Be your own universe
make your eyes shine
with wonder
amazement
sheer and utter delight
do not allow the internal
battles to steal away from
the power of your crown
speak your truths
you have almighty hidden sight
and you can envisage your future
if you allow yourself to direct yourself
with eloquence, charm and might.
© 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose
I don’t feel like writing,
no inspiration to scribe,
my subconscious thoughts
once delirium,
no vacuous,
I want to hide,
to burrow my thoughts beneath
the doona,
my sheets,
embarrassed, uninspired,
where have you gone, Poetic Dreams?
Replaced instead with moods,
dreary, morose,
I cannot see positivity further
than my nose,
what happened to the ability
to contemplate? It seems
it’s gone with the wind,
awaiting a delivery, please.
Extract from my mind
the encumbrances,
the barriers to ambiance,
the inability to fly freely
with the pen,
my mind, it needs to mend,
to see itself, its contents
in the reflection
then thought’s will be
quantified,
quantifiable,
my ability returns
to be seen.
Gently, tenderly
then will great haste
and aplomb
my pen’s ink dances
across the paper
sending my soul alive
from numb,
pulsating with fervent hope,
delectable swirls and loops,
my frantic handwriting’s proof
that listless writer’s block
can be wiped away
with hopeful, passionate views.
I shan’t allow my feelings
which depressed,
to return, again,
at least not so soon,
I will bask in the luxurious luminance
of the inspiringly full and
enlightening Moon.
Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image source
The penny dropped and I finally understood – what it means to live life to the full. It doesn’t mean to be a daredevil, to jump out of a plane, to rush alongside a mountain, seeking adrenalin in vain. It means to seize every opportunity, to live life with joy and exuberance each day, taking in the wonder, exploring while you absorb, bask in the moments, or simply sit and ponder, or pray.
To experience all there is to receive is some kind of bliss, opening up ourselves, warm-heartedly, arms flung open, to receive Life’s kiss, and wonder not at the circumstances which may present negatively – these are only experiments provided to test ye.
Highs cannot exist without comparative lows; if there weren’t, we’d just be floating, aimlessly treading water, without an undertow. What I am saying is we need to approach Life with much welcoming, stepping into the unknown and beginning to – fresh air – breathe freely and experience wholeheartedly and knowingly.
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay
Sometimes it’s positive to relocate, a subtle change of scene, a change of pace, being stagnant, stuck in the same room, same world for so long, it can drive me around the bend, four walls enclosing on me because they can do so with the slipperiest of ease, despite my view from above, the wondrous blue sky, down below, quaint houses and greenery, I need an alteration at times, stitch stitch stitch a change of colour, won’t you permit this on my threaded line? So, I move outside, settle myself into place, hear the soaring birds in their flocks, as my heart begins to race. I’ve not been outside in so long, breathing stale air unknowingly, my own carbon dioxide from my own body, slowly poisoning me as I tried to breathe. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that while I dredged sorrows while trying to expel to become free, I essentially was breathing my very own poison, while typing it all out also so freely. But now that I am outside, the sun permits her joyful gaze, upon me I feel her love, her warmth all around me because sometimes a change of pace is what is required, a change of scenery, more like, I absorb the wonderful ambience out here, and know, that of my mindset, I have altered it in a means that’s wanted, desired, from this new world, I feel its love. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo by Artem Beliaikin from Pexels
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Warbling, a pretty sparrow, she’s come to visit thee, to spread wonder and good tidings, perfection uttered, pure beauty to be seen. She scratches around the back garden, throwing her head back, intelligent eyes glinting occasionally, she is here with great promise, her effect is really something that needs to be felt to be believed. Suddenly, inspiration flows through your left hand, images, metaphors, swim in your mind, she’s here to inspire, you suddenly realise, her presence within yours a desirous prize. How lucky you feel that upon you she’s bestowed her ability to assist you with poetry, prosody, and prose, the great joy you feel, as electricity flows through your very being – she flutters her wings now, it appears she wants to be wholly seen. No more scratching among the shrubs and twigs, no more blending in with the boughs and leaves, she warbles, she tweets, the triumphant beauty of her song almost brings you weeping, to your knees. But you’re unable to pay homage to your muse because your left hand, primed with pen is moving erratically, furiously, injected with the power of thoughts and their mystical clouds and threads. What have you created? I wonder. Is there something amazing across the page? Your quiet sense of knowing, the struck inspiration, running cursive which shall be typed and saved. And now our beauty flits, flies high, up and away, we will sit here waiting together for Sparrow’s next arrival to inspire you another day. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Oldiefan from Pixabay
