Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: humor

  • Poem: The Working Week – 01/08/20

    Poem: The Working Week – 01/08/20

    Monday draaags himself in,
he doesn’t want to be here,
other Mondays wave from behind stern mugs of coffee,
they also don't wish to be here.

Sunday and Saturday had the time of their lives
the previous days,
they celebrated and socialised in a manner that really
was purely wholehearted in so many ways.
 
Tuesday comes into the scene yawning,
muttering: How can it be this early?
I mean, it seems like only yesterday when
Saturday was swaying inebriated on the roof
and loudly singing.
 
Tuesday fetches a pick-me-up 3pm Cup of Soup
and cracker,
to get through this morning was by no means
requiring a small amount of power!
 
Wednesday causes a bump as he rides in,
Hump Day he is, after all,
Midweek, midweek!
the current days call!
 
And Thursday, how delectable,
getting closer to that prized Friday,
when the end of the workweek will arrive,
and away from the office all the days will run,
with Saturday they will thrive!
 
But after much celebration,
joviality, and relaxation,
the end of Sunday draws near,
and suddenly: panic!
 
There’s a pain in the realisation
that work is looming,
they must rise,
begin their preparations,
spreadsheets amassed and lunch-making calling,
aaand back to Monday, 
with cups of strong coffee brewing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Alphabet Soup – 18/07/20

    Poem: Alphabet Soup – 18/07/20

    Within my soup is the alphabet,
jumbled senseless,
no words,
an A to a C,
to a Q, and then
U!
I look up and smile,
I’m glad you found me.
 
I chuckle to myself,
what ironic wit,
if I do say so, modestly, myself,
 
you reach your hand out,
the right, clasping your spoon,
I bat it away mischievously,
this word play you will not rule!
 
Allow us to fish out one vowel
or one consonant at a time,
gently lay their pasta forms
on the line,
and arrange and rearrange,
magnificent times,
we have puns of fun which we multiply.
 
Then all of a sudden, you shriek with delight!
C-A-N-: you proudly win the fight,
but to my left,
I quickly grab a napkin, a pen,
and scrawl,
G-A-M-E O-V-E-R:
this winner takes all!

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

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  • Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Poem: ‘Coffee-less’ – 04/07/20

    Have you ever been so crabby because
you’ve been without your coffee?
Don’t deny it,
I know you know what I’m talking about.
 
Nothing will do as a substitute,
the black tea,
holistic herbal concoctions,
coffee, coffee,
the strong caffeine hit,
 
it’s what I am needing,
it’s what my soul hounds for, 
this substance I am seeking,
desperately begging for.
 
Don’t tell me that I’m petty,
that I’m a pseudo-addict,
I need this to function properly,
can’t you hear my futile cries,
cannot you view my need?
 
I know there are others just like me,
put your hands up,
express your empathy,
 
let us join together
and perhaps you can
provide me a large pot
of steaming liquid so dark.
 
I’ll mix in creamer and sugar
with such flamboyance,
my heart full of splendour,
the first sip is what I’ve been dreaming of,
that which my heart has been
aching to be delivered.
 
And this sip finally rolls onto my tongue,
scalding my taste buds,
running down my throat,
such a welcome sensation:
I love coffee the most.
 
I survive on it,
I thrive off it,
it doesn’t wire me anymore,
it’s pure functionality,
I need it to be,
please allow me to push aside
your humble cup of tea.
 
And now my kitchen is stocked up,
beans, grind and instant, 
whichever mood I’ll be in,
and with wonder and amazement
I’ll take in this spectacular substance,
 
and survive all day long
with a smile across my dial,
I must drink and drink and drink,
to satisfy my high tolerance.

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

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  • Poem: Hit and Miss – 30/06/20

    Poem: Hit and Miss – 30/06/20

    Sorry about that! I say,
and scoot out of the way.
I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.
 
Sometimes my ideas carry offense,
fall flat on their face,
when will I learn to discern?
 
It’s okay, you reassure, there’s no harm in experimenting,
but sometimes what you think is entertaining
is just damned wrong and overwhelming.
 
I agree, I return, I’ll tell you the truth,
I try really hard to gain favour from you.
 
I know, we know, we empathise with your plight,
better to write something, and not post it,
instead, sleep on it for the night.
 
Then awake with fresh eyes,
a fresh mind,
and then you’ll be ready to say:
rubbish bin or approved pile??
Your post has been published:
waa-hey!

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

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  • Poem: The Computer Helps You Lie – 30/06/20

    Poem: The Computer Helps You Lie – 30/06/20

    The computer helps you lie,
it’s a well-known fact of life,
the ability to dance fingertips
on keys like the Devil’s never-ending trill.
 
They fly across,
a flurry,
and suddenly, without me knowing,
fiction has taken over,
that’s welcome news to me.
 
No more disguising of one’s facts,
like bullets shot impolitely,
rat-a-tat-tat,
into the abdomen of a reader,
they no longer feel my hurt,
 
because fiction can prove softer,
than truth over fact,
the computer helps me lie,
creates a differing life.
 
A world where I can tell porkies,
they’re welcome little tales,
embraced they are
by pin-pricked ears,
lulled into a sense of quiet interest 
that ebbs and flows and swells.
 
And what say you to my actual truths?
can I reveal them, too?
Sometimes it’s better to live fictitiously,
it’s safer here for you.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Exhausted,
I roll into bed,
does it roll back into me?
That’s a question for myself,
do you think it does so tenderly?
 
