Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: literary

  • Poem: The Wildflower Gatherer – 08/01/20

    Poem: The Wildflower Gatherer – 08/01/20

     she hunts for the perfect blossoms
 and odds and ends, she has uses for them
 those with strangely mottled leaves or browned petals, 
 a quick clip, rip, 
 now wondrous.
  
 lilies are her favourite, but roses?
 just magnificent, 
 in her front garden which she lovingly tends,
 she has built up a fortress of scents and shades
 that stuns the senses.
  
 I watch her from the front doorway, as she bends and plucks
 and snips and adds,
 immersed in a task she adores,
 suddenly, a subtraction: 
 one bloom falls. 
  
 discarded by the wayside, 
 that one shall perish. 
 I giggle to myself at his misfortune. 
 I can’t help it.  
 
 © 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: Myself

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  • Poem: At Least for Now – 06/01/20

    Poem: At Least for Now – 06/01/20

     At least for now the sun will always rise,
 I’ll always wake with sleep playfully clouding my eyes,
 I’ll always have that secure home to live in,
 and perhaps a second space where I can truly be me. 
  
 At least for now my heart is tickled and pleased
 at least, for now, I don’t ache anymore,
 begging upon my knees,
 I don’t require their attentions, 
 most certainly this assertion is true, 
 because now, I know my world is no longer 
 stormy grey, black and blue.
  
 Hued in colours of brightness,
 frequent moments of wry humour and 
 definitely always something to retort, 
 light-heartedly I’ll try to share certain adventures
 while framing others as truthfully serious.
  
 But, I know,
 at least for now I need to lighten up my words,
 an assumed requirement to be brightened to be heard.
  
 A tendency of leaning toward the serious,
 there’s a chilling factor in 
 recounting tales from years prior
 or, if I were to take another avenue,
 I could feed one scene upon scene, 
 leaving one wanting no more,
 the manner is blemished,
 somewhat unclean. 
  
 At least for now, the sun is shining
 there is no need to compare the “at least for now’s”
 and where I had been lacking,
 because I know that at least for a while 
 I will continue to breathe
 in and out,
 I’ll exhale and recall the letters of 
 my past nightmares and dreams.   
  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Pins and Pulp – 06/01/20

    Poem: Pins and Pulp – 06/01/20

     I have not been outside in days,
 huddled down in my cocoon I have encased myself 
 with stinging words and florid phrases,
 distinctive patterns to my ears,
 though perhaps not to others.
  
 Alone, I sing of times of freedom, absolution, and success,
 upon reflection, these moments were 
 anything but what I felt,
 I operated without thought
 compelled by blind impulse.
  
 I travel through my memories,
 each milestone like multiple pins spearing my 
 fragile, pulpy skin,
 these lumpy layers wrapped around my form 
 trying to keep the embarrassment in.
  
 It is easy enough to pluck the obliging weapons
 to watch the paper fall clean away
 and I am bone and sinew and muscle,
 each vein carries a pulse and a motto 
 where one must squint in order to readily discern.
 
 go forth go forth
 one repeats, red and richly
  
 never look back
 you’ll meet your match
 forget the past 
 other veins bleed.
  
 Hastily I grab the loose sheets to wrap myself anew,
 a mummy living before your very eyes,
 while bloodied, I heal enough 
 to reveal subtle poignant truths.

 But there is a filter which needs to be retained,
 a breathing apparatus which saves while one's submerged -
 for some revelations can only go one way.
 
 I decide I'm fixed enough,
 at least for now, I will rest,
 there's nothing left which I would like to say. 
  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved. 

 Image credit: Eva Sandoval
 mixkit.co/@evasandoval

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  • Poem: Stained Glass Girl – 05/01/20

    Poem: Stained Glass Girl – 05/01/20

     She’s like a stained glass window,
 bright, shiny, but broken, 
 into little pieces she was ground down
 before you even heard her harrowed breathing.
  
 The rosé of slapped cheeks burning brightly,
 eyelids blued in a manner unnatural and eerie, 
 the yellowing of a bruise now barely speaking, 
 a smile wider than it needs to be, 
 it’s almost farcical to see.
  
 Contentedness still swims in her eyes,
 for she has fled the situation 
 where the pain, sorrow and angst
 can't be wiped away with a “sorry” 
 that’ll ever be enough.
  
 Those emotional beatings, 
 the diminishing,
 the put downs,
 she’ll forge herself into a newer, 
 brighter, more whole self:
 a stained glass window of a distinctively unified picture.  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: A Hasty Exit – 05/01/20

    Poem: A Hasty Exit – 05/01/20

     
 There is the crashing of a chair’s lost footing 
 prior to your return,
 you don’t hear the commotion, 
 you have simply left to relieve yourself of ailments 
 known as niggling thoughts.
  
 Everything, as always, had been going swimmingly,
 until you reached for her hand, 
 pressed it to your face with longing.
  
 You fondled something in your shirt pocket 
 hidden beneath your blazer,
 that single sign of eternity
 that you want no other.
  
 You retrieve it along with your gargantuan, 
 fumbled words lodged in your throat,
 there is no surprise in her eyes,
 only an expression of mild confusion 
 to match your blind hope.  
 
 She is your choice so why does she seem to squirm?
 Why her acquiescence to your wish 
 as she permits your gift?
 Does she fathom the great meaning for her and yourself,
 your lives together,
 all that is in store?
  
 Ecstatic, the restaurant breathes and applauds as a whole,
 grinning, you hold her left hand up to show her finger
 as though a prize or trophy she is yours,
 willingly,
 by her choice, she agreed to be yours. 
  
