Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: fiction

  • Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Loyalty can be twisted in this bitter life,
one pledges themselves to you,
through the bitter, through the challenging,
through the positives, through strife.
 
A hand outreached,
a hand to hold,
to be indelicately snatched away?
 
What am I to do with myself,
you swore to love me evermore,
upon that magical day.
 
We may have performed this ceremony
with little formalities,
little rules,
a lacking of an officiant, a priest,
 
but our careful words were filled with loving intent,
our adoration was there to be seen.
 
By the pond in the park,
where waddled white happy ducks,
we joined ourselves with love and hope,
no matter that it was make-believe,
this signalled our time,
our moment,
when our lives became so close.
 
Entwined were our destinies,
we were meant to meet,
our fate so rich, so true,
no matter the circumstances,
you promised to cherish me,
as I will always cherish you.
 
As our friends and family
stood by,
so chuffed,
so proud,
a voice called from behind everyone,
a bitter, demon-like sound.
 
Did you realise what he did to you?
Do you realise what he’s done?

Open mouths,
everyone turned,
agape,
to view this evil one.
 
Her eyes were crazed,
she was proud to show her wretched face,
she screamed on and on
that you have been unfaithful,
 
you pulled your hand from mine,
stepped forward to confront her,
but with a sly grin,
she dashed away on her own accord.
 
Is this the truth? I demanded.
It was something I could not believe,
all nights spent together,
You’ve always been with me.

You shook your head frenetically,
you would not humour that ‘basket case’,
She’s an old flame, you explained,
who was jealous when I left.

I sighed with relief,
surely this was the truth,
you wound your arm around my waist,
yet my mind knew what to do.
 
I would not question you further,
but I will investigate her details,
what kind of a person with a mouthful of lies
ruins an unofficial, yet heartfelt union??

After the ceremony, you quietly pulled me aside
to say...

My heart is so devastated,
my life will never again be the same.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

    Soundcloud Poem Readings

    Instagram

  • Poem: Gnawing Nails – 22/06/20

    Poem: Gnawing Nails – 22/06/20

    Fingernails ache
from gnawing,
desperately famished
things are they,
 
ever-searching,
ever-hunting,
for fresh flesh
to drag into –
carefully they will
take aim.
 
These nails are not
discerning,
they take,
rip apart,
any creature that they can,
 
fury, famine,
circumstances,
alleviating hunger,
annihilating the need for Man.
 
Man used to feed
these monsters
perishable items
from the woods,
 
cuts of venison,
moose,
rabbit;
the fingernails took
what they could.
 
But now Man is
out of the picture,
attending to protests,
restrictions,
leading disrupted lives,
 
Man has no time
to humour a pair
of dirty, scroungy hands,
no, not now,
not upon this hour,
not any longer.
 
Fending for themselves,
the gory extremities
cast their digits
on the war path,
 
feeling duly pleased
with the freedom
they’re allowed,
 
there is no concern,
they are rulers of
their world.
 
In the corner of
a trench in the woods
they spot a flash
of browny-red,
 
a squirrel,
bless him,
he’s making his final bed,
 
they reach out for him,
darting forth,
blurs to be seen,
 
but when the light settles,
there is no sign of him.
 
Squirrel, Squirrel,
has escaped his fate,
how much longer will he last?
 
Disappointed fingertips,
tap, rap, tap,
underlying hunger,
growing famine,
 
only now do they long for,
yearn for the return 
of their precious, absent
Man.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem Videos – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

  • Poem: Unreachable – 11/06/20 #Fiction

    Poem: Unreachable – 11/06/20 #Fiction

    Intermittent beeps,
one through three,
Why can’t I reach you?
It’s devastating me.
 
Engaged signals
as my frantic calls go on and on,
I need you,
I want you,
can’t you consider what I want?
 
I resort to messaging,
walls of text,
unanswered,
unseen,
forever to be unread?
 
Can you forgive me
for what I’ve done?
Not everything is as it seems,
 
the thread in our
tight line has unravelled,
will you answer me, please?
 
