Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: illustration

  • Prose Poetry: Expulsion – 18/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Expulsion – 18/10/19

    I have long ago released all ill feeling for those whom were once in my life, for the former alliances, for the ones who took advantage of a young naïve woman who was I. For those who exploited the gullibility in a cruel selfish manner that meant only they would be the ones benefiting, I speak to you now: you have no effect on me anymore, it is easier to forgive then commence forgetting than to cling to the hatred of years before.

    While it is effortless to recall angered words about them, in my being, in my core, I don’t feel anything bad or negative for them now, not anymore. It’s as though the thick black soot of anger and slime which permeated my being when I recalled them has simply annihilated itself, wiped itself clean.

    Certainly, I can detail my former anger and sense of insult and offence but what would be the point in that? Live and let live. These beings are the ones who have to live with who they truly are, how they are themselves, and that is quite possibly the biggest sucker-punch of an irony to be known and seen. They will one day be suffering; this I can assure you. The conscience has a way of making oneself accountable for their actions. And I know to stay well away from these types, because for me, the warning signs signal in my mind for evermore.

    I can’t imagine being like some of those self-serving, arrogant, selfish people I once knew. They would have to come to terms with how they treat others, and perhaps for them, there is nothing wrong with being advantageous, fashioning circumstances benefiting themselves and themselves alone. They do not think kindly of me, nor do they think of you, they precisely alter the methods and exercise their wiles until you’re backed against a wall, with nothing more to say. Unfortunately, occasionally our self-control and courage take a sick day.

    Do not allow yourselves to be affected by these types, nor the memory of what these types have performed. They are unworthy of your anger or spat spite, instead allow yourself to be free of negativity, they’re worthy of nothing in your life, nor space in your mind. They are gone for a reason. To the memory of them a firm goodbye.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Your Little Birdy – 17/10/19

    Broken, he seemingly fell from the heavens, into your considering view. Into your loving care and concern, he assisted at healing you too. As you nursed him back to health, hand rearing, listening to his joyous, tenuous calls and providing your skills of motherly loving, you watched him and his confidence grow tenfold, in the days you spent together.

    Then disaster would strike, oh, the horror, as differing birds came to sweep your Birdy away. Yet he is now looked after by a larger other, of his own kin; you smile to yourself, knowing he is finally grown enough for freedom with his own kind, with his other hopefully he will stay. Though, close to your heart his memories will forever remain, and you wish for him as a guardian of your land, you know you cannot will him to be anything more than free, as the moment that he flew from your hand.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    You, my dear, are like a bouquet of colourful, delightful fronds. Rare in my life and treasured and adored, I hold you close like this exquisite leafy arrangement, because of our love I am truly assured. Need not there be gifts of diamonds and gold, of precious gemstones set in shining silver — those gifting days have long passed. I caress you, like the bunch of bright and perfumed foliage to my chest, and breathe you in, your precious, peculiar scent. The heady perfume that you create without even batting an eyelid, a resonance felt in my heart as I inhale, then heavily exhale and once more, I breathe you in. I draw in as much as I can from your loving presence in my life, and know intuitively that unlike the glorious bouquet that you happily presented to me, your existence in my life will never be fleeting. You, my love, will always be mine.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    There was a river flowing from my heart at the point where we first met. Two streaming rushes converging into other, as we assessed and smiled and interacted with one another. I drew pictures on the back of your hand, little symbols here and there, you allowed me to be cutesy and my childish myself, and I so love that about you, that of my personality, you were immediately made aware and you didn’t back away, you didn’t seem to care.

    Your water brings me sustenance and lifts the dehydrating fog; disallows my heart from becoming parched and dry, and nestles me into your hydrating, plumping love. At this rushing river where our hearts were made known of each other’s presence and traits, are where we meet daily, our emotions intertwining together, becoming vines wrapped alongside and with each other. Because that is how we are, our fates are now twisted, into tightly coiled shapes, and the thorns? Why, they’ve completely gone missing.

    Because there is no longer any room for personal barbed pain or undying senses of loneliness to be noticed, harped upon, and saved. Because together we are stronger, in charming and less charming circumstances we will remain with great ardour, and in saying this I will strongly ascertain that our love for one another will remain as long as our forevers.  

