Tag: flowers

  • Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Orchids wilt in the hot room.
    It is summer here, outside, a belligerent winter
    with a dying, poorly Moon.
    They have thrown themselves from their stakes.
    Stakes which were there to provide safety,
    protection,
    backboned projections.

    The orchids, they are careless, for they have
    left their safe havens,
    their ties have been cut,
    severed from the heaven they once
    grew towards,
    now wilted, lethargic.

    What a sorry sight for eyes,
    used to falling upon beauty,
    now dejection and misery,
    once-taut, now lacklustre under the
    oppressive heat’s fury,
    the split system churns out
    Celsius, five and twenty,
    degrees of measure too hot
    for the orchids,
    whom cannot stop wilting.

    Their heads, they can barely lift,
    too much of a trouble it is to subsist,
    rejection of the support
    because I cannot, will not,
    do not want to entertain that foggy breath
    of mist,
    morning time offers some solace
    when the fiery heater does its trick.

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

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  • Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    My eyes digest the scene before me,
    taking in every minute detail.
    I cannot fathom what is greeting me,
    but my appreciation,
    it will never cease nor fail.

    The Universe has sent this beauty and perfection,
    I am delighted by the colours,
    so bright,
    surging are my emotions,
    I have all the time I need
    in this life,
    a moment of delightful contemplation.

    I am permitted the pleasure of
    eyes being treated to richness and truth,
    the glowing sun,
    the blossoming daffodils,
    the beds of other flowers
    spread through and through.

    I trail my dress as I lithely
    walk the paths
    of the quiet garden where
    flora becomes anew,
    these delights help the world through their abundance,
    I create with them,
    pluck, pick, and arrange,
    trailing thoughts on an off-white page.

    I say yes,
    I affirm my existence
    within this bubble of a world,
    the scent, while maybe overwhelming,
    wraps its arms around me,
    Serendipity, Serendipity,
    my presence has a requirement,
    a gentle, humble need to tell.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Wildflowers aren’t only beautiful because they’re free,
    they beckon to us from between the blades of grass,
    thick trunks of trees,
    their scent permeates the fields,
    tickles our noses when we bend to admire,
    we must understand their beauty’s power.
     
    They are softer in texture than they look,
    just like many of us, who carry our hearts hidden
    within beating grasp of tightened fists,
    scared, afraid to show ourselves to others,
    in the magic that may unfold,
    we should realise, like wildflowers,
    we are wondrous, and should free ourselves,
    herald our brightness to the days and
    reign with our internal strength and power.
     
    And at night we rest,
    like wildflowers calling,
    breathing quietly,
    respiring,
    and know that we can recharge 
    like the blooms for the night,
    rest in a group yet still in folded solitude,
    our delights,
    we will open once more in the morning,
    if we dare be brave,
    our arms outstretched like petals,
    mouths wide open and yawning,
    our hearts presently unfolding,
    we call to be found like those 
    wildflowers of the forest.
    
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Wildflower Gatherer – 08/01/20

    Poem: The Wildflower Gatherer – 08/01/20

     she hunts for the perfect blossoms
     and odds and ends, she has uses for them
     those with strangely mottled leaves or browned petals, 
     a quick clip, rip, 
     now wondrous.
      
     lilies are her favourite, but roses?
     just magnificent, 
     in her front garden which she lovingly tends,
     she has built up a fortress of scents and shades
     that stuns the senses.
      
     I watch her from the front doorway, as she bends and plucks
     and snips and adds,
     immersed in a task she adores,
     suddenly, a subtraction: 
     one bloom falls. 
      
     discarded by the wayside, 
     that one shall perish. 
     I giggle to myself at his misfortune. 
     I can’t help it.  
     
     © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
     All images signed “LMH” 
     are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
     and all rights reserved.
    
    Photo credit: Myself  

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  • Prose Poetry: The Pansies – 25/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Pansies – 25/10/19

    The pansies, they glare at me. They are not charming; they glare and then squint as though trying to decipher me. Their little yellow mouths whirring away with intent, the leader speaks loudly, he doesn’t want me in their view.  

    Because here I am admiring their view. Laughing to myself as they try to makes riddles of their lives, make complex their measures when they are simply precious flowers avoiding the blights. Though they are temperamental, they are hardy, and this is why they have survived in my overgrown, sprawling garden.

    Now it’s as though they’re blowing me raspberry kisses, their yellows spreading into a widened “O” that is utterly reminiscent of those bubble gum-blowing days when as a child I would pop and pop that piece all afternoon, if not all day.

    Some pansies start to sink, they’re beginning to bow, to the true master of their garden, yes, it is I, a masterful gardener, their actual Leader, and with due respect they nod their heads, while their nominated pansy leader forcefully rises his head himself. He is too proud to bow, he is too vain to find in himself fault, and the truth of the matter is that he will never deliver his power to anyone other than himself.

    The rest of the pansies squint at me in my glowing light, humbling knowing that as the one who tends to them, they must respectfully be in a mode of both gratefulness and gracious delight.   

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

    Photo by Lauren M. Hancock 2019 ©


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