Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: fiction

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

    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?

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

    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.

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


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  • Poem: The Creepy Crawly Paint Job – 29/09/19

    Poem: The Creepy Crawly Paint Job – 29/09/19

     He creeps on prong-like legs,
     looking for something upon which he can work his paint laden head
     Because this contraption cross creepy crawly is here to transform 
     private rooms in dire straits
     one feature wall at a time.
      
     He wholly enjoys 
     no, correction,
     he experiences much mirth,
     from dipping and rolling upon the ugly outdated shades and hues
     of olden times that were deemed as more than beautiful enough.
      
     He feels and knows he is doing the world -
     or at least the owners of the rooms a great service -
     by creepy-crawly-rolling along their walls that were doing their owners an utter disservice.
      
     He knows how to carefully navigate his pointy feet away from the fresh paint
     on one occasion he’d stepped in the fresh trail
     and after being screamed at?
     Never again!
      
     From then on, his feet were placed delicately outside of the paint trail,
     he understood that to be useful he had to correct errors immediately 
     without any time for a thought to be preserved about it still;
     it had to be automatic,
    no mistakes, no fails.
      
     His method of painting also had to be methodical
     not of madness or franticness
     painting feature walls might be boring but boy
     wasn’t the enjoyment of viewing the pleased owner’s pleased eyes ultimately worth it?
      
     This is what he lives for
     to change the world of others
     arduously labouring rolling here and there
     day in and day out
     without any care for himself: 
     personal time he has done without.
      
     He wishes for others’ happiness
     he knows that to attain this that his glorious paint jobs are the solutions,
     and one-by-one he transforms the world of a couple, single, or family at a time,
     While their smiles are collective,
     Appreciative as one.

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


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  • Poem: Snorbert’s Deathly Device – 28/09/19

    Poem: Snorbert’s Deathly Device – 28/09/19

     Snorbert the Coiled Doggie possessed some terrible untoward thoughts
     he was obsessed with making smoke tricks with his vape
     he believed the special smoke gave him increased volume of thoughts
     and physical energy to make him trimmer and taut.
      
     While he was tripping on his words and slurring on his S’s and stumbling on his vowels
     his mind felt restless, more aware, yet not at ease at all.

     He imagined darkened thoughts of capturing ganders of geese 
     and frightening them into being tangled in masses of tall angry trees
     and then
     bucking with broncos and lassoing them with the most delectable of ease.
      
     His favourite method of his state of being was of course, coiled, or rather
     known as psychedelic.
     He could be entertained for hours it seemed
     when his lungs were pacified, but secretly drowning
     their futures breaths to be shallow and frantic.
      
     But there were moments when 
     the clouded sky of raw brutal thoughts was shifted aside,
     away,
     to reveal a clearer mindset and a satisfied ride, 
     where he could mentally feel the ease of calm trickling rain.
      
     Where for a moment there was no idle feeling of him drowning with meandering sensation
     a repulsing sense of mentally altered satisfaction
     Snorbert now had a clearer agenda and it no longer involved becoming elevated 
     because of the vapour.

     Realising in this moment it was responsible for his strange thoughts and lack of ardour
     he tossed the device into a lake
     watched it sink, 
     deeper, under, deeper still:
      
     Soon enough it would never again be seen.  
      
     There was no time in his world for potential future mental illness
     and lung disease, or even death.
     He was a smarter doggie now, 
     he had awakened, he now knew the facts.
      
     That tempting temptress of a device could cause him the loss of his life
     or at least the comfort of deep fresh breaths 
     his God-given ability to inhale and exhale freely.
      
     There is a lesson to be learned
     but he shall not righteously parade his tale before you all
     Snorbert simply sits calm, still, clear-minded,
     as I finish recalling his story to inform, not to enthral.

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


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  • Poem: The Smile – 25/09/19

    Poem: The Smile – 25/09/19

     The Smile causes such greatness of cheer
     wherever he happens to travel or whatever he happens to go near.
      
    His charismatic image bears much bubbling mirth and joy 
    dispels any negativity or unwarranted misery 
    which others may know of 
    but for some reason cannot erase away -
    helplessly they’d cry, "Why?"
      
     One look upon his smiling face
     his full beaming grin
     would cause a person deep shivers of delight 
     a warmth of emotion growing from within.
      