My desperation grows
the longer you won’t attend,
anger,
I’m raging,
vicious thoughts run through my head.
 
Everything you think
and thought I have done
is all hogwash,
it’s nonsense,
borne of gossip from a jealous throng,
can’t you consider other possible circumstances?
 
I thought you loved me,
“eternally”, you did say,
now left unreachable,
my explanations ignored,
bittersweet,
you’ll not hear what I have to say.
 
And the tragic facts
of this debacle
are that they only saw me with him,
at an unplanned meeting,
laughing at a silly joke of his.
 
I may have brushed his hand briefly,
a few too many times,
but darling, oh, my darling
know I need you,
please remain forever mine.
 
So, forgive me of my shortcomings,
my thoughtless, flirtatious behaviour that day,
I meant no harm,
I should have smiled,
and walked the other way.

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

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem Videos – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

  • Poem: A Flourishing Rose – 10/06/20

    Poem: A Flourishing Rose – 10/06/20

    Creation, creation,
how could we have created a love
so pure?

Inklings of adoration,
a potential pink,
a potential blue.
 
The resonance of a
tiny being,
held within,
encased so true, 
 
a monumental revelation:
we didn’t mean for your making,
but darling, how I already adore you.
 
In my heart of hearts
I know the journey will be rough,
but I am prepared, I know myself,
our bond will be perfect,
I feel the connection already;
it is more than enough.
 
You’re growing every moment,
germinated from a seed,
flourishing into a rose,
perhaps you were quietly planned,
exceptional,
subconscious desires grown.
 
And I understand the implication
your arrival will have on
our and other’s lives,
 
a bundle of beauty,
a bundle of joy,
your face serene and sweet
and bright.
 
I will watch you grow,
lovingly attend to you
during your years,
 
our lives changed for the better,
unconditional love to bestow,
upon you this we will give.
 
Though a rose is a rose
by any other name,
I shall hold you
in my arms,
anonymous though you may be,
you will be precious all the same. 
 
You are my creation,
our pride and glory,
Rose you shall be,
by your very own name,
 
so tiny in my protective embrace,
I draw you close,
inhale your fresh scent,
 
united our lives are,
you’re the missing piece of our puzzle,
it’s so wondrous to welcome you on this day.

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

    Return to All Posts

    Home

    YouTube Poem Videos – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry

  • Poem: An Embrace After Tea – 23/05/20

    Poem: An Embrace After Tea – 23/05/20

    Warm sentiments expressed,
heartfelt touches extended,
the joy within almost palpable,
understanding we are blessed.
 
The other sits opposite,
a smile within their eyes,
warm glints to be absorbed,
and I wonder,
is this what I’ve been searching for in my life?
 
A nuance here and there,
in softly spoken words,
uttered in my ear,
their breath so near,
makes me relaxed
and then rigid –
what did you say, dear?
 
A betrayal revealed,
because of a calling they felt,
an untoward moment,
they beg for forgiveness for themselves.
 
Yet I am no doormat,
I do not, will not, provide those words,
the exoneration of their moral crime,
my absence is what they deserve.
 
They weep, they weep,
crocodile tears which impede correct speech,
the tangled crotchet of the situation a mess,
no matter what,
I will not yield.
 
How could you do it,
I seethe,
how could you perform this ill to me?
 
Now the other shrugs,
there is only dishonesty,
when they retract and reveal
it went no further
than an embrace after tea.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Lorri Lang from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: Bright Lights – 20/04/20

    Poem: Bright Lights – 20/04/20

    Neon lights flash,
they blind me,
the resultant spots in my vision,
they appear,
they annoyingly swim.
 
I rub my glassy eyes softly,
then harder to rid them
of the itching glare,
I do not understand their mission.
 
Why did I seek this vision,
this stirring sight that promised exultation,
the monumental awareness I felt
while seeking out a personal heaven?
 