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


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  • Poem: Hollow Eyed – 13/10/19

    Poem: Hollow Eyed – 13/10/19

     She hides between the curtains and the window
     from nothing in particular,
     allowing herself to view the wide-eyed smiling moon
     casting its dancing light upon the dew dotted grass;
     a nightly view so familiar.
      
     The brightness is expansive in her vision
     compared to the darkened room which she calls her home,
     where upon the walls
     she sketches blackened and angry or 
     haunted hollow-eyed figures
     whom dance within her dark.
      
     She aches inside for she feels
     another’s soul-destroying pain,
     unknowing how to assist,
     to disallow this being from suffering
     their despairing depression sunken,
     their once-free heart
     their once open wide days.
      
     And knowing this other being is suffering 
     assists her to meld easily with him,
     with her distress and unknowing
     they speak well late into the nights
     of sadness and pain and hurt upon the hours,
      
     while living in this cocoon of black sombre wall faces and figures 
     and speaking of desires to once more be free,
     from the wretched pains and emotional strains this being and her speak of
     they were intertwined through their suffering.
      
     There came times of poetic injustice 
     of teenage clichés and hidden wrists,
     but they are not so commonplace with their 
     assisted wept sufferings.
      
     These were simply times where these vulnerable beings
     melded as one
     to provide support, young love and concern,
     and express their fluctuating emotions thereabouts. 
      
     For the brief moment in time
     their stars and signs aligned 
     and they were both correct for one another and dangerous to be with each other.
      
     For if the other one fell,
     the other would surely fall deeper,
     how far could one drop before reaching a void that one is not meant to visit nor seek?

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    I sail the seas, high and low, searching for someone to come save me. To hold me tightly, embrace me, and breathe in my scent. To accept me with my flaws as well as for what they might view as perfection sent their way. I ride the seas and find many sea creatures, in many shapes, forms and sizes. Some are kind, heavenly, nice, others, well, not so subtle in their devices. The crested waves they slam onto shore, throwing myself and the others with now-less strange faces onto the rocky peaks making us scream for no more, and it is here I realise I should be accustomed to weathering these waves by myself. It is time to assume there is no need for me to be saved.

    Now mermaids and mermen come out from beneath the deep, their glittering, glistening scales, tails and fins are so delightful for me, that I cannot speak. They guide me into the open shores, build a protection, a fort, with their arms and hands then once having assisted me, their presence is suddenly naught.

    The seas now calm, the water’s surface pristine and now the colour of a deep blue lagoon, and I wonder to myself have I imagined those former moments out of my reality? Have I imagined the sea creatures and merpeople with an imagination too excitable and prematurely ready? But thinking about it, I once again experience that forlorn feeling, that yearning, of needing another in my life, to whom I can make an offering, a promise to be the one in their life that they can always trust, love and rely upon.

    Then out in the corner of my eye, I spot an enormous spouting, a large body of water fountaining in the distance, and I take this as a kind of heralding, that something or someone important might possibly be arriving. It just seems so out of place, for I am used to the waves crashing around, not reaching straight up and down; I know I must remain to witness the arrival of the being worthy of wearing a certain crown. Because I have that feeling, that this is a sea creature whom I will be most blessed to be meeting. A creature whom I will hopefully have the pleasure of calling my own.

    I lie in wait, for the moment to arrive. I lie in wait and the nervous anticipation and the trembling takes over outside of me and inside. I lie in wait, and then I meet You, my merman of the deep. The one who could view me as I harness my energy, and not be intimidated when I show all facets of me. The anger, the joyous, the contemplative, my sadness, my irritatingly frustrating habit of being focused on details, details, details. But you are the one who can and will promise to cherish my love, and love me in return, wholly, with your precious heart. My sea creature of the deep, my merman of the sea, understand that you are here to play beside me, to walk through life with openness, laughter and brightness, and to shine, shine, shine, all day and every night together, so freely.  

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    There was that special moment, when you first reached for and clasped my hand. Do you remember, darling, as we sat outside on my back porch, in those “King and Queen” deck chairs? You hesitantly, tentatively asked me if this was okay, I smiled and beamed inwardly to myself – of course it was fine! I wished that you could stay.

