anticipate,
but with not a
shred of volume
to warn
as my heavy breaths
heave and leave.
 
The desperate notion
of reaching forth
for something
that’s invisible,
only sensed,
not heard or
or even seen.
 
The waves,
their raucous fights,
go frightfully
in my night
as I toss and turn
inherent confusion: –
impeded sight.
 
I grasp ahead,
feeling for safety,
though the nothingness
meets me,
my desire for freedom
is far too hasty.
 
I spin and spin,
vertigo in my head,
a woman in distress,
instead of feeling
calm,
well-rested,
blessed.
 
These thunderous
waves of consciousness
roll on and on,
and on,
may I please
escape from them?
 
Or be hailed by
heavy reliving of
a personal, solitary hell.
 
The vibrations chase me
in my dreams,
as yonder, yonder,
I fervently reach,
 
Will I live to tell my tales?
Will the waves crash on opposing shores?
I can only hope they’ll recede,
if not,
I’ll fend them off with
primal roars.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay
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  • Poem: He Inhales My Essence – Spoken Word and Text – 16/06/20

    Poem: He Inhales My Essence – Spoken Word and Text – 16/06/20

    He inhales my essence
as I sleep,
as I dream,
through clouded mirages I wander,
through open loving scenes.
 
A pillowy path
weaves around
my dreamy garden,
poetic words dangle
from the bushes;
I greedily grab at them.
 
Unaware as he
breathes me in,
taking in my dreamscape,
certain fantasies,
 
poignant moments,
of a potential future
and moments of late
which we hold dear and near.
 
In a lane in which
I weave, stitch and rhyme,
picturesque scenes,
no need for disguise,
 
plain to see,
completely on show,
I’m not scared
but I am modest;
I care for his thoughts,
of mine he knows them well.
 
I am an open book
to him when I sleep,
no need to draw back
my subconscious drapery,
 
my scent reveals all,
beautiful imagery from me,
he doesn’t need to open
his eyes,
through me he can dream.
 
And as he
draws his face
closer to mine,
my gentle expression changes,
I can sense him,
I murmur as I lay and realise,
 
contented in each other,
we both inhale, exhale,
breathing in each other’s magic.
 
The stillness,
our shared air,
the quiet contemplation,
for these moments I do cherish,
I hold great care.
 
We are a pair built upon
soft contemplation,
a firm loving foundation,
entwined, are we,
our very own united nation.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Photo by Davids Kokainis on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Regal and Humble – 13/03/20

    Poem: Regal and Humble – 13/03/20

    I hold my head high as I walk into the room,
my flourishing robes,
my gentle tapping embroidered slippers,
rich expensive perfume.
 
And with a turn of my head
I quietly announce:
I am here and
I am who I am.
 
Though I may be laden with jewels,
and layers of thick crushed velvet,
and dense rough furs,
I am anything but arrogant,
I am the epitome of humility,
something I have developed through experiences with others:
guiders, angels, powerful beings, and
earthly and heavenly soldiers.
 
When I ride my horse,
each finger sparkles,
the light refracting,
there’s no need to turn the tables,
nor force my image onto others.
 
For when I enter a room,
I do so dignified,
and now I rouse from an afternoon dream,
was I a high priestess or an emperor’s wife?
 
I cannot tell my once-designated role
as the feeling of regression has never come to pass,
never a flashback in my mind,
so instead I sit quietly,
meditate, try to avoid falling asleep,
although if I do so,
I know my rest will be luxurious with
thoughts and rested muscles
as warm and pliable
as wholesome honey.

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

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