Yet, I witness here the malevolent view,
streets lined with barrages of
bustling men and women,
rows, two by two,

their presentation hauntingly beautiful,
but they are too busy and
self-absorbed to recognize their beauty,
a truly wasted picture.
 
The neon lights share the preference of this world,
showy, elaborate, garish, flashing,
new, never old.
 
I had sought these sights for I had been told of them
by whispering souls,
go forth, go forth,
find the bright lights,
absorb the intrinsically spectacular environment,
but there was nothing here to learn.
 
Many who voyaged here became cemented
into a mold,
unable to be freed,
to seek their flight.
 
They are in a land untoward,
yet perfect for some others,
where not even the winter of June
could freeze out the intent
of lustrous stars and lights
and all that such promised fame entailed.
 
Naught of this is heaven sent,
this mission ends,
my search curtailed.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Barbara Jackson from Pixabay 

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: A Hasty Exit – 05/01/20

    Poem: A Hasty Exit – 05/01/20

     
 There is the crashing of a chair’s lost footing 
 prior to your return,
 you don’t hear the commotion, 
 you have simply left to relieve yourself of ailments 
 known as niggling thoughts.
  
 Everything, as always, had been going swimmingly,
 until you reached for her hand, 
 pressed it to your face with longing.
  
 You fondled something in your shirt pocket 
 hidden beneath your blazer,
 that single sign of eternity
 that you want no other.
  
 You retrieve it along with your gargantuan, 
 fumbled words lodged in your throat,
 there is no surprise in her eyes,
 only an expression of mild confusion 
 to match your blind hope.  
 
 She is your choice so why does she seem to squirm?
 Why her acquiescence to your wish 
 as she permits your gift?
 Does she fathom the great meaning for her and yourself,
 your lives together,
 all that is in store?
  
 Ecstatic, the restaurant breathes and applauds as a whole,
 grinning, you hold her left hand up to show her finger
 as though a prize or trophy she is yours,
 willingly,
 by her choice, she agreed to be yours. 
  
 Then she silently sat before you,
 poking and stabbing her lettuce leaves, 
 Darling, you enquire, is there something bothering you?
 She shakes her head and smiles, 
 reassurance all around that everything is perfect,
 with a curt nod, you need some time to think. 
  
 An escape route to the bathroom, 
 where your confused thoughts can be observed rationally.
  
 You knew you couldn’t hide there forever, 
 thus,
 you stride out confidently, 
 as though nothing is a bother. 
 To your great surprise and absolute horror, 
 she is nowhere to be seen,
 the ring laying dejectedly and rejected upon the table. 
  
 She never explained herself, 
 never took your calls,
 or answered your knocks at the door.
  
 In fact, she seemingly vanished,
 no trace of her to be found in this quiet town. 
  
 It is as though she was only satisfied for the moment,
 perhaps hoping for something and someone better,
 around the corner she was wishing, 
 not realising she’d be forced into this corner 
 and tied down by you as her less than significant other.   
  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    I lay myself down in that quiet meadow that exists only within my mind. I rest back, against the soft, pillowy grass and I allow myself to keep. To become at one with the scene, the beautiful sunset, the sublimely coloured horizon; it is so glorious, and I know it’s only for me. I bask in the wonder, treating my eyes, my amazed orbs to swell and brighten as the light slowly changes, the atmosphere darkening, into the dusk of the afternoon. And I lay here waiting, for you to come soon. I lie in wait, for your presence, to keep me safe.

    There is nothing to fear in this landscape, for I have created it all on my own, but I wish for you, I call for you, to visit at least, or perhaps to return here and decide to call this home. A land in which you and I can exist, with love and soft-spoken dexterity, our hands, their movements, clutching each other’s, are not at all amiss. We grasp our attentive and longing outstretched hands, linking also arm in arm. But, my love, you have not come, will you ever arrive?

    My careful eyes watch for you, I know you won’t leave me alone for too long.