    Worried that others would return to find you here, an unknown, holding onto my hand, I calmed myself, told myself it would be alright, that we still had some precious time. And side by side we sat, smiling to ourselves, the silence comfortable, not awkward at all, with the overwhelming feeling that you might be the right one for me, after all.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    What can I say? I’m a chameleon — I can shape shift at will. With the right applicators, the right clothing, the right hair colour, I can alter my appearance and seemingly become someone else, a new someone. My ability to change is inherent, a desire to change who I am, to become something more, but why can’t I be completely content with who I am?

    There is no need to continually change anymore. I am accepted for who I am and how I appear, and for those who decide to speak otherwise, I’ll dismiss their words without a care. For, I have gone through so much internal suffering and physical upheaval, my alterations took a great toll on my tired body and heavy mind.

    A chameleon may be desirable to those who prefer their others as showy and changeable, but I am now an almost-contented being; only a few complaints have I, and I can work on altering these, quietly, without the flash of colours in the brimming sky in others’ perceptive eyes, their flashing, thoughtful eyes.

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


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  • Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

    Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

     She joyously twirls bright ribbons yet feels dead inside,
     With a knowledge that what was once there, 
     Fresh-faced, bright, youthful, still alive,
     Is now broken, irreparable,
     Scattered in pieces upon the stage,
     An urban pavement,
     Nothing to show for the destruction,
     No sense of inner pride or holding her head up high.
      
     Her dolly-brightness is a façade
     The light and shade a humorous method
     At relaying that inside she is still ignited
     Still burning with life;
     One only has to look at her lack of brightened eyes
     To take in this scene with a sense of absent mirth.
      
     Oh, how she could have reached the heights
     Become more than she had ever been
     How she could have flown into the hemisphere
     Succeeding and achieving at building a life
     Of her own.
      
     But here she is
     Dead as a doornail because of the path that she chose,
     To vacuously entertain and be admired rather than use her mind, 
     To exercise the chemistry of her intelligent brain

     For a while she was simply an amusement
     A joke
     Something mocked behind open hands 
    Just something to be viewed in passing
    upon the set stage.

     But with time, hopefully she’ll rectify her life
     Breathe in once more
     And live a great freedom, a life
     Without recollection of that strife.
      
     Because dollies are meant to play
     Entertain their owners 
     Give them joy for hours upon days
     And seemingly there is nothing wrong
     With amusing another
     When it is performed with great respect of oneself
     And with an allowance of renewed life and vigour.
      
     Thus, with her self-justification and self-talk
     She feels less dead inside now,
     Her stitched-shut eyes now become visible once more,
     Brightened with the knowledge 
     that her presence is again wanted
     She is popular,
     Not cast aside onto the floor. 
      
     A renewed sense of popularity,
     A chance to regain a zest for life,
     To provide them with who she was meant to be -
     Now,
     She throws down her ribbons
     Which kept her bound and down.

     Altered, affected and no longer ill at ease
     She strives for something more,
     Something less vapid,
     A role in life where she could be
     Acknowledged as being more than what she’d been designed for,
    Her eyes are finally open enough to see.

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


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  • Poem: Finding Your Footing – 05/10/19

    Poem: Finding Your Footing – 05/10/19

     There may be occasions where you’ve lost your footing, 
    in fact, many times, possibly. 
    Where your legs and feet scrabble for a holding, 
    a firmer footing, to cease the potential of falling deep, deep below. 

    When your heart is almost in your mouth, 
    the fear is palatable, tastes of thick iron rust,
    the bloodied mess that is your broken organ, 
    still beating, but a complete and utter mess. 

    There may be occasions where you slip and fall, 
    into the abyss of the great unknown, 
    speaking of darkness and unsureness 
    and times of great distress and unknowing. 
     
    These, my friends, are occasions which enable learning, 
    where you can take what you will from the putrid or frightening moments, 
    and make of them something worthwhile, 
    a learning process where you drag yourselves up 
    and out of the murky dark.

    The strength of character displayed from 
    when you fall and how you pick ourselves up demonstrates a 
    certain strong will and determination 
    that I know you must be proud of possessing. 

    Because darlings, I know that you can make it 
    through these pains, these issues, 
    You’ve done it before, 
    And you can do it again. 
    Just listen to your aching heart and plaster it with bandages of courage; 
    You’ll make it in the end.  

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


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