Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: ghost

  • poem: ghost bride – 28/03/22

    poem: ghost bride – 28/03/22

    I sit here by this loom —
    Hand making, hand weaving fineries
    For our sort beneath the moon.
    It is quiet here, absent are those memories
    Which once took up space within my cranium,
    The mind of mine where thoughts permeated of you and I,
    Once alive, now we have died.

    Those recollections,
    Memories,
    Introspections,
    Interjections? No, not anymore.
    I don’t allow them to rise forth,
    Grinning ghosts and ghouls once dragging
    Like a wedding veil or dress trailing upon
    The rocky floor.

    No, our memories shan’t live on,
    No, no, they will never rise,
    Into the air like helium would,
    No air balloons for me to view,
    No future tears to cry.
    (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Photo by ImAArtist on Pixabay

  • Prose: Ghosts – 12/04/21

    Prose: Ghosts – 12/04/21

    I will detail a peculiar incident that I once experienced. One might attribute it to tiredness, others to something more intriguing and perhaps with some elements that could be further looked into upon then, and future nights. 

    As I rest upon the couch, I close my eyes and strangely experience this golden sensation of euphoria. It is like white lace woven with golden, glistening lace, and around my forehead I feel this certain aura. It’s odd, this sensation, it is one like a state of bliss, it is encompassing my upper face now and throbbing almost from within. Suddenly, something mischievous and perhaps malicious passes through me and then I am wearing this slightly deranged grin upon my face. It’s as though a spirit has overtaken me for the moment, and now gone is the white and golden lace. I remark to my friend close by that to me, its colour is that of deep purple and black; he humours me, I suspect, but he wants to leave this spiritual talk at that. 

    “Are you returning to when you wanted to see ghosts again?” he asks. I don’t know what he’s talking about, I can’t remember those times at all, they must have long passed. I scoff at him, tell him I’m not looking for ghosts, but was there something here, that passed by, I wondered, aloud? 

    “Sensations can be powerful,” he replied simply, and with a slight, and worried shrug. I’m not concerned. Though, of these sensations I am mildly curious enough. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Denis Oliveira on Unsplash

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