Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: human condition

  • Poem: Frustrations of Isolation – 10/08/20

    Poem: Frustrations of Isolation – 10/08/20

    How can I say this plainly, unflowery, with truth?
I’m frustrated, everything seems the same,
nothing to experience or share, no news.
 
I sit in my home and I try to create,
I use my phone also to try to connect,
but with others I feel a slackening bond,
becoming further away from one other,
is this now what it means to ‘get along’?
 
We each exist in our own little bubble,
Isolation, here are my troubles,
you cause me troublesome moments which extend
into the morning,
from evening to before dawn my problems are still lingering.
 
I am irritated and annoyed that there is nothing new to say,
that there is something unwanted about the contents of my days,
inextricable though the frustration may be,
it encompasses every wholeness of my being.
 
I cannot bring myself to bother anyone further,
I simply exist in my own little bubble,
I am trying to recover,
from life, and its cruel intentions,
what is it I must, we must, experience then?
 
I do not know,
but it will not do,
it does not do,
does not make me smile or wish to
stay for a little while,
in fact, from this world it makes me wish to up and leave.
 
To leave behind the mess of boredom,
the starched white collars of lonesome,
the inability to converse when with others I just
wanted to be myself.

Perhaps we'll find a solution,
perhaps I'll feel improving interaction,
but for now I feel this 'lonesome', 
and nothing else for me appears to be calling.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Shards and Confetti – 09/08/20

    Poem: Shards and Confetti – 09/08/20

    I am not a stranger to the darkness,
though I am unafraid of the light.
I am willing to crawl on broken glass,
dragging shards through my flesh
as I attempt to better myself,
fall away will the blight.
 
I can rip these fragments from my skin,
gaping wounds,
painful holes,
I am like the remnants of made confetti,
the cut-outs flung to the floor
because I am truly ready to breathe,
to inhale, exhale, be myself,
the darkness can flow aside
effluent mess into the drains,
instead replaced by purging cleansing rain,
I shed tears but they are unseen,
melding with the droplets reigned down
by a heaven or God who I am unsure even exists.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Sophie Dale on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Cheap Talk – 08/08/20

    Poem: Cheap Talk – 08/08/20

    We talk about each other as though we’re okay, but we are not, I’ve barely slept in days,
I can feel the stretching within, the rot.

This pains me because while you rest, plain to see,
mind no longer ailing, but further proof that there is substantial evidence that crosses boundaries,
from victim to the actual scene,
what actually can be seen from the viewpoint of the abuser,
the amuser, the difference, what is there?
 
I think we need to go think.
 
I do not feel the ability to shy away from reality is one of safety,
in fact, from this safety I recoil,
I don’t wish for anything to do with it.
I can stand alone, stand on my own two feet,
walk away or to or from my own throne,
and this, this, my love, is substantial,
because I’ve finally learned to conquer loneliness!
 
The broken state in which all of us must have been,
the tacky wet cloak which stifled our ability to easily breathe,
I wonder, oh, I wonder, what’s waiting for me? 
What on the horizon is there:
plain and obvious to see?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Flawless? – 27/07/20

    Poem: Flawless? – 27/07/20

    Flawless, how can I feel flawless
when beneath the spotted mirror my reflection barely lurks?
Flawless, how can I feel perfect
when my heart is blotchy like Grandma’s inky, moody pearls?
 
A broken smile, a set of hounded eyes reflect back at me,
finding a perfect circumstance?
Tell me this: does perfection truly exist?
I wish someone would answer me this.
 
The tug of war, the push and pull,
the night and day is cast,
to find myself,
within myself,
perfection will not outlast.
 
I treasure me, I wish to be free,
of my selfish expectations,
which seem never to quietly pass,
I call and call into the mirror for myself,
but nothing surfaces, truly I am lost.
 
Meanwhile, you don’t strive for flawlessness,
you embrace subtle cracks, your broken is your triumphant wholeness,
from lost lands, from hell you’ve been,
and back again; sights, minds, and feelings sometimes unseemly -
 
you toss and turn,
can’t cease your thinking,
the power of that on/off switch is wide-eyed and blinking.
 
I do not know why, but collided worlds,
frozen time,
hands at opposite ends of a spectrum,
I delve into lost moments which presently arrive,
this time is no longer only mine.
 
Words coagulate in Chemistry’s positions,
bewitched, enchanting?
flawless, so it seems?  
 