     For, The Smile was created and born with an intent
     to make pain and sadness wiped away
     away it would be sent
      
     An encounter with The Smile could only result in a 
     permanent lift in mood 
     in one’s saddened state of affairs which would only leave 
     that individual’s mood rectified
     it would be as though they were dancing pleased upon the moon.
      
     The knowledge that such a being as The Smile exists
     to cheer up our world often fraught with misery
     makes me feel truly thankful and utterly blessed
     that The Smile is here to rectify our occasional negative moods and process.

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


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  • Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

    Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

     “Quit jivin’ turkey!” she said to me. 
     I most assuredly was not joking in any manner, way, shape or form,
     Because I had a certain need.
      
     A gamey desire for bird’s meat,
     I had quietly asked permission for a slice of thigh or another cut of leg,
     But this little clever Cornish chicken knew how to mess with my stomach and head.
      
     “Quit. Jivin’!” she repeated, glaring and skipping away as she said this to me. 
     I tried to give chase, but she was too nimble,
     Far too quick for the likes of me. 
      
     “Oh, but how I only need one slice, one little piece!” I emphasised. 
     “This you will not miss! As a clever Cornish chicken you will regenerate, 
     The piece will be replaced and this process won’t be amiss.” 
      
     She angrily ruffled her feathers, 
     Shook her humanoid head, 
     And then some screeching from the depths of her,
     I could not fathom how she simply would not share. 
      
     Because as a humanoid Cornish chicken, 
     Her flesh would return quickly, 
     This we should all be aware. 
      
     She was selfish, 
     Or, was I asking too much,
     No. Not at all,
     I grabbed at her thigh and felt her beating heart,
     She scrambled desperately, for me to be overthrown. 
      
     But I realised I was not like other humans,
     I would not, could not unfairly take,
     I had to wait until she offered a slice, 
     Being courteous was awfully nice.

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


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  • Poem: The Creature in the Red Sneakers – 18/09/19

    Poem: The Creature in the Red Sneakers – 18/09/19

    Aghast was he, an appalled creature was he,

    because presently he could see,

    he’d been fitted with horrid red sneakers during his waking dreams.

    It seemed as though he’d barely zoned out of reality, temporarily,

    and now here he was encumbered by tight cumbersome footwear upon his fine delicate feet.

    Greatly unamused was he!

    He tried to rid himself of them, kicking his tootsies this way, that,

    But the laces were too tightened, and his hands were malformed,

    What could this creature do to escape this undesired scene he abhorred?

    How he wailed and how he shrieked, for attention to be brought his way,

    It seemed like he needed one of those nasty self-serving humans, to help him with obtaining freedom and

    Be on his way.

    One happened upon him, saw his piteous state and hung about to diagnose his pain source,

    “Silly human, cannot you understand my shrieks, my words?” he said in creature-language, a babbling talk.

    Attempting to again kick his shoes off, it was seemingly hopeless,

    A lost cause.

    His rapid screeching frightened the human, she hastened away from him,

    He ran after her, squealing for assistance, then,

    Tripped on his laces, fell flat on his face.

    To his joy and astonishment, one of the formerly secure ties was now loose,

    Enough to be able to undo and slip off the cumbersome ugly red shoe;

    he was now partially footloose.

    He rose from the dirt, half flat-footed and sprinted to trip over the other,

    He succeeded in his mission, now,

    he was able to slip out of the unwanted other.

    He hadn’t needed any assistance after all, he was resourceful enough to have escaped,

    The only thing that meddling, unhelpful human had performed was

    Walking away from him, without any provided assistance,

    without a single word emitted.

    That was why he kept mostly away from humans, they didn’t know how to assist correctly or well,

    Because for this complex creature,

    he didn’t appreciate his feet being dressed by some well-meaning human, while this creature was under a daydreaming spell.

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


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  • Poem: The Comical Tragedy of the Dismayed Clown – 17/09/29

    Poem: The Comical Tragedy of the Dismayed Clown – 17/09/29

    To some it might be ironic, to others who are cold-hearted and cruel,

    The comical tragedy of the dismayed clown, will, once told, play on your mind for many moons.

