Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: human condition

  • Poem: Forever – 26/03/20

    Draw me closer,
it may be the last time for a while,
feel my skin brush against yours
and our smiles within grow wider.
 
Understand that that is not goodbye
but “I will see you soon”,
my darling, you must know
the energy of your loving heart can fill any room.
 
The heart can project so much more than mere words can,
I will always wait for you,
and you for I,
we will be together again soon.
 
Need not tremble with the knowledge that 
the separation is for an indeterminate time,
know that we can remain in each other’s lives,
in so many ways,
 
We are and still will be 
eternally entwined.

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

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  • Poem: These Unknown Times – 26/03/20

    Poem: These Unknown Times – 26/03/20

    In these unknown times,
where regulations reign to keep us safe,
we stay home,
we rest,
we recoup,
we pray to God that we will get through this biological affray.
 
Burrowed down in our blankets,
our eyes plastered to the laptop screens,
watching the news with great earnest, 
what is going on?
How will this eventuate?
What does this all mean?
 
How will we survive when daily our lives are at risk
and humankind is anything but unscathed? 
We await with apprehension
while some are blasé about the rules
they go out,
they socialise,
themselves they gather without guilt.
 
Selfish and ignorant are such types,
but what can we do?
We are right for staying in,
it is our method of isolation,
our following of instructions,
the immovable truth,
 
A means that surely will slow the rate down,
of the infection taking as many as it can,
to those undisciplined voyagers,
I sadly say, 
all the best to you,
for us all, protect yourselves and remain strong.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Валерия Шарагина from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Damsel in Distress – 22/03/20

    Poem: Damsel in Distress – 22/03/20

    I used to be a damsel in distress,
I called and called to them,
to assist me with my longing heart,
yet all of them decided to leave.
 
I worked so hard on being that
which portrayed what I felt was visual worth,
without understanding that what mattered 
was not essentially looks
but a kind, warm, and caring heart.
 
Others stared as I went on by,
my chest filled with pride 
at knowing that I had drawn their eyes,
but what I didn’t realise was that 
I was only striking for a second,
perhaps when I opened my mouth I’d lose their attention.
 
In distress was I, 
I wanted to be known,
acknowledged,
accepted,
to be understood,
to receive the gratification that came with being wanted,
the validation I'd glean inside.
 
However, the turnstiles kept turning,
and the admirers kept disappearing,
only there for a few fleeting seconds,
I became more daring.
 
Then underneath it all,
I slowly realised
that I needed to work on myself,
not on the outer, exterior view,
what mattered was my mind.
 
My inner truths,
the way I would treat mankind,
and the most important things of all were love
and the fact that I was grateful,
that I was still breathing,
despite the haphazard, lethal points in my life.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash

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  • Poem: No Matter What – 19/03/20

    Poem: No Matter What – 19/03/20

    I am rounder
but I am happy,
the streamlined silhouette once paraded
has become modest at long last.

Need I quarrel with myself?
Discuss that which displeases me?
No!
I am stronger than this,
the crumbling of that petty yet insidious disease
which will no longer triumph above all else.
 
I punished myself – ah!
Self-persecuted mind and body,
this was what it was all about.
 
But now,
I am rounder
and I am happy,
I am prone to breaking out 
into song and celebratory dance.
 
The draconian measures of self-punishment,
to be others' fancy, starring light has long gone,
I am myself,
peculiar and particular
throughout the day and night,
I am unique,
I am one.
 
I am myself 
and I am worthy,
no matter what size I have become.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 6563351 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Salted Iridescence – 18/03/20

    Poem: Salted Iridescence – 18/03/20

    The taste of salt upon your skin,
the glistening iridescence
as I feel your glow within,
the sun shining through your being
as though warming my very soul,
like the heated taste of winter when
you and I were eternally enthralled.
 
I can feel the gurgling of growing gumption
from within your soaring spirit,
rising from the former desolation within,
and I know,
you know,
that we will remain entwined,
as long as we stay heart-to-heart,
forever in need of each other’s fair wine.
 
Our necessity to be close to one another
has the sharp addictive taste of that salt
that I once tasted on your skin,
and if I were to magnify this need
I would understand that it comes from
a state of savoury and lack of sweetness,
a desire to cause that salivary moment,
to keep it stirring,
 
And while I knead into the skin of the
effervescent sparkle that you bring,
I know,
honey, you know,
that we were always meant to be.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock (including illustration). All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Shrieking and Calling – 13/03/20

    Poem: Shrieking and Calling – 13/03/20

    The genius within you calls and calls,
reckoning like secretly potent anemone,
contemplating as to whether
it’s worthwhile for him to be seen,
or whether, in fact,
he should remain hidden,
and cease his calling for you day by day.
 
The exotic being within you sings,
eyes casting upon the sumptuous feast on offer,
she provides for you what you have been lacking,
that serendipity brings a sense of welcome tumult,
a feeling ongoing,
worth growing.
 
The megalomaniac within you screams,
he wants to be heard,
he demands to be seen,
and the trying notion he experiences when he grates
on your skin
with a voice as harsh as sharpened nails,
he announces,
no, he commands,
well, of your wishes,
he couldn’t give a single damn.  
 
And then the chorus of these characters rise and combine,
their voices, harsh, sweet, ideal,
in their tones I can hear their smiles,
there is nothing worth separating here
for their conjoined state offers this vibrating prize,
their voices make you tremble,
their power is unheard of,
but you can’t walk away,
doing so seems to be unspoken of.
 
