Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: garden

  • Poem: Blessed Scene – 10/09/21

    Poem: Blessed Scene – 10/09/21

    The garden’s greenery embraces me,
    wonder seen, euphoria breathed,
    chest heaving, visions to believe in,
    bountiful Earth entities, flickering leaves, reaching twigs,
    encroaching branches,
    to my life, they have been given.

    I marvel at the sights all around,
    the gentle wisp of accompanying windy sounds,
    the soft gusts here and there
    which spread subtle fragrance in the air,
    it is without a care that I exist in this land,
    sitting in my stained oak outside chair,
    and wondering to myself,
    what did I do to deserve this,
    sights and sounds,
    perfection everywhere?

    The twittering of distant birds,
    and soft automobile travels,
    off for a lark?
    Unlikely, in this world climate,
    but still we live to have a laugh,
    or at least smile, appreciating Nature’s
    work of art,
    knowingly or unknowingly,
    I will continue to exist within this breeze
    of intent,
    goddess or gods’ efforts well spent,
    as they bluster now,
    heavier, more breeze,
    but effervescent, it’s as though bubbles of brightness
    are purposeful, here, and well-meant.

    I relax back now,
    adoring the visions some more,
    brightness shines in my eyes,
    greenery and hues of natural rainbows,
    even artificial hues do not bore,
    colour schemes and blustering trees,
    whistling, wonder what’s transported in spirit
    between those leaves?
    Blessed am I indeed
    to have this scene all for me.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: For The Rain – 08/09/21

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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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  • 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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