    He wanted to be a clown soldier, to fight for the continued freedom and rights of his fellow hilarious women and men,

    Yet,

    When it came to enlisting at the docks on those given days,

    His entry was

    strangely

    unpermitted.

    His grandfather had left behind a courageous legacy, dying many years before at the hands of the serious cut-throat businessmen of Shanty Shore,

    It was his grandpapa that this clown wished to fight the bravest for, and his family he wished to show his allegiance for.

    Yet,

    One look at him, and the government officials

    rudely slammed

    their

    doors.

    Now red faced and highly embarrassed, the now-comical clown burned from within, such mortification and dismay,

    He couldn’t face the other clowns, now successfully enlisted,

    He wouldn’t dare

    show them

    his

    face.

    Once home, he bypassed his mother, flung himself face-first onto his bed,

    Wept for hours,

    At the dismay of his confused mother,

    She hadn’t known what he had set out to achieve that day.

    Yet,

    After the violent battalions,

    Where bloodied clowns and bloodied men were found lying, injured or deathly ill on the fields,

    A formerly dismayed clown was living,

    Positively thriving,

    He was thankful for his near miss, his rejection from the troops.

    And didn’t he learn that whatever had turned the officials off had likely saved his life,

    The irony of the situation would remain with him

    Until

    his

    dying day.

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


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  • Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    See this giant hot air balloon? my darling asked of me. It’s all yours for the morning, he smiled.

    Me? What about us? I queried. He wanted me to enjoy myself wholly and without distraction.

    But darling, you are not by any means a distraction, why, you are my star attraction.

    He blushed deep crimson now, rarely was he used to receiving compliments, mainly playful little cute insults which he knew were full of love and meant nothing of which others would use them as.

    Run along now, he urged me, run along and have some fun, enjoy yourself. I’d never been in a hot air balloon before. I had always come up with some excuse: too expensive, I would have to awaken too early, it would be too cold, what if the weather turned dreary? And other some such, or whatnot, excuses which masked the true reason: a fear of flying.

    I’ll be right here, he reassured me, pointing to the grassy knoll by the evergreen trees. I’ll be reading and researching, it’s important I do so, but I’ll be watching out for you.” He reached forth, pulled me into his grasp, placed his lips full upon mine, passionately. Surprised at his action, I withdrew slightly, then warmed to his embrace. I melted into him because it was rare we expressed ourselves physically.

    Thank you, my love, for thinking of me, I said and reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp.

    The hot air balloon operator was incredibly kind. He could see I was tremble profusely, that my hands could barely hold onto the edge of the basket which held us as we ascended into the perfectly blue sky, tinged with coloured clouds that twinkled with differing shades in our eyes.

    It’s okay, he said reassuringly. First trip in the air? he inquired with a warm smile.

    First trip in the air in anything, I replied, I’ve not even been in a plane. What got me the most was the noise as we rose, I was frightened but I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Balloon accidents were very rare, and this operator seemed to know his methods and flying to a tee. I glanced down at my love, he was reading on his phone, making notes in a pad to his right, his mind set upon certain equations and problematic formulas all of his own. I called to him, waving and attempting a false smile. He looked up, delighted that I was enjoying myself and fervently waved back.

    Then, something seemed wrong, there was more strength from the flames which allowed us to rise, we were on an errant path, rocking from side to side. With horror I looked up and realised that the lower flames from the burner had extended far past where they were meant to be and were situated up near the exit hole of the balloon, exposing the likely flammable material to excessive heat, now what could I do? I was too high in the air to jump, but above it showed that we were going to fall anyway, what could I do but scream for my love, to tell him how I felt once more, before I might become gone, gone, gone, away my life would go, crushed or flown away.

    I shrieked for him to hear above the burners that scolded the air for listening on its firm intent on destruction, I stared at his bowed head and willed him to raise it, to captured my attentions, but I could smell the acrid scent now, a certain plastic-like melting odour in the air, then a rapid whoosh, and away we dropped, into a group of sharp, gnarled bushes.

    I heard him scream my name in the background of the silence which was the result of our inevitable, heard him breaking through the bracken of the bushes, clawing to see if I was alive, for himself. The operator and I were shocked beyond belief, he now was shaking, his hands trembling, telling me over and over,

    This has never happened before, this has never happened under my attentions, it has never happened before.

    My love finally reached us, I was not damaged, but I was frightened beyond repair.

