Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: history

  • Prose Poetry/Audio: contemplation — gusting down to earth – 04/12/21

    Prose Poetry/Audio: contemplation — gusting down to earth – 04/12/21

    I scatter the ashes from dawn to dusk, breathe the fire raging within, overtaking much of my ire, and I glance all around, gather myself as I rooooaaaar that sound; I am calling, calling for something – I wait for an approach, ears pricked delicately for any tiny sounds. Then, bouncing and bounding are some terrible two, a pair of angry feline-like beings whom will not cease their stares, their venomous fangs they gnash and gnash my way… punishment? Although what ills have I performed? That’s not for me to say. I fend off the creatures, with their wild, wild stares and ferocious, swiping claws until they realise, I can well-word myself out of any situation, at least the concept is correct – with a peeling away, they retract with their intent so flawed.  

    In fact, I am as innocent as some wet leaf drifting down to Earth: heavy, soggy, but with a tiny bit of mirth expressed from I as I observe the less-than-buoyant thing, like him, my heart is heavy, but unlike him, I will make it, there is that certain journey. This leaf and I have something additional in common: we carry a heaviness and knowing that there once was no chance for ascension – or so it felt –  because I gave into predilections, and that pathway I took, its consequences mattered not, for I was having fun, I would claim with bold insistence.

    The rule books, out the window, there was no decorum to see, no adherence, no willingness to be righteous, less private, my business available to feel, view, breathe, until now I guuuust myself in the buoyancy of available air… Soggy, heavy? No! Nein, nein, nein, I will not recommence that fate, save that eventuation for someone else more worthy for Destiny’s cruel fate.

    Over time, I have corrected my flight, my pathway, my right to determine my life with grace, honour, and might, I reversed the karma, strapped on, then off, certain armour, and now, free as an angel, I reserve the ability to side-swipe whomever with stars, stars, stars, irrevocable and blinding internal glamour. It didn’t come easy, this transformation of the self, it took dedication and hard work, but something that’s worth its weight in gold, more, in fact than this it is worth. It’s a life I live only once, and self-improvement was something I had to work on, I’m proud that I could decide, with the help, the assistance, support of many close others, I now know how to live, what to do, I am bursting with quiet pride.
    (03/12/21)   
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

    Previous Post: forged perfection: 02/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

  • Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Another chapter,
    yet one and the same?
    Different rules, different circumstances,
    differing frames.

    It feels odd to walk a path
    in an alternate manner,
    I’m here and now,
    watch me flower.

    The sadness is gone,
    but confusion can reign,
    I will not allow it,
    I hear someone cautiously call my name.

    Because there are set parameters,
    at least they exist in my mind,
    I must be careful to let them
    remain in place,
    lest they fuel like petrol on flame in time.

    I’m walking forward,
    I can develop on my own,
    I must continue this growth because
    it’s important to set in stone.

    I am finding a path again,
    I am moving, moving onward,
    and if those in my life would like
    to join me,
    then onward,
    onward,
    closer,
    to the goals,
    toward.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash

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  • Poem: In-Between – 24/09/20

    Poem: In-Between – 24/09/20

    My land of In-Between is glorious,
    that space which cannot be defined,
    can’t be plotted,
    accurately located,
    yet it houses my wealth of memories,
    my heartfelt song,
    prose, poetry,
    the magic of my inner layers
    which are only conducive to goodness,
    kindness,
    and moral wealth.

    Imagine a cloud-speckled sky,
    with Sun gently winking,
    mischievousness in her eyes,
    a wooden chest appears,
    which glorious beings heave into view,
    its carvings elaborate –
    specifically made for me,
    long secreted away from you.

    For now, I will allow your eyes
    to fall upon this chest,
    after all, I have permitted you entry
    into my Land of In-between,
    Then and Now,
    I shall open it up with great nobility,
    the masterful moment of
    revelation feels truly amazing.

    But once the interior is viewable,
    inside there is nothing to see,
    at least for you,
    but for myself,
    a visible wealth of memories.