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Melodious but intrusive tunes, notes pummelling my head, I need serenity, a sense of quiet, for my thoughts to develop, to process and later be said, then shared. The music, though in the background it is rude, unintentionally evicts, any chance, any sense of imaginative words to be brought to life, with the distraction they fail to exist. The notes, the rise and fall of melodies, they are truly terrifying and deafening, a lack of threaded thoughts, a barren forest of consciousness, I traverse, I wander blindly. Though at a volume, a decibel, that may calm another’s senses, relax them, muscles easing tension, brain waves altering, to me, it is like a repetitive noisy neighbour, relentless, intent on knocking for a shared and unwarranted cup of tea, I don’t know about others, but my creations need silence all around me. Thankfully my explanation of this music as a distractor, allows another to understand that with my thoughts I am their maestro, of them my will should command. Though it may seem ironic, that a being such as I with a musical background such a large part of my life, cannot bear creating my words with an unwanted backing, this is the way I know my best state of mind in which to be, I want the silence, the silence, where moments of creativity can easily strike me. The moment the intrusion is ceased, the moment silence arrives, what hits me? A burst of inspiration, I reach for my pen, and hope to vividly capture the leading thoughts in my mind, perhaps I’ll make my own poetic music, rhythm, metre, tone, rhyme. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Comfreak from Pixabay
A winter’s sky, weather crisp, sights so blue, I sit outside by the table, drawing my thoughts out, they fly; I peruse. Above and around me, they permeate in the sharp, chilling yet welcome frigidity, floating like pieces of a puzzle, of which only I am arranging. A word here, a phrase there, then suddenly something has become, constructed, connectivity, my will, my hopes, have been done. And in this space in which I quietly exist, this realm which is my own, I lay ownership to my creation – the crisp air, blue sky has brought this about, another pattern has been woven, tightly sewn. How I love this finality, but the work is not yet complete, more revision to make it so, time to extract the laptop, carefully type the words up, will they be enough? Will Winter smile upon me for what I have told? She has been so forthcoming with her ability to chill and to shine, these words, these phrases, will she be pleased? Will my efforts be recognised? And finally, I am finished, satisfied I am with myself, these moments which wafted around my mind, no longer singular pieces of a poet’s daily grind. The former puzzle of themselves, now held together in a certain style, I hold the resultant product close to me: a hard-earned prize, and huddled in my thick jacket, I radiate a beaming smile, Winter has inspired me, I feel her mirth, her approval, this joyous feeling, I will treasure it for a bit and a while. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo my own.
A distinguished yew tree silently stands before me, speaking of regeneration and rebirth and all that is everlasting, within my heart it resides, while monumental, it is a temporary fixture, nonetheless an awe-inspiring picture. Who planted this reminder for me, to never give up? A sign that, during times of impassioned illness and ill choices there is still hope? The yew promises me time will continue on, and there will always be that turning point known as Hope. My mind aches at the thought of beings once in my world, who, in their dilapidated state could not draw themselves away from the saddening muck that stills their lives, some remain happy to exist in their quagmire, they feel their current situation is something to treasure. There is no sign of a yew for them to never give up, any hope for advancement has sadly been pinned down. Talk of hopes and dreams is dismissively cast aside, too difficult, too unattainable, unmanageable, by their own reasoning. I want to show them my yew. I wish to inspire them, too. Had I remained sunken in my mud pit, I may have drowned like the rest of them, a reflection into an ability of an awful mentality, dark times, though infrequent, featured, clouded heavily. Now, my tree becomes a home for my thoughts, within its leaves and branches I bury my phrases, my toiled words, my loose metaphors, because maybe at a later point, they’ll come in handy, or at least perhaps they’ll remain as personal pictures, destined to become tidy and used mindfully. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. All images signed “LMH” are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock and all rights reserved. Image by Ilona Ilyés from Pixabay
“Weeeee! Look at me!” called Egbert to his friends, one, two and three. He was spinning on his feet, pirouetting as elegantly as could be.
“You go, ‘Bert!” called Lucy.
“Yeah, keep going!” cheered Brody.
“Why do you always have to be so showy?” groaned Danni. Danni was the moodiest of the four, she didn’t want to join in to the cheering antics at all. She didn’t like encouraging her friends, only wanted to be miserable and moan, this was the life of Danni, who didn’t want to know anyone at all. In fact, the only reason she was there in the group was because the others had taken pity on her, her internal anger often lead her to self combust, and they wanted her to learn to be friendlier and trust. But here she was, as always, breathing heavily, sighing strongly, upset that she was not being attended to, and that Egbert was the one being observed in a manner very happily and lightly. What did she expect, being morose, how could others look upon her with joy, and most of all she needed to understand, that to be approachable one needed to be open and willing to share, speak well of others, and perhaps occasionally lend a helping hand.
“Never mind her,” Lucy muttered under her breath, and she continued calling, encouraging her friend Egbert as he performed the movements of his ballet scene’s choreography. He had been working on this for more than two months, every spare second, every spare minute, he was practicing, rehearsing energetically, his excitability calling, he would leap, prance, breathe deeply, gasp, for his ballet dancing took precedence in his world, to gain a place in the National Ballet Academy it was a dream he would work to make truth, to unfurl.
