Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: life

  • Poem: Speaking with sweetness – 17/05/21

    Poem: Speaking with sweetness – 17/05/21

    The areas surrounding my bones
    are brittle
    like honeycomb,
    they’re soft and sweet,
    but filled with purpose,
    slowly voiding themselves
    of madness,
    hush, hush,
    it’s quiet here,
    my sweet.

    I do not cry out
    to be tasted,
    purpose, like musculature,
    grows with effort,
    no longer wasted,

    intentions flowing and
    intentions pure,
    vestibules explored,
    tried and tested,
    hexagonal spaces each are houses,
    they’re warm homes,
    Honey, honey?
    Sure,
    over my shoulder the reply is thrown.

    I speak in riddles
    to satisfy an urge,
    presenting unknowns,
    concepts,
    linked could they be?
    Perhaps, perhaps not,
    are they unheard?

    As I travel through
    the pathways,
    sweetened with honey, syrupy goodness,
    maybe learning from the past
    is right,
    many lessons have already been learnt.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by PollyDot from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘Learning to be Content’ – 16/05/21

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  • Poem: Unwanted Barbs – 15/05/21

    Poem: Unwanted Barbs – 15/05/21

    The Wheel’s a circle
    that never misgives,
    round and around,
    until we cease to
    heave, breathe, live.

    In a fluid motion
    it carries us down the line,
    extended arms now broken hearts,
    theirs, yours, and mine.

    What happens when my memories
    cease to be fonder,
    instead aching for something of real intent,
    fingertips reach yonder,

    but that will never be,
    I’ve grown,
    look what I’ve become,

    I’m stronger,
    confident,
    brave,
    and I won’t take shit from anyone.

    Argue with me about minute circumstances,
    pick into hollows that barely began,
    turning tides as smooth
    as gliding glass,
    these circumstances are
    better known to a distant man.

    I’ve no time for jabs or arguments,
    my life is organised,
    I’m progressing forward,
    gone is most of my strife,

    let me live without envisioning
    barely concealed barbs and vapid digs
    worn as armour,
    proclaimed with might.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Previous Post: ‘Imagining’ – 14/05/21

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  • Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Imagine there was something which could easily read the words of your heart. Your joys, your aching, your frustration, and the spaces you keep for precious, invaluable art. Those masterpieces of memories and experiences which you love to hold, turn them over in hands again and again, mesmerised, decisive, the experiences are able to be re-lived this way fruitfully, truth be told.

    You can inspect these cubes, forms, or spheres, or perhaps for you, they’re nondescript, simple constructs, in your mind they can exist, in an eye’s blink they can then disappear. Almost in a meditative state, overwhelming emotions draw near, enveloping you, reminding you that internally we are all stars. Filled with spark and brightness, our glowing memories can be seen – or at least felt – from afar, and if one extends to another, perhaps both will gain miraculous, shooting energy which never shall mar.

    Who can easily read your heart? Which methods will permit entry into your hidden compacts of art? Will you allow the mirror to open, to unclasp and reveal their reflection with yours, unbroken? Or will your memories remain purely yours, until you grow older, and they slowly grow forgotten?

    Only allow others in when the feeling encompasses your being with the meaning and understanding that your heart wants to be seen. Sharing is loving, until the stark morning, but sometimes we want ourselves to let it be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Visit’ – 13/05/21

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  • Prose: Stride – 12/05/21

    Prose: Stride – 12/05/21

    I’ll just get on with it. Moving forward, that’s the path for me. I can forget but I cannot forgive, hateful words slammed into my face, am I expected to smile and continue being me? To cast aside their hurtful nature with a flippant wave, because someone muttered a begrudging ‘sorry’?

    I’ll walk on. I’ll walk forward, stride by stride, with those who want to be by my side, no requirements or expectations weighing heavily, breathing down my neck any longer. I am not here to provide what I am uncomfortable to share. It is my life, my skin, my being, my spirit, the soul that I’m in. And I won’t give, give, give, unless I desire to do so. It’s not their right to receive.

    I reiterate my worth to myself, speaking in quiet tones, then in my mind, I roar, I so roar, that I am enough without needing to be reassured about my appearance, my presence, my usefulness, my assurance is that I will be okay. I know this, I have supports in my life, and being without someone who hurt me emotionally is right, so right. I don’t need someone who does that while walking alongside.

    I will not be cut down. I am unafraid to stride.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘Evolution’ – 11/05/21

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  • Poem: Evolution – 11/05/21

    Poem: Evolution – 11/05/21

    Evolution, absolution,
    ammunition, contradiction.

    I’m expected to pick among shreds of dignity
    like a seed-starved hen,
    in the hopes of finding something
    worthy of contrition,

    but this ‘matter’ won’t be absolved
    with a preposterous predilection,
    words like a loaded gun,
    emotional hostage,
    a ‘Stockholm’ situation.

    Grew on you
    then pretences wore away,
    derelict thoughts
    like aching mental chasms,
    which could have lasted for days,

    in situ but the
    prognosis is not sweet,
    barrel away, barrel away,
    escaped with barely
    a decent peep.