    But in trots an arrogant fool, one who does not belong in my precious landscaped scene, nothing to compare with you, because he is too proud, he is too haughty, yet I am confused, do I pay attention to him or ignore him completely? After all, it seems far too rude to dismiss another, even though he seems rough and overly boisterous and showy. I am not in the practice of being rude, I dislike the practice and behaviour greatly. So, I make eye contact with this buffoon, who is lauding himself throughout my delicious scene, trampling on the flowery neighbourhood, and I, close to rolling my eyes, acknowledge him if but for only a few seconds. I do not want to encourage him, to have you feeling my eyes treating you as seconds.

    Oh, how he prances, how he dances, before me, his masculinity screams for my attention, begs for it more and more, until I cannot help myself, I start to laugh, he’s amusing, and this encourages him some more. And then suddenly, you appear from the corner of my eye, from behind a dense bush, and your eyes scream betrayal; I cannot do anything but fumble: I wasn’t moved by him, I want to scream, I wasn’t moved at all, not a little. Yet my heart, how it now aches, at having hurt you in a manner unintended, I am filled with guilt, while the buffoon stands to attention, smiling widely, grinning with obvious pride bursting from inside. He guffaws at the problems he has advertently caused me through amusing and entertaining me with his wiles, and all the while he remains there, cocksure, boastful, pride-filled – of him I am reviled.

    I reach for you, but it is too late, you tell me I have made my choice and it is time for you to dissipate. With tears forming in my eyes, you melt back into the horizon, never again to be seen, in this fantasy of mine, you are now gone. You were my only delicate and sweetened portion. I weep for you, but this buffoon has proven his method: a rapid and obvious sabotaging poison.

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


    Return to All Posts


    Home

  • Fiction: The Arachnid Queen’s Deadly Songs – 27/10/19

    Fiction: The Arachnid Queen’s Deadly Songs – 27/10/19

    The Arachnid Queen weaves a web of delicate songs and spells, but this caster is known for causing perils in great a-many tales. While she crawls and creates, she plots the doom, of those unfortunate souls, lurking, unawares, waiting for her in the privacy of a stifling room. How she struts in toward them, turning this way and that, because while her spindly arachnid form is anything beyond compare, she doesn’t believe in being visually poignant, compliant nor aware.

    No, she prizes her spinning ability above them all, to be the black widow in the tales of those whom happen to helplessly trip and fall beneath her multitude of feet. She glances down at them acting so feebly – she will wrap them slowly, it will amuse her greatly, don’t you understand? It’s all so plain to see!

    And she’ll continue to lure them in like the easy prey, victims that they are, only known for wanting to be seduced by something that they secretly fear but cannot draw themselves any further from, neither walk nor run further, because her songs, the lyrics, they draw them in, such lilting, sweetly sung tunes, like the sirens pulling in the sailors to their deaths, she drags them in with such fine musicality, her deadly cadences are anything but folly.

    Would any rise above the Queen’s misdeeds? Would a victor arise, to avoid his encasing, future suffocating wrapping, simply because for the wrong being he had fallen with ease? Nothing is proven in this measure, they are all mesmerised — ears, hearts and minds — seduced by her warbling spells, until one rather bland evening the sign of the Jackal is cast across the skies: something important surely is about to befall them all.

    While the Queen lazily sits upon her throne, casually singing rhymes, tunes, trills, arpeggios, a hero-in-the-making spots his chance to escape to freedom of his own. A tear in his casing, close to his left hand, my, the Queen’s error in weaving here is uncomfortably astounding, and with a quiet ripping with his thumb he frees himself. But he will not yet leave – he refuses to do so, not without assisting the other captives in the saddening scene.

    And now here is the perfect opportunity; the Arachnid Queen has lulled herself to sleep, the devil in the details, why, they are already being seen, and with a few slashes here and there, the men escape to freedom, with the snoozing Queen entirely unaware. She will awaken with rage, I promise you this, it will be of complete and utter disrepair, and awaken the entirety of her captive kingdom.

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


    Return to All Posts


    Home

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

    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.

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


    Return to All Posts


    Home