    Oh, my sweet, how did this happen on my watch, my choice, I’m so glad you are here, alive, I will never leave you again, remain by my side. I am so sorry, for this stupid, idiotic choice, in leaving you in there without me. I am glad this operator was there to guide the balloon down somewhat safely.

    After helping out myself and the man from the wreckage, my love and I walked away from the scene which never would cease to amaze me. So thankful I am that he was there keeping watch, but never again shall I ride into the air, no matter within what contraption, not even under another expert’s watch.

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


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  • Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Mrs Marmalade was known as such because she liked to have marmalade as the main ingredient for her lunch. Not only that, but it was the same for her tea, and breakfast might I add, of course, Mrs Marmalade would agree. She held a great love, a fondness for this condiment, jars and jars filled her cupboards, to fetch more was not required, stockpiled they were, of her house she hardly ever left!

    My, was she ravenous, for this delightfully sweet and zesty treat, that in actual fact I will tell you the truth, the only ingredient was this sweet preserve for her meals. She didn’t mind only consuming the sweetness, never had she recalled missing savouries, because this woman only needed one item on her grocery list. Do you get the point, do you understand, that even though she was risking malnutrition she was adamant at only consuming this condiment similar to jam? She couldn’t help it, but she’d never admit it was an addiction, poor Mrs Marmalade didn’t understand that this was a dangerous predilection. Her teeth were nearly all rotten, she could barely chew the zest without experiencing overwhelming pain, yet she would not make an appointment with the dentist; last time she’d presented, he’d told her to throw all her jars of marmalade away!

    “Preposterous!” she had yelled. “Why would I do such a thing?” He sadly told her if she continued eating only marmalade her teeth would soon need to be removed rather than replaced with fillings, and given dentures that were uncomfortable and wieldy. But she had not listened, and a pain was present basically in every single tooth, she couldn’t afford the dental service for dentures, but she knew what to do. When it came to having tooth aches, she knew that the first line of advice was to eat soft foods, and my goodness, didn’t she have that in excess: her marmalade was the best item to consume! How she laughed to herself as she continued to eat her favourite delicious item, her delectable treat. What would she do in the future though, who would hold her hand as her teeth either fell out or were yanked out by the dentist man? She didn’t care about the future, for now she was too happy to give a damn.

    And so, she continued living only on the condiment, her teeth continued rotting away, she didn’t notice though, for she took pain killers to ease the growing pain. She continued to order her treats online, on the supermarket website. She didn’t need to leave the house at all, no judgement would anyone pass for the massive amounts of jars she had to have delivered by freight.

    The potential ending of Mrs Marmalade’s tale is not all that sweet, in fact, it is fraught with disaster, because over time, quickly, her tooth ache peaked. The cavities and gums throbbed with great insistence, and soon there came a time where she couldn’t even chew the softened zest of her favourite treat. Saddened, she knew she must return to the dentist, where he was shocked, horrified, to see the damage she’d allowed to develop when she avoided seeing him regularly.

    “You knew I asked you to return late last year, why didn’t you, Mrs Marmalade? Now I have to remove nearly all of your teeth, because you refused to e more aware.” He could talk to her in this tone because they were old family friends, but she didn’t’ appreciate being addressed in this manner, so she built up a wall of defence.

    “If you don’t speak to me nicely, I’ll just leave and eat more marmalade!” she threatened.

    “Please yourself,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d better remove your rotten teeth to save the few others while you’ve still got them.” Excruciating though the pain was, once they were removed, she felt so much lighter and less in pain. She thanked the dentist and went home again to do what? Exactly what she always did, and wasn’t this a crying shame. Some people never learn their lessons and Mrs Marmalade was a perfect example. Her addiction to this sickeningly sweet treat was her failing, and she felt no need for behavioural correction. 

    Nowadays, Mrs Marmalade is the proud owner of a set of perfect dentures. The dentist felt sorrow for her and fund-raised until he’d had enough to aid her. Mrs Marmalade enjoys them because they’re perfect for appearance, but easy to remove when it comes time to eat. There is no worrying about whether her teeth with suffer, because, with the dentures out of her mouth, she can eat all day, throughout all meals, without any chance of decay, no need to suffer! She can consume her delights from morning to supper.

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


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