A slight problem with Egbert was that a lot of things made him excitable, and this had a tendency to take attention away from his goal, provide many distractions, such as that ladybug he found behind his ear, he would name her Philippa, and provide her a terrarium home, or the colours painted on the wall of the alleyway, he would stop to admire them for an hour on his way from secondary school to his home, or the blades of grass, so tufty and firm, he would play with them, giggling, with his claws pressing them to and fro so firmly – he was easily distracted, and this was a problem to him. He knew how to be focused, and he tried his utmost on being like this with his choreography, his routine so well developed and fantastic, but he had to draaaaag himself away from the distracters, in order to refocus.
It wasn’t his fault, he had been diagnosed with a condition years prior that deemed him as having problems with his attention, deficits from this, a disorder, but his mother wouldn’t provide the pharmaceutical medication as she wanted to heal him holistically. She provided him salves, natural tablets, herbs and all, to rectify the problem, and initially it proved to be useful to him, in every mental zone. His attention soared, his eyes were pin pricked focused, he could dance for hours and it wasn’t a problem.
But then something happened, his mother lost faith in her cause, to provide him natural remedies, she simply gave up, and upped and left the mission, hiding in her bedroom hole. Word flew around the community that she was suffering from depression, but she didn’t want to be seen, looked at, viewed by anyone, not even a doctor, she just wanted to rest and sleep, then wake, repeat, sleep, again. So Egbert was left to his own devices, he treated himself the best that he could, it turned out that his best wasn’t enough, he needed to educate himself of the remedies, and do this soon. Surprisingly, his friend Danni, showed an interest in this topic, it was strange, given that she was morose about basically everything she encountered, and together they set out, procuring all research they could possibly find, dumping the literature in a corner, they sat together, and began to furiously read, through the pages they dived.
“Hey, would you look at this?” uttered Egbert excitedly. “Look at this information, this plant, it’s a dandelion, perhaps it has a place for solving?” Then his eyes flittered to another page, darting left then right, then now to another fact!
“Egbert!” Danni exclaimed. “We need to focus!”
After reading solidly for three and a half hours, Egbert and Danni were far less wired, they had lost the focus they had previous harnessed, and now their eyes were becoming heavily lidded.
“Let me fetch you a drink,” she said slyly, and with a secretive smile, Danni darted out to the kitchen, to view was on offer, what was available. Not seeing the ingredients that she would need, she quickly darted out to the Australian natives in the backyard, gently waving in the breeze. Collecting what she needed, she prepared a herbal tea, and providing it, steaming hot, to Egbert, she carefully observed him. He sipped cautiously, carefully, so as not to spill it upon himself, and tried to ignore the strange taste it had to itself. He could not stay silent, he didn’t know what this was, but whatever it was, it wasn’t making him in any way, shape or form excitable, and he wanted to know, why, because!
“It’s a mixture I made, an antidote, a potion, from the information we’ve saved, and look now! Your eyes are focused again!” With happiness, he felt himself aligned, with everything he needed, he now wanted to dance for hours, to fly! But when he rose, he didn’t even want to try, he just wanted to focus on other things, for a while.
“Hmmm, this is in an interesting problem, an unforseen moment, with no explanation,” Danni said, stroking her chin. “We want you focused, but we want you about your dancing excited still to be!” And with this, she consulted the yellowing pages of one book, parchment paper, as old as could be, no one need know where the pages were from, where they have been taken, now free to be viewed, and to his tea she added a sparkle from her fingers, click, with a smile, and with a final sip, Egbert was excitable and focused, for all the while! Now with this antidote, his condition was controlled, he needed not pharmaceuticals, or the missing natural remedies his mother used to make for him when he was younger, and now that he was old, and wiser, and with Danni’s assistance, she guided him, medicated him, and their friendship became firmer and more consistent.
They saw each other more often than usual, they spent time together in his breaks from dancing in the stairwell at school, they confided in one another, and wouldn’t you believe it? Danni was miserable only with a group of others, but one on one she was confident, friendly and all knowing. She simply had had secret issues with being bullied in primary school, that she didn’t like being around more than one person at all. And now that both their problems, for Egbert and Danni were addressed and out in the open, they had the freedom to pursue their dreams.
Egbert obtained the place he most desperately wanted in the National Ballet Academy, in his audition he danced through the air, flitted so freely. No one could have believed that an echidna would careen so eloquently, and he had everything to prove to the panel members that his skill was there, beamingly, to be seen. Danni buckled down, and began studying incredibly hard, at understanding the principals of using vitamins and herbs, and other natural products, and she realised that she had a great passion for pursuing and researching these things.
She set her sights on becoming a natural doctor, she accomplished her dream of obtaining a place in a naturopathic college, and for the next three years she studied heavily. By the time the three years were up, Danni graduated with honours, presenting her thesis to the honoured animals and natural healers of the outback, and Egbert was known of by all, a household name, an elegant creature in the Natural World Ballet. Their other two friends had fallen by the wayside when Danni and Egbert had decided to knuckle down and become more studious, although still successful in their own right, their friendship group was no longer in sight. Danni and Egbert are married now, three kids with great minds, they live together, a natural healer and a ballet dancer who was more of an excitable flier, and of their lives, none in the outback can compare. All of this began from being a little more excitable than the others, and a female echidna who decided to try, to dare.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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