Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: dreams

  • Poem: Abundance – 06/07/21

    Poem: Abundance – 06/07/21

    I shall sojourn
    to follow my bliss,
    chase those dreams,
    negativity’s finally amiss,

    feel the breadth of a
    blossoming soul,
    richer than an expansive rose,
    something which I’ve learned,
    which I’ve come to know
    is that Life’s a great adventure
    if you treat it with joy,
    with graciousness,
    with gratitude,
    it is so welcoming,
    clutch it with style.

    I’ll smile,
    spread my wings,
    take flight,
    this path ahead is mine,
    I’ll call and call for nothing,
    for no one,
    for I alone am growing whole.
     
    Wouldn’t you be pleased to know
    that the leaky gaps are plugged,
    closed tightly, sealed shut,
    and now,
    I can fill with abundance,
    filling, filling, overflow.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Lukas from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Please, Stay’ – 06/07/21

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  • 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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  • Poem: Winsome Dreams – 17/12/20

    Poem: Winsome Dreams – 17/12/20

    The reflection in the river is
    crystalline and sweet,
    it abides by the directives of
    hidden, winsome dreams.

    I am calm sitting by the water,
    I trail my fingers shallowly,
    I wonder to myself,
    will I grow,
    will I succeed,
    what will I need?

    What’s internal is enough,
    my strength and courage,
    steadfast inklings are sleek,
    not rough,

    the slim possibility of
    future untoward histories,
    lay broken, snapped,
    in the riverbed nearby,
    moments never again to be seen.

    I feel the air well inside my chest,
    as I take in everything truthful and freeing,
    nothing encumbering,
    no lying,
    no deceiving,
    I just need to be powerful in these moments
    to succeed,
    to stand my ground,
    to fight for what will cause my heart and mind
    to positively careen,
    amazement all around.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Alan Labisch on Unsplash

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  • Poem: And the Fairy Prince of Summer – 14/12/20

    Poem: And the Fairy Prince of Summer – 14/12/20

    The prince of Summer,
    he flits into her life,
    carving a journey,
    nullifying strife.

    He is mischievous,
    clever, kind, and smart,
    and knows the pathway into many hearts.

    Will his visitation be pure,
    will it last long, will her heart be mine?
    he calls to nobody in particular,
    above a wondrous sun,
    her sun rays a glinting sign.

    He wants to be present,
    he wants to brighten her eyes,
    he wants to be held in esteem
    and watch her self-confidence flower.

    She is more than enough and so is he,
    the prince of Summer, flits with his wings,
    taking her on the ride of her life,
    this fairy and her will become,
    something special,
    at least for the moment,
    the days and weeks have never felt so well-strung.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Rhett Wesley on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Butterfly – 19/11/20

    Poem: The Butterfly – 19/11/20

    The butterfly, with her wings so wide,
    carries no weight of the world upon her mind.
    She is here for but the blink of a moment,
    her beauty is there, she shows it,
    and within our hearts,
    we observe her growing love for her wandering times. 

    She does not know the shortness of her lifespan,
    maybe she does and does not show it to us,
    the common woman or man,
    she just flits here and there,
    carefree, without concern,
    she’s here, she’s there,
    with such grace and flair,
    love for her beautiful world,
    she careens about without a care.

    For her, things aren’t complicated,
    it’s all about the flight,
    the joy,
    upon the wind, the ride,
    and her amazement at seeing,
    feeling,
    something so freeing upon the horizon.

    She is delicate but so too is she strong,
    understand that first impressions aren’t 
    necessarily wholesome truth,
    within she is flamboyant,
    you dared assumed otherwise?
    You were entirely wrong. 

    She has blessed your world with her presence,
    danced about within your vision,
    brightened your world if but for a moment,
    my darlings,
    remember her,
    her heart and intentions are potent.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Alfred Schrock on Unsplash

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  • Prose: The Path of Self-Acceptance – 19/09/20

    Prose: The Path of Self-Acceptance – 19/09/20

    I lay my head softly to rest. It is morning, but I have been awake since eleven in the eve. I don’t toss and turn like some do when their mind is at unease, but I feel the dismay within. Or it may in fact be vehement, it may be sorrow, it may be “How did I find myself in this circumstance?”, my life begs of me, tells me there’s other ways to go, and I wish I were strong enough right now to explore those paths, to find a different way for myself.