And in the mirror, I now aim to find
you stitched together almost,
almost flawlessly,
though I’ll need to buff the reflection,
because it’s time to fall into it,
allow a shadowy presence to return and brighten,
rise to his worldly heaven,
to reign over his own kingdom,
won’t he permit his return to rightful power?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Thiago Matos from Pexels

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  • Poem: Good Tidings – 23/07/20

    Poem: Good Tidings – 23/07/20

    Good tidings from myself to you,
I wish you the very best, for all to be well,
because I see the hurt in your eyes,
I view the sorrow
within your words,
I feel your heaving chest,
wracked cries.
 
You speak of the brokenness,
you detail existential pain, despair, and hopelessness,
your expressions are potent,
they are sheer melodies,
songs so brilliant,
they bring me into your world,
I bring myself further into yours,
you’ve breathed life, despite your depression,
into mine, and theirs,
your calligraphy formed from up above.
 
Your revelations,
your keen overexposure without fearing,
without caring for potential consequences,
why, what are they? Who would dare think them?
Like me, you bare your soul to be seen.
 
A pair of birds spreading their wings,
light and dark,
but with shades of in-between,
we mesmerise, you stun, I daze,
our feathers spread impressively,
we take flight,
some don’t wish for this,
fearing tales are set to leave,
our inability to continue to amaze.
 
But, we’re merely rising higher,
seeking inspiration,
I am a peaceful dove,
and my fellow raven is not so far behind me,
but then he falls away,
he prefers to remain, remain,
his caw-cawing is personal, insightful,
his deliverance -
it's himself, 
he's the one he saves.  

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

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  • Poem: Welcomed Home – Text and Audio – 16/07/20

    Poem: Welcomed Home – Text and Audio – 16/07/20

    I welcome the rain,
it is cleansing away
the angst which seems to be
my permanent ailment.
 
I welcome its wash,
its ability to stream away
the grime of yesterdays.
 
I invite its arrival
for I know the longer I remain
being whittled away by
little droplets
hollowing me all around,
the more worthy I will feel,
with my brave ability to hold 
my head high with a beaming smile.
 
I grow emotional,
one eye – only the right –
tears up,
it is my regretful side,
the side I led with most,
my foot which began all
ill-fated travels,
paths which I took.
 
Right before left, I’d always
say in my head,
for some reason, the phrase stuck,
right before left,
not left before right,
still rings within my mind.
 
I throw off my outer layers,
step, with left foot,
further into the pummelling rain,
it is strangely pleasant,
its attack,
I’ve tuned out;
it’s mostly dulled, numbing pain.
 
In fact, it’s rather like a
needling sensation,
or what I’d imagine it to be,
the harsh drops begin to fall on an angle,
as though wanting to wash closer
with dire haste toward me.
 
I feel my skin begin to loosen,
or is it bubbling now?
Increased pain,
it’s probably for the best I shed
this outer skin,
for I am developing within,
a physical transformation will reflect this somehow.
 
My anguish is now lacking
as I peel back sheets of my bare layer,
I am a monstrosity, but I don’t mind,
I’ll eventually heal from this indelicate picture.
 
Pieces of me upon the ground, 
pieces of me all around,
away from myself!
Now I’m pink,
fresh-skinned,
a bare-faced woman soon to be welcomed home.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Krzysztof Pluta from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Meandering Path – 14/07/20

    Poem: A Meandering Path – 14/07/20

    Meandering,
I take a walk down
Future’s Lane,
to view what’s on offer,
what goodies can I take?
 
To pluck from the bushes,
to gather from the trees,
elegant prizes which await me,
I need not beg,
nor lower myself to my knees.
 
For my future seems rich,
not with pennies or gold,
but with strength and
well-formed experiences,
they’re settled,
they’re silver, poetry and prose,
platinum and palladium,
I need not worry about golden views.
 
For the kingdom which beckons
and calls out my name,
from Future’s path
winding path to it from which I came,
it is modest,
it is small,
but perfect for me
and my quiet heart alone.
 
I’ve plucked the fruits
from the trees,
scrambled past brambles and briars
where curious-eyed rabbits rest,
awaiting me,
but within my kingdom,
is something only which I know of its name.
 
It is Freedom,
personal freedom,
to be as I wish and I will,
 
he’s a powerful soldier,
he’s waited for years,
and now, we are linked,
acceptance all the same.
 
I’m surprised he knows
me by name,
an excited fan’s moment,
mutual admiration
as he explains,
 
“I waited many years for you,
for your heart and courage
to expand,
as the entity I am,
you need not hold
my hand,
 
but you have arrived,
you’ll understand this more
as you continue growing on your journey,
your path.”
 
I smile to myself, I have my match,
he is here presenting a viewpoint,
offering what my path can be,
his freedom, my freedom, I could firmly grasp,
 
but then I realise,
I am already free,
because I have travelled near and far,
and to this Future, and seen what I have seen.
 