    The feelings, intense emotions which
    wash over,
    permeate my entire being
    are so utterly cleansing
    that I feel I’m experiencing them a second time,
    truly,
    wholly.

    With confusion, I see you glance away,
    you look hurt, cheated,
    as though I permanently masked from you
    my thoughts, memories, dreams,

    I call you ardently,
    but you seem intent on your desire to leave.

    I cannot please everyone,
    I’ve been struggling and striving to do
    this for so long,
    no longer will I lose who I am
    because some can’t accept me,
    I am myself,
    and that surely must be enough.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    I’ve painted myself into a corner,
with heavy shades
of red and black,
crimson for the
heartache,
darkness for the emptiness 
after the fact.
 
When I lost access to 
my chaotic world,
a paradise I shouldn't 
have cherished,
I felt broken, 
no recourse,
misunderstood, 
essentially alone:

Whom could I waltz through life with now?
Whom was left to cast my 
charming smiles upon, 
to share my lofty views 
in excited tones?

When he or she or another one left,
and those other important ones, too,
it seemed as if I’d lost 
my everything,
but now, at these
warped memories
I wonder: who on earth were you?
 
They had little lasting impact
on my life,
simply passers-by
who only meant
themselves well,
their sudden absences without alibis,
their silences spoke their truths,
I am now completely underwhelmed.
 
Selfish needs later attended to
after some uncomfortable, 
hastily arranged dates - 

their halfhearted, 
lackluster attention cast over
foamed four dollar coffees -
'wise investments':
I was viewed as a stock market who
should pay dividends later that day.

I proved so desperately hopeful 
for positive connections, 
genuine interactions, 
yet my lonely eagerness,
was perceived as a targeted weakness, 
I would later bend, shatter, 
and break.

Some chanced manipulation 
to slyly extract from me  
without my whole realisation or knowing,

because I was sitting there 
smiling,
consenting,
hopefully waiting,
my obvious yearning 
for acceptance
continually, perpetually growing,
like hungering, destructive flames,
they consumed me. 
 
Made pliable,
easily melded,
I allowed my 
resolve and will
to be bent,
to be repeatedly stung red-raw 
as though by a heated iron poker's end, 
to be tarnished,
and for what?

Absolutely nothing,
my efforts and emotions all ill spent.

Yet another 
redundant contact
to be eventually blocked or 
erased from view,
naivety and gullibility stole 
the best of my younger years, 
this is an essential, festering truth.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Marion Grimm from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Something Dear and Personal – Spoken Word and Text – 19/06/20

    Poem: Something Dear and Personal – Spoken Word and Text – 19/06/20

    “Something Dear and Personal” – Spoken by myself.
    If something
deeply personal
is what you
want to read,
 
by all means
settle in,
grab hot cocoa,
or steaming cup 
of tea.
 
What can I share?
What will I reveal?
Grab desperately 
from my past?
 
Drag forth
contentious,
gossip-worthy,
or scintillating news?
 
Will I or won’t I?
That’s what you need to ask.
 
Is it really necessary,
am I required to 
put on a show?
 
A song and dance 
of history
of what I can recall,
detailing what you may 
want or need
to know?
 
Why, no. 
No, no.
 
There is no need for a show.
 
But if there were, 
would
it be:
 
Tumultuous,
bittersweet,
even provocative?
My goodness, no!
Please! 
I am all subtleties,

watch me as I respectfully curtsy,
a dainty pirouette and now
we’re back on topic,
will I let the revelations
flow with ease?
 
Because I can test
your patience by slowly,
painstakingly, 
dragging out
the rocks and pearls 
of the past,
 
but what would be 
the point?
It is better to 
look forward,
 
the Past’s ship
has sailed,
hoorah! 
To the future
we are delivered at last.
 
Stories of old
may have their place
in a certain context, 
but for me,
they rule no realm,
 
in my world,
they have no
victorious reign,
no power can the Past itself proclaim.
 
Moving forward,
I’m looking abroad,
no furtive glances behind.