    Change appears to be imminent, to be calling for me, it is ripe like the wind bustling against furry spring peaches weighing down boughs, decorated by leaves, and I can almost smell their fresh scent beckoning me forth, tantalising, making me reach for the tree to pluck, pluck, pluck, to my heart’s content indeed.

    As I shut my eyes gently, I imagine different circumstances and outcomes that would come from different decisions. Would I be happier, feel different, be led to a path anew? Or am I already on this path and don’t even know it, the path of self-discovery and finally, finally, renewed trust in myself and self-acceptance?

    It has been years since I have wholly trusted myself and my judgement, and now it feels right, the air pregnant with expectation that I should take my reliance on myself back into my hands once more. I am stronger than I have allowed myself to be, I have allowed myself to wilt and have this lack of strength be believed. I am so much stronger than I have allowed myself to be.

    In order to raise the valiant part of myself once more, I need to listen to my heart, hear what it tells me, and then in the silence, listen harder, some more. It is all a method of growing, and unlike those ripe peaches which were allowed to flourish and exist, I had permitted the death of my growth, but now, now, I must live! Stagnant had I become, but alive, now I must be, this process must become.

    I will allow myself to breathe, and flow, and grow. In the mirror, I will smile during the process, carefully watching myself.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Honestly – 11/09/20

    Poem: Honestly – 11/09/20

    Honestly, where is the truth within
    that I’m trying to seek?
    The impermanence of self-esteem to be
    built up, energetically tremulous
    then monumental but still humbling when it’s finally seen.

    The lacking of needing the approval or
    presence of those I’ve come to depend on,
    because the truth is, for personal growth
    I must move forth, look forward.

    No sense of desertion,
    no,
    but a personal strengthening that allows
    a sense of self to be visible,
    not resisting the ability to think,
    to make a promise to myself that I must trust
    not only what I see,
    but what can flow within the stream of consciousness
    and lead into the flowing sea.

    I don’t know exactly what it is I seek,
    but perhaps a sense of serenity that allows me to
    feel I’m living my dreams,
    a wonderful step forward that there is set to take,
    a promise to myself
    that I am willing to make.

    To be the missing piece of someone’s puzzle
    is to first be strong in yourself,
    and I don’t want to be a pain,
    or depend upon anyone else.

    I want to fulfill my quest,
    I thought love was the only thing I sought,
    I’d cast aside so many other dreams and yet,
    I am back,
    I am here,
    and I will become stronger,
    achieve my dreams,
    I will reach them, there is nothing to fear.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Laura Vinck on Unsplash

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  • 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: Illegible – 19/04/20

    Poem: Illegible – 19/04/20

    Illegible,
illegible,
the handwriting lies sprawled upon the page,
not even smeared,
but simply, completely unreadable
and entirely,
legitimately,
incomprehensible.
 
How am I expected to return to these 
convoluted dreamy thoughts and emotions
when the opportunity for self-manipulation 
of my subconscious silently lingers?
 
For this text holds secrets,
expectations and extremities of the land of my curious,
befuddled dream state,
an entry into what may have been performed and experienced,
on and on,
perhaps in a flurry,
fingers and toes dance,
hearts meld,
and truth be told the taut ribbon of thought
could speak of so much here.
 
Purely out of curiosity do I wish to seek
and immerse myself into the opposite of
a doctor’s chicken-like scrawl,
my flamboyant, frantic loops which speak:

Connect with my words,
Relive my wholeness
 
And only then will everything apparent come to life,
microcosmic and magnetic,
an assessment of every early waking morning
worth detailing, speaking or somehow
reliving.
 
Will this illegible privacy be exploited?
My early morning words snatched from my fingers
before the page feels its tickles,
revealed to all?
 
Perhaps, no, sir, no,
none, maybe not even I,
will possess anything more
than the power within my bleary eyes,
my heart,
which know exactly what has
or has not been written,
to others,
the looped ink spots detail nothing more than 
obscure, primitive art.

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

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