Thus, I will return to the present,
with this knowledge that now, not with time,
I already possess the courage and freedom
to live my life,

with honesty, strength and courage,
no one possesses my life other than me,
I am who I am,
I am alive, I am free.

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

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  • Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Strangely exhausted,
an afternoon, heavily slept,
too much, too much,
ill memories draining,
they won’t rise delicately,
rather seep down below the mattress,
will not gently fly away.

A drainage system
below the surface
of a city, a being,
more than four times hastily gone mad,
residual pain wafting from
the wide walkway pipes,
potent,
uncleanly,
needing purification:
the sensations do not need resurfacing.

But a town mayor deems it so,
right and correct to flush this town of
mental muck
though the waterways will never
flow with pure, clean goodness,
it doesn’t hurt to try, though, does it.

Her drip,
drip draining like a cannula,
a personal IV,
feeding pain-controlling and cleansing
elements to this human city, this sleeping being,
in an instant there is a rush of 
blue then red dyed magic entering into her veins,
her memories become less aching,
less hounding,
can the system be cleansed,
and her self still remain saved?

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

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  • Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Audio: What to Feel.
    Can I feel the moment?
This fateful occasion heralding?
When I realise that
things have been growing
and stirring,
how this is not
how the interior
was once mapped,
the scanning reveals a foreboding view.
 
I am astounded,
into fearfulness I’ve
been slapped,
 
my duty of care to myself
is incredibly important,
because, what I am pre-empting,
the consequences, the conclusion,
may all be my fault;
the past is a regrettable fact.
 
I’ve been told not to worry,
to please, return in two years,
I will return sooner, because,
what was discovered
causes my inherent fear to drive
its nail nearer,
its harsh end forces me to
dread and shudder.
 
Literature also informs
me to not necessarily worry,
but how can I not?
I am stuck, stuck, stuck,
in that moment,
during that phone call,
test results later numbly held in hand,
the fact that
growths are present
sends me into a firm, well-stated panic.
 
And sadly, I begin
to contemplate those who are important,
because how would they
feel if I were to leave
prematurely, if you will,
 
these are certain lives
I’m interwoven with,
fiercely, with love,
and who would wish for what I fear?
For what I’m envisaging,
the future truth will be but my curse.  
 
Am I overly paranoid or concerned?
Worrying for nothing?
I think not,
though,
why whine?
The results were benign,
 
I am aware of this reality,
but those occupying space within my body,
their unwelcome appearance,
I know they can easily alter their composition,
subtly morph into evil and became further invasive.
 
All I can do is wait and take care of myself,
and become calm,
anything but nervous, panicked, or agitated.

A/N: I wrote this piece to settle myself, and to centre my sense of internal gravity again. I wasn't sure whether to post this as it's very personal, but I thought maybe it may help someone out there, or allow them to relate to my emotions.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  

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  • Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    I'll express everything to you, dear, 
I am anything but silent.

My thoughts growl, 
grumble, then shine,
like a cross curmudgeon
who's been taken aback 
by something 
strangely pleasant,
something he'd been 
wholly unaware of.

Then, I transform into a 
rising, flowing,
ecologically-friendly bag
blustering in the breeze,

useful and able to be 
disintegrated,
but in the wind 
I unwind, 
like a kite, 
I am carefree.

I am this soaring, 
colourful plastic kite,
I was that ill-tempered now
brightened woman,

and occasionally I’ll 
surprise both you and I
with exclamations of 
unhindered laughter; 
our heaven,

the joyful giggling  
in your apartment complex 
with its walls 
so paper-thin:

at the neighbours’
tired, thumping reactions,
we spared no flowered damns
for our carefree, 
witty, raucous din.

A free form that flows,
where I will travel?
No one quite knows,

I’ll settle my roots,
a modern day view,
no longer grumbling,
nor full of air,
words wheezing out,
gassy, heated ill-views;

Is it worth constantly listening,
aloud, you once pondered,
the attention mostly
focused on you?

And you winked and
smiled cheekily, 
your heart was unprotected,
you meant no true offense,
with me you need no armour.

But, you do listen,
I am ever so pleased you do.
Your apartment sings with the
songs of my drafts,
over and o’er I reiterate them,
sharing the changes with you.

I know you
sometimes suffer,
at the hands of my
oppressively
repetitive work,

but you do this
not as your duty,
but to please this
once-airborne being 

who sought you out 
not because 
she was simply lonely,
not because of 
any selfish need,

but because she truly  
admired you 
and desires
your continued, 
charming company.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by danoliver2 from Pixabay

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