Tag: honesty

poem: the lake – 11/03/22
amazing though is this air I breathe
wanton duck melodies from the lake
make me sing
their quacks and quacks speak of more
than what’s implied by them
with a dear friend around the lake I
take a turn and admire ducks, smile at happy mothers,
children, and puppies with men.
I am animated, she listens with quiet calm,
by her side, I need no longer need take her arm,
for days of physical support are not near,
there’s nothing to help me, nor there to fear,
while anxiety can burden, it’s not featuring here.
Our friendship, o’er long years,
with gaps, sliced by angled swords,
the silences lingered, anger had been present,
could be heard,
but through it all, a line of devotion and loyalty,
illness an immutable thread
but never each other’s enemies.
She will always be my friend, she’d said,
words which touch me now and blessed me then,
a slight choking of the throat at gratitude from a
wondrous, forgiving woman,
for friendship with myself, would not have been
the easiest to keep sealed,
my angered mouth bubbled over at times,
but she remained with great devotion still.
I am not a goddess, I am not someone to be revered,
I am not a higher being, I am simply myself –
and when in the mood, other characters,
so self-assured,
but in the end, I am me, myself, and
there’s nothing from that which can decline,
to some I am the apple of their eye,
and to some, they wish for me to evade their current times.
I’ll focus on my loved ones, and kind friends such as she,
there until the end, together, even in absence and solitude,
her momentary absence not a mystery.
I will and do understand her occasional need to pull away,
gaze at the lake, with quietness away from my chirping
and tunes,
a moment’s peace, a mindful exercise,
then returning by my side for the conversation
to be properly seen through.
© 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
March 2022
Photo taken by myself.
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March 11, 2022

Poem: A Faulty Memory – 19/07/20

How to explain away an error when my intention was not cruel?
How to apologise when my memory’s retention simply wasn’t running so smooth?
How to insist I didn’t mean any offence when the point made was that I just didn’t understand?
Honest and truthful, and by my own, not another’s devices,
I feel one true lacking of mine has been brought to hand.

I want to explain away the memory slip,
that simply because I didn’t understand,
that because I did not recall,
doesn’t mean that I don't appreciate 
his work and this witty man,

that with my mind constantly being plagued by
doubts and critical thoughts of myself,
and wondering whether I am right 
within this written world,
that sometimes my own insecurities can 
override my capacity to remember
every word written by someone other than me.
 
I can’t always remember what I had on my toast in the morning,
I can’t quite remember whether I left the light on in
my second room in the evening,
I can’t seem to recall exactly how a
certain name is pronounced,
often let alone what it was,
I need to clarify some facts,
their ordering, with another,
because sometimes others recall specific facts better.
 
I may be on the ball with most things,
I may recall turns of phrases,
or another’s habits or their privately revealed feelings,
I may remember which spices to put into your tea,
but please understand,
sometimes there are too many facts to remember for me.
 
I didn’t mean any offence, 
and I hope none has been taken,
that truthfully your words were fact,
a wry throw-away expression,

I thank you for a lack of admonishment, any upset, or lamentation,
because I think, to you,
I am known for being kind and wanting the best for you,
and I’d not purposefully forget something if I knew
it would make pain dire,

all in all, I want it to be known 
that a memory slip was just that,
it was not purposeful, it was not called for,
I just forgot.
Please understand that.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Kyaw Tun on Unsplash

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Poem: Critical Daze – Text and Spoken Word – 18/07/20

Audio: Critical Daze

I’m a little unsure of this one,
this piece I have to present,
I hesitantly amble downstairs,
I know they’re resting;
both have had their daily energies well spent.
 
I know I’ve already asked and presented,
but, here I go again,
a final request
for their critique,
their feedback, 
because I’m unsure whether to publish,
to share, or retain it.
 
Upon listening carefully,
a set of eyes display concern,
furrowed brow,
pursed mouth,
a negative reaction
emitted, from lips to be learned,
shrapnel flies,
from a tongue with barbed words.
 
My words have been gravely misunderstood –
how could I have been perceived
so wrongly?
 
My intentions, my messages,
my nuances,
swept away,
in place of misinterpreted messages,
which have been incorrectly heard.
 
I turn to the other listener,
this afternoon, the piece was well received,
now with further digging,
and their expanded explanation,
I realise another negative reaction is also breathed.
 
I reel, self-defensive, in a critical daze,
I defend my words hastily,
clumsily,
I fight to show my words aren’t as they say.
 
I try to marry my feelings of slight hurt
with the knowledge that I must treasure
such honesty within my home,
that I’m not afforded mere lip service to please,

that occasional brutal truth communicated
after the fact
which may sting,
is supposed to make me realise my errors,
my unintentional mistakes,

because for them,
perhaps my words hit home,
and theirs weren’t targets I was aiming to take.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Muhammad Haseeb Muhammad Suleman from Pixabay

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