Will you look at me?
I’ve advanced myself:
 
my goodness,
oh, Lord! 
No firm facts here delivered,
lips tightly sealed
protecting a personal, precious prize.

The past shall remain a closed book,
it's what I've realised and decided,
no need to ride those monstrous waves,
the future, 
to me, 
looks perfect.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

Image: by myself. 
Background music: Documentary Background Music by AShamaluevMusic: 
https://youtu.be/il9HGo4hPjI 
Creative Commons — Attribution 3.0 Unported— CC BY 3.0 
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/

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  • Poem: No More Beating Around The Bush – 04/06/20

    Poem: No More Beating Around The Bush – 04/06/20

    I stride around the bush,
beating it despite what I’ve been told,
wondering will it spite me,
or capture,
vice-like will it take hold?
 
There’s no magic in avoiding
a situation,
procrastination,
this method won’t become
the wisest choice,
 
I must take the bull by its horns,
my predicament,
I should not feel compromised.
 
Oh, how these troubles only came
when I put pen to paper,
I was a fool
for believing
such words were fit for others.
 
The raucous,
the tirades,
the untoward screams,
powerful potions,
ill behaviour,
am I unworthy of clemency?
 
But I have changed for the better,
I shan’t beat around the bush,
only reveal now what’s relevant,
not tired, unwholesome truths.
 
No longer to wallow in the
quagmire of self-regret,
the outspoken words
still plain to see if at discovery
one’s adept,
 
then again,
most pages are firmly closed,
no longer open books,
I’ll only reveal certain facts
if it’s necessary for you to peruse.
 
But, I’ve moved on long ago,
it’s for the best,
because I say so,
I’m sure you’ll all agree
no one needs to revolt that way,
haphazard, spiteful words to then fro.
 
Thousands upon thousands of words,
up and away,
they shall be thrown,
and I’ll hold no ounce of bitterness or dismay,
because some history does not need to be known.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Way Back When: The Snow Globe – 11/12/19

    Poem: Way Back When: The Snow Globe – 11/12/19


     Turn this snow globe upside down,
     shake it left to right,
     around and ‘round,
     watch the glitter settle, 
     upon a now-glistening figure,
     upon her nose a mere flicker, 
     a perfectly pretty picture. 
      
     Way back when,
     things were simpler, 
     her angst wasn’t as present,
     no sense of preoccupation, 
      
     when she could slide into her bed,
     or curl up on a hill, 
     and voraciously devour the life story of another,
     of their words she’d have her fill. 
      
     How she ached at their poignant moments,
     suffered along with their harrowing experiences, 
     and looked up to those brave enough, 
     to detail the troubles and horrors of their lives,
     whether self-inflicted or because of another’s devices;
     strife is considered strife. 
      
     So, she learned their tales, 
     their pains, their sorrows
     and took on their experiences, 
     wondering how some of them walked away unscathed,
     but in truth, she knew, that like her, 
    they too likely still carried hidden scars of suffering, 
     the snow globe’s shining glitter isn’t always as it seems. 
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Set in Stone – 22/10/19

    Poem: Set in Stone – 22/10/19

     I giggle and I squeeze, 
     I hold your hand with ease, 
     Impeccable our love is
     Amazingly high I feel I’m flying – 
     I’m free. 
      
     Like a bird of prey, I descended upon you
     I wanted you all for my own,
     I danced around the circumstances, the fact,
     That I was still unwell when discharged to home. 
      
     I spoke of colours I saw,
     Protection spells cast in my mind’s eye,
     You became upset with me,
     Because, you wanted me to live in reality, 
     This formal stringent style where I did not wish to be. 
      
     And so I refused, 
     I pulled away, 
     And like a stubborn sprite I continued to dance,
     Because I am blessed with you as my circumstance 
     And our connection would be built to last. 
      
     It simply took time, 
     For me to know,
     That you would strictly, wholly,
     Be mine. 
      
     Together, our fates sealed, 
     Our story daily set in stone.

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


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