Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: fire

  • Poem: ancient ties – 28/12/21

    Poem: ancient ties – 28/12/21

    we construct words like a pyre of immense ire waltzing around names like sand does with the hours
    Horus didn’t foretell but he surely proclaimed a name
    without mentioning syllables
    syllables proclaim this tongue untamed!
    I speak in riddling rhyme like a phoenix a sphinx who is up in arms
    the gatekeeper need not whisper a sound
    for I, I am the cat with nine plus lives and I will never, never, die by a hand so brutish and untamed
    I’ll remain at large.
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image courtesy of Unsplash.

  • Micropoetry: Incandescent – Lines of 7 – 23/08/21

    Micropoetry: Incandescent – Lines of 7 – 23/08/21

    I sit with eyes upon the fire
    Incandescent
    Glowering hour
    Revealing to me
    Curls and flickers
    Reminds me of
    your internal power.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image source

    Previous Post: Bright – 21/08/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose Home

  • Poem: Scent by the Hearth – 19/02/20

    Poem: Scent by the Hearth – 19/02/20

    I remember the scent by the hearth,
where you and I laid that night.
The sweet oil of ylang ylang permeating,
Heavenly, unique.
 
My heart, it beat wildly from your touch,
there was nothing I wanted more,
and as our feet entwined by flickering flames encased only
by metal and heated glass,
I wonder now, did you feel the same?
 
The emotions,
a sense of wild abandon,
a striking feeling between my shoulder blades,
as though I’d been sledged in the middle,
split into two,
one piece for me,
and the other for you.
 
Then with your magical touch I would conjoin once more,
become the woman that you’ve always loved and adored,
and now I understand that it can take a mere whiff of a scent to
dredge up a wanted memory,
from something, somewhere, that was encased so pretty.
 
By the hearth, my dear, is how I most remember you,
by the fire,
wild and free,
flames flickering with ease,
and I can smell that carrier oil,
which we used in its purest form,
to tide the gentlest touches into firmer movements
with dexterity
until the morn.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by judenicholson from Pixabay

    Return to All Posts

    Home

  • Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Manipulative and depressed?
I’ve been assessed,
thank you to this deck of birds,
by my own hand, I’ve been able to determine,
that which the world may think of me.

Selfish and unkind is perhaps how I am perceived,
because of the manner in which I composed my words,
expounded my poetry.
Through depression, through illness and anger and tribulation,
that is what has come about.
 
I cannot dream of anything other than spurting forth what is within me,
to censor, to flag myself,
it is an indelicate picture.
 
Though, of course, some writings must be withheld,
but understand, with wellness,
my true being returns,
my flames riding the curve of my back.
 
And beneath the crescent moon which waxes and emits 
a necessity for persistence and change,
I will preen myself of any loose ends that don’t need to be there,
the challenge is not removing the flames which are unrequired,
in fact, damn it all, I’ll engulf myself,
you know this firebird will never truly expire.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

    Return to All Posts

    Home