    Realisation, dumbfounded,
    shreds of my armour became loose,
    gaping holes,
    barely hanging,

    shine unto the world as
    you once shone unto them,
    I tell myself my truths,
    while I acknowledge their ruse,

    these perils were only permitted
    by willingness and weakened defences —
    and I won’t be that type of person again,
    I will begin again, anew.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Nataliya Vaitkevich from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Sprite’s Memories’ – 10/05/21

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  • Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Sprite-like eyes,
    rainbow glimmer,
    delighting,
    no need to try,

    the sunbeams stretch
    from there to evermore,
    a chest-full of memories stored,

    but I flitter them
    to the wind,
    like vagrant butterflies
    they linger
    and they gain height,
    they soar,

    on the breeze
    they carry,
    unwanted, lightening
    their loads,
    becoming less heavy,

    until light as burnt ash
    detailing what I don’t want,
    ignited beneath that full moon,
    under the delicate sky,

    and an internal sprite dances
    without an imp,
    mischievous was he,
    playfully devious,
    some might have seen or agreed.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘In Pieces, Yet Whole’ – 09/05/21

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  • Poem: Dissatisfaction… – 08/05/21

    Poem: Dissatisfaction… – 08/05/21

    Providing them with
    more and more,
    but not enough to be satisfied,
    at those cruel, thoughtless words,
    envision the door.

    I give and give
    and it’s apparently well-received,
    only to find out
    it’s not enough,
    how much should I be
    expected to give?

    Bitter words escape
    loose fingers,
    realising error
    they hush and then leave,

    bereft, bereft,
    because there’s something hindered,
    unprovided,
    something, which if extended,
    would be so well-received.

    It’s not my role to
    fulfil a position,
    their slight disgusts me
    right now,

    after all that I’ve done,
    assisted,
    listened,
    been there for them,
    and now true thoughts
    are again taking control.

    Is this what they truly think of me?
    So little,
    their opinion, with frustration,
    comes out to demean,

    how dare they,
    how dare you,
    look what you’ve done,

    my role is not to solve your problem,
    lash out,
    I’ve had enough,
    retaliate?

    No,
    I’m completely done.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by cloudvisual on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    My eyes digest the scene before me,
    taking in every minute detail.
    I cannot fathom what is greeting me,
    but my appreciation,
    it will never cease nor fail.

    The Universe has sent this beauty and perfection,
    I am delighted by the colours,
    so bright,
    surging are my emotions,
    I have all the time I need
    in this life,
    a moment of delightful contemplation.

    I am permitted the pleasure of
    eyes being treated to richness and truth,
    the glowing sun,
    the blossoming daffodils,
    the beds of other flowers
    spread through and through.

    I trail my dress as I lithely
    walk the paths
    of the quiet garden where
    flora becomes anew,
    these delights help the world through their abundance,
    I create with them,
    pluck, pick, and arrange,
    trailing thoughts on an off-white page.

    I say yes,
    I affirm my existence
    within this bubble of a world,
    the scent, while maybe overwhelming,
    wraps its arms around me,
    Serendipity, Serendipity,
    my presence has a requirement,
    a gentle, humble need to tell.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash

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  • Poem: An Eventful Evening – 27/04/21

    Poem: An Eventful Evening – 27/04/21

    A rambling here and there, 
    a touch, a smile, humour is in the air, 
    comfortability, 
    company contained, 
    thoughts shared, 
    all aboard the rise and fall of the train. 

    I don’t feel awry, do you?
    They shake their head, 
    they know not to speak their truths, 
    for if it were known how nervous one felt, 
    the pressures of the heart would have to be spoke,
    a heart would have to admit it melts,
    the tightening of a wanted noose, 
    a newly looser belt. 

    Why on earth would the fissures let loose, 
    steam gusting forth, 
    and geysers pressurising the room, 

    words spoken, or hushed in the dark, 
    addle the mind, 
    or allow another to crawl away, 
    escape, 
    into their comfort zone, 
    where are you — 
    oh, hark?
    I think this takes the cake, 
    I think it hits the mark,
    walk away, away, from the affray?

    Take the sugar, 
    exercise the sweetness,
    be brave, 
    don’t knock objects aside accidentally, 
    the clumsiness can leave a smudge
    that no one will want to save, 

    and celebrate the moments
    when time seems to have healed 
    the brokenness inside of them,
    and eyes, 
    and sight, 
    certain glittering beauty will steal.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Ben Koorengevel on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Spiritual Names – 25/04/21

    Poem: Spiritual Names – 25/04/21

    A name rolled off the tongue, 
    started with a stammer, ended with an “A”, 
    I was not upset, I would not be swayed, 
    I was not irritated, I would not be saddened, 
    I would not allow myself to feel hurt or even 
    burdened or betrayed. 

    A slip of the tongue, 
    shall we look this up? 
    Perhaps a spiritual name, 
    underlying of sorts. 

    And then we found it, 
    beautiful description, 
    suited to a T, 
    was this the Universe’s way of highlighting 
    its secret name for me?

    As I read on, 
    I smiled, 
    it described me in ways that fit, 
    although there was some advice I didn’t agree with, 
    I wouldn’t allow my heart to dip –

    I remember at a time wondering what or even if 
    I had a soul name for me, 
    or whether it was what I was named by my loved ones, 
    Miss Lauren M, the assigned name for me. 

    Have I now discovered my spiritual name? 
    Perhaps, perhaps I have not, 
    but the process was lovely all the same, 
    and I liked reading those kindly written words, 
    and for the one who rolled off the name from his tongue, 
    his real name is meant to remain, 
    maybe the same is to be spoken for my chosen, given name.

    Maybe there’s no need to search for something else 
    when there’s no need to replace.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Slava on Unsplash

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