 Then she silently sat before you,
 poking and stabbing her lettuce leaves, 
 Darling, you enquire, is there something bothering you?
 She shakes her head and smiles, 
 reassurance all around that everything is perfect,
 with a curt nod, you need some time to think. 
  
 An escape route to the bathroom, 
 where your confused thoughts can be observed rationally.
  
 You knew you couldn’t hide there forever, 
 thus,
 you stride out confidently, 
 as though nothing is a bother. 
 To your great surprise and absolute horror, 
 she is nowhere to be seen,
 the ring laying dejectedly and rejected upon the table. 
  
 She never explained herself, 
 never took your calls,
 or answered your knocks at the door.
  
 In fact, she seemingly vanished,
 no trace of her to be found in this quiet town. 
  
 It is as though she was only satisfied for the moment,
 perhaps hoping for something and someone better,
 around the corner she was wishing, 
 not realising she’d be forced into this corner 
 and tied down by you as her less than significant other.   
  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock

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  • Poem: Dropped Mic – 04/02/20

    Poem: Dropped Mic – 04/02/20

     Speakers blare, expressing my ravaged thoughts as I 
 fail to stop and observe those surrounding me.
  
 My decibels ail those in proximity,
 near and far, their pain is surfacing.
  
 While I, an obnoxious lass in my second decade 
 smile and smile
 at the effect I now realise I am having.
  
 Finally, they, you, them, are all forced to listen,
 I cannot turn back the clock to decade two from three,
 for some things, truly, I am sorry.
  
 I up the ante and progress to screams – 
 will you not hear me?
 cannot you understand me?
 I am here, before your eyes,
 begging to be seen and needed.
  
 The clock ticks – 
 tick tock
 a cuckoo sings, heralding one hospital admission 
 or another,
 and the microphone drops
 an echoing boom,
 there exists permeating silence within this room.
  
 Quietly dragged away,
 by a member of a crisis team,
 to be loaded with medications
 there goes the development of my skills,
 my synapses will be 
 blotted dulled scrambled
 no longer freely firing. 
  
 My talents all but drained from me,
 isn’t it such irony
 that they catch you while you’re endlessly flying?
  
 © 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 whoalice-moore from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Caring Listener – 03/01/20

    Poem: A Caring Listener – 03/01/20

     you listened as I rambled on and on
 perched atop that park bench like a little birdy, 
 your birdy,
 informing you of my days and ways.
  
 whiling our time away
 to you I would sing and talk –
 i wasn’t allowed to perch closer to you because:
 rules
 rules 
 ruled our days.
  
 in this environment we were in
 we could speak and laugh and socialise
 but never
 touch
 hug 
 or
 kiss.
  
 these were forbidden,
 but you were my protector, back then
 you committed, you listened. 
  
 you continued to be there,
 even when we drew nearer to wellness,
 a time when ordinarily 
 friendships and hearts would part
 we still retained a little of what we had melded.
  
 and though you’re far off
 living life as you wish it
 fulfilling dreaminess like you know is so deserving
 your little birdy is still here 
 with her tuneful song and smile
 i thank you for listening
 thanks for allowing me to stay awhile. 
 
 © 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 Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

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  • secrecy: a complex history – 03/01/20

    secrecy: a complex history – 03/01/20

     
 my life has been more complex than most,
 i need not list the paths and crevasses and cliffs,
 but there were terrifying pictures,
 so too were there visions of exhilaration and madness,
 some of fierce independence,
 and others of sheer bliss.
 
 rarely chosen by others, 
 the paths selected were mainly mine,
 i wound my way around complexities which I made that way,
 rarely searching for an interior perspective,
 instead presenting an outrageously picturesque view:
 assess what’s on offer,
 revelations, revelations
 under a freshly plucked non de plume.

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

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  • Poem: Hello, My Pudding and Pie – 03/01/19

    Poem: Hello, My Pudding and Pie – 03/01/19

     Hello to you, my pudding and pie,
 I will kiss you, dear, never make you cry, 
 for this is a promise I will make, 
 a vow that I will undertake.
  
 I shan’t allow you to feel saddened or blue,
 I will cherish your heart as I hold it,
 a perfect beating view,
 I will nourish our lives together,
 delighted you will become,
 because my darling, pudding and pie,
 nevermore will you cry. 
  
 Those silly little girls in your past, 
 they drew naughts and crosses against your heart,
 they scarred you in special places of your mind,
 don’t kiss girls like these,
 they’ll only make you cry. 
  
 I am here to wipe away your tears,
 we’ll create new memories, 
 of love and joy together,
 even the furious moments of which we’ll clear,

 and my dearest, hello, I greet you,
 I’m finally here to make your eyes fresh,
 hold me near.
 
 Pudding and pie, don’t remember those girls you kissed,
 because I am right here before your eyes. 
  
 © 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 Adina Voicu from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Too Sweet – 02/01/19

    Poem: Too Sweet – 02/01/19

     She is gone, she has left, she’s departed.
 I made it this way;
 she’s better off having undergone this process.
  
 Because she was too bright bubblegummy 
 and saccharine sweetness, far too much of it,
 one taste and her candy flavour would explode
 inside your mouth, snap, crackling, popping. 
  
 It’s easy to hide behind something which obscures,
 but what occurs when you want to stand up,
 and show you’re you,
 and this is yours?
  
 The tartness mixed with the sugar of a lemon drop
 makes me wince, I screw up my face,
 the bitter sweetness of reality 
 slamming into what is truth,
 to reveal, it is never too late.

  © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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

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