The doona now wraps himself around me,
presumptuous, he takes up over half the bed,
it does not matter there’s nobody laying next to me,
that space is for me to sprawl,
not for Doona to spread!
 
Electric Blanket quietly sizzles to himself,
cackling softly as he overheats and overwhelms me,
in the midst of my sweaty nightmare
that is of my imagination’s frightening making,
and the heat which he throws from beneath me.
 
My socks want to escape, one is flowing from my ankle,
the other is barely held by Big Toe,
I scramble with opposing feet to Save the Socks
from becoming redundant -
oh wait, they already are.
 
Doona has been thrown down,
useless upon the ground,
Electric Blanket is irritated his heat is no longer caressed,
What about me?
I am freezing!
There’s no point doing anything but
shuddering and trembling,
sockless, without a blanket,
it’s below zero degrees in Melbourne tonight!

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

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  • [Satirical] Poem: “Smile!” – Audio and Text – 17/06/20

    [Satirical] Poem: “Smile!” – Audio and Text – 17/06/20

    “Smile!” they tell me,
“Cheer up, it’s not so bad.”
I smile sardonically,
retort facetiously,
wriggle an erect finger
from my hand.
 
I hate being told
what to do,
why can’t they
mind their own business?

Did I ask for their opinions
out of the blue?
Did they believe their words
would be cherished?
 
In the bar,
I attend to my clothing,
rearranging my hair,
my image,
the crowd jeers, “Princess!”
Like an indignant bird,
I fluff out my plumage.
 
I understand there
are times
when we must receive
instruction,
 
but when I’m being told
to smile or
have cheer
by complete strangers,
now that
is in its own rude stratosphere,
I need not their intervention.
 
Why some people think it’s appropriate
to use “Smile!” as an opening line
is beyond me,
cannot they formulate
a better approach
in their own time?
 
A resting b***h face
I must surely have,
that pouted or deadly bored expression,
 
I don’t mean to be
unapproachable though,
look further than my far off,
superficial expressions.
 
I could be the nicest person
you’ll ever meet,
but if you approach,
instructing me to “Smile!”
be prepared for a verbose fight.
 
What if I don’t want to smile?
But rather ruminate in that instance?
Understand this, Stranger,
your instruction does not
endear yourself to me,
in fact,
it is an irritation,
an offensive, belligerent bother.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
Music: "Sneaky Snitch" by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

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  • Poem: A Funny Little Poem – 26/04/20

    Poem: A Funny Little Poem – 26/04/20

    It’s three in the afternoon,
my tummy begins to grumble!
Time for a snack,
what’s on the menu?
Possible thoughts are tossed and tumbled.
 
A muesli bar?
A chocolate slice?
Caramel latte or a tea?
My stomach further grumbles:
rejection!
It seems these treats are not for me.
 
I open the fridge,
peruse available drinks and snacks,
but suddenly my eyes fall on a package
with a smiling cow upon it
and I know what I’m going to have!
 
Cheese, cheese, on crackers,
yes please,
dairy delicious and fine
and completely, utterly mine!

I’ll munch my way
through this treat and smile,
it seems far too long;
I’ve not had cheese in a while.
 
Now satisfied,
I grin from ear to ear,
my tummy complains no more,
delighted is its mood,
of this I can assure.
 
I'm no longer hungry or temperamental,
those around me should have no fear,
this little afternoon treat has raised my mood,
and that’s a stellar feat.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay  

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  • Poem: Little Purple Soldiers – 01/03/20

    Poem: Little Purple Soldiers – 01/03/20

    I am astounded,
heart beating wildly,
with adrenaline surging freely,
a source of income for the bravery,
a tipping palette,
the grapes scatter, you see.
 
Fruit befitting an emperor
yet here before little old me,
I am in a quandary –
what should I do with these little soldiers before me?
 
They’re glowing purple,
why, what an amazing sort to take on,
I pick one up,
taste it,
amazed,
astounded by the lusciousness,
I take another one.
 
Will my emperor mind?
How will he react knowing his shiny soldiers
are under attack?
Intrigued he might be,
that I’m saving them in my very own ceramic bowl,
perhaps I’ll claim they are for him.
 
For, this is not a battle,
this is the opposite:
a rescue, their salvation!
If it were not for me,
who knows where they would be,
scattering themselves before another,
evil, deducing,
she or he?
 
No, I am their saviour,
and now look,
my emperor enters the humid room,
where his purple glowing soldiers await him
for his taste buds and his desire.
 
The look upon his face is priceless,
anything but callous,
in fact, gracious and full of kindness,
with such gentility he plucks the closest from
a group of three,
the third of the triplet
he sucks and chews with ease.   
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Raspberry Crusher – 31/01/20

    Poem: The Raspberry Crusher – 31/01/20

    I taste the tartness carelessly left coating my teeth,
raspberry goodness,
sour, slimy, almost eye wincing
still ripely sweet,
 
my eyes widen,
a great surprise,
as I absorb the flavoursome layer,
my tastebuds tingle, they tango,
sweetness most certainly assured,
if we’ve detoxed from refined treats prior.
 
The naturalness of Nature’s offerings
I am yet to feel ungrateful for her juice
pressed forth into my hand,
as round raucous raspberries they sang and danced
until I gently rolled them between forefinger and thumb
crushing them,
caressing them,
sweetly, carefully.
 
The juice stains
it drips close to my white dress
I bound aside but
alas!
 
A crimson tear,
captured within the fabric for all of time,
a reminder,
of fruity bloodshed,
I lick my hands,
grin from ear to ear.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

Photo credit: MasterTux from Pixabay

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