So, you sit in their presence,
imagine their voices resonating in your mind,
the differing beings,
different identities,
and then it all becomes too much,
you must block them out,
squeezing shut your eyes.   
 
The silence allows your heart to swoon,
its warming words allow your truthful connection
to everything that is devout.

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

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  • Poem: His Arrival – 12/03/20

    Poem: His Arrival – 12/03/20

    A level of exhaustion beginning to grow,
then an unexpected expenditure of energy comes alive
as I reap what I’ve sown.
 
The quietening down of my mood,
the lessening of my agility,
strangely enhances me,
it does not hinder me.
 
I am cumbersome, but,
my mind is crystalline clear,
open and free,
 
I rise to the challenge,
whatever has crossed my path,
that which is unspoken,
unexpressed, 
I know this breath won’t be my last.
 
And in the still,
the calm of the air around me which
heaves and sighs,
like little droplets of condensation meeting
glass sheets in the sky,
I wait and I tremble
expectant for your arrival.
 
My cheeky prince,
now a loving benevolent king,
you offer me an arm and
we interlink,
the kingdom sighs with contentment as they see,
sensing the rightness of the present karmic breeze.

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

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  • Poem: Overlooked – 06/03/20

    Poem: Overlooked – 06/03/20

    We so often overlook those who should be
treasured in our lives,
those stoic, and brave, and loving,
and loyal,
who are there for us to lean upon,
exclusive and selective,
they’ve been chosen and choose to be 
continually here for us.
 
Yet our hearts pull away,
they are failing in many measures,
to look after the meaning,
the extended love,
we have no gratitude for some of our beings.
 
Whether we are horrid, cruel or unkind,
for whatever reason,
there is this created divide,
and daughters and mothers,
sons and fathers,
cousins and uncles,
and brothers and sisters,
lovers and best friends,
the allegiances becoming visibly divisible,
the divides unlikely to aid the other
whom is extending their hand or arm to the another.
 
And how their stomachs twist and turn at understanding
their love has been thrust forth and away
into a circumstantial day where their 
emotions and concern
are withering, forgotten,
lost,
by the foibles of the intended receiver,

and there are moments where one of the parties 
simply wishes to crack,
due to the bitter betrayal cast with 
little thought by the receiver,
and sadness, depression will set in,
perhaps it’ll take months to repair the trust
and break down those walls.
 
So easily we can pass over
but so easily we can be passed over ourselves,
if only we opened our hearts to true love and comfort,
we’d understand those close to us in our lives,
even further,
they hold only the best intentions for ourselves.
 
So quieten down our passive animosity
and maybe they'll accept that sometimes 
some are unwilling to be reached,
perhaps in time our barriers will open,
the gates parting ways
and permission to let another inside our hearts and minds
will be accepted,
these moments will be everything,
this is when truthful emotions will be well received.  
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 733215 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Flailing – 04/03/20

    Poem: Flailing – 04/03/20

    There have been many years of flailing,
my life lacking in solid intent,
and I wonder, where am I going,
am I even progressing?
Hoping for something to shoulder all the weight from my listless life.
 
It’s as though I am simply floating in a mass of water,
stagnant appears to be the tune,
the water dank,
murky,
like my lacking of good fortune.
 
I used to be so focused,
attentive and driven,
full of concentration,
dedication to my art,
my music,
my academia,
the processes.
 
Now, I am simply waiting to expire,
growing older by the second,
each tick a stretch from the previous,
to the finality of my last.
 
I wish for something solid to aim for,
something to hope for,
something which I can reach for,
to impress upon myself,
to enliven and enrich my soul.
 
But my dreams seem so far off
and lofty,
and unlikely to come to pass,
I can dream and dream
but surely someone who has become like me
will only finish last.
 
And the truth of the matter is
I am here breathing,
stealing away others’ rightful air
with my pathetic breaths which amount to little,
no,
nothing,
I am nothing anymore,
not what I used to be,                
burned away are my successes.
 
And my desire for excesses,
all ceremonial,
seem an apparent method of
ridiculous and ostentatious showing of invisible wealth.
 
Because,
while I like to sparkle and I love to shine,
the gems upon my fingers
and around my neck
are really the only things about me lately worth drawing the eye.
 
I realise my tone is morose,
that I am lacking in lustre within my words,
although lifeless and downtrodden feels commonplace
from someone who used to outrageously feel.  

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

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  • Poem: Free Falling – 02/03/20

    Poem: Free Falling – 02/03/20

    Out of the window
where my tears fall, fall, fall,
rich and ravenous am I for the salt 
which is encompassed by all.
 
They sting my eyes, 
this liquid drawn from the depths of my despair,
the lingering victimisation of my soul,
I don’t want to become air.
 
I feel real, more alive
when the salt water of my form stings me,
it ails my orbs,
a pair once so bitter and jaded in their viewing
of a world where I’d come undone.
 
There appears nothing worth saving,
a tumultuous wind untamed,
randomised about my body,
my crazed hair,
that my face is seemingly effaced,
there is no longer anything there.
 
Perhaps the salted tears are corrosive,
they are acidic, perchance,
I linger on the thought too long,
it seems preposterous,
and I chide myself for knowing that what I am assuming
is incorrect.
 
I’m in but a daydream,
a nightmare,
a living fantasy?
 
If only I wished to no longer breathe, 
I’d take this nightmare with me,
allow it to launch off a precipice
and grow and bloat and steal
every living atom from me.
 
But then here’s the catch,
I’d have to disappear willingly,
and there is no chance of that, is there?
I can’t allow some people their dreams.

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

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