literary – Page 2 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Celsius – 24/01/21

The heat takes to me as a tingle on my skin,
raised endorphins still allow the stinging in,
I feel faint,
this warmth I hate,
others are grateful,
the cool change I await.

Sweat begins to pool at the small of my back,
the nape of my neck,
I struggle,
looking for relief,
won’t the singeing rays abate?
Temperamental, hissing under my breath,
I await, I await, the cool change yet.

Some glorify this heat,
dancing in its smiles and welcoming arms,
but I am grumpy, dehydrated,
sulking,
this heatwave,
it is unwanted,
won’t its ferocity become placid?

Perhaps I should be gracious and accept each passing moment,
to practice gratitude and be thankful because
life’s for living,
and complaining simply isn’t worth it.

Despite my discomfort,
despite my dismay,
I throw my arms to the heavens and thank God for this day.

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

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January 24, 2021

Poem: Brightness – 17/01/21

Brightness engulfs that wicked room
where tales were never shared.
Where fears, anxiety,
irreverently unfold within the gloom,
resting concerns upon one’s hands.

There is a quietness which is perturbed
by the stately arrival of glaring white
and unnatural upheaval,
a certain something,
a funk, a stink,
which would bring one to their knees,
into the darkest of thickets,
the tangled thorns, the trees, the thistles.

Do not cry for the moment of lost opportune,
do not grieve, neither mourn,
there is no end, only if wished for soon,
there is nothing worth feeling lost about,
because the presence, she lingers,
lingers in a manner that takes words straight
from awe-struck mouths and fingers.

© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo from Unsplash.

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January 13, 2021

Poem: Letting It Go – 29/12/20

Let us ride the waves of misery
but away, away from the blight,
allow us to shine with the knowledge of
that mystery,
as we approach each other in the dead of night.

And let us have that embrace
which has been awaiting us for oh so many years,
let me feel that heartbeat of yours
and detract from all my old fears.

Please let me wash away the hurt
that I feel within my soul,
let it rain, let it rain,
and rinse away the suffering,
let the pain fade away,
delicately away,
it shall dissipate,
let it go.

December 29, 2020

Poem: Without Pressure – 26/12/20

There is no longer any pressure,
self-produced,
to create nor feel,
no rushing to the chopping block
where I must reveal my innards,
to show something real.

Instead, I can gently rest,
not be concerned with
the haste, my imposed rush,
because it is time to take
some time out for myself,
I’ve been tired
and don’t I know it.

Constantly dragging things,
items up from me
is like fishing in the darkness,
I know what’s there,
there are secrets lurking
but I don’t know entirely
where, when, or what I will find.

The funny thing is this is
not even required of me –
I’m the one pushing,
to delve, so much so, that
the word ‘I’ is irritating even me.

Changes could be made
but I’m stuck,
hindered by this not so fail-safe practice,
it’s not tried and true,
and it’s tiring, true?
I need to step back and
alter my practice.

Of course, confessionals
have their place,
I acknowledge a share
has great potency,
but not on and on and on
and on and on,
even I sometimes want
to leave.

So, I’ll torment no further,
or at least I will try,
to avoid ailing with my pen,
words stabbing in ears and eyes,
and relax,
step back,
and just take a breath,

sometimes life is actually light-hearted,
had I not thought about sharing and presenting that?

(Early July 2020)

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Quang Nguyen vinh from Pixabay

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Poem: Starry Eyed – 01/09/20

They couldn’t help it,
they had stars in their eyes.
Bright burst of fireworks encapsulated in their sights,
little pin drops of explosions,
one by one they shine and shone,
filling their beings with life and fire,
delighting themselves,
fear, they had none.
 
What is it about confidence that oozes delectability?
And what is it about inner strength that speaks to not only them,
but me?
Because, I, as narrator of this tale,
I am also here to be affected,
lights and sounds within my view and ears,
can I share this, can I tell?
 
I am not the only one with stars in my eyes,
when I look at the those before me,
those who succeeded in their own style,
and the others who admire,
who view this situation for what it is,
entirely pleased be they,
it is involuntary.
 
Stars in our eyes,
this I’ll admit,
when I’m looking at us,
looking at it,
success is not an option,
success is the only way,
the ironic moment comes when I realise
I’ve been staring in the mirror with the others,
together,
the whole time, always.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

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Poem: Finding the Inner Strength – 26/08/20

I am stronger than I perceive myself to be,
even with the massive doubts I cast upon me,
I am not withering inside,
shadows covering my soul,
no, I am strong,
almost invincible.

I am positive,
even though I wonder and question my skills,
I am wise even if I’m struggling,
I can make it through this,
stand erect,
proudly,
I will, I will, I will.

Heaven knows how hard I am trying to 'be',
trying to make it through struggles,
my internal catastrophes.

I will wear a smile,
stop asking others so many questions,
for guidance, assurance,
validation,

I will become the confident woman I still am,
not once was, but who I am still,
I will direct myself through life stridently,
with my wooden oars,
glide elegantly through the current, I will.

I’ll guide this rowboat on a path of my own,
I’ll stop this nonsense swimming in my head,
this overwhelming self-doubt,
and I’ll convince myself that there’s nothing to fear,
I will make it through these trying times,
just watch me, my dears.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

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Poem: Shards and Confetti – 09/08/20

I am not a stranger to the darkness,
though I am unafraid of the light.
I am willing to crawl on broken glass,
dragging shards through my flesh
as I attempt to better myself,
fall away will the blight.
 
I can rip these fragments from my skin,
gaping wounds,
painful holes,
I am like the remnants of made confetti,
the cut-outs flung to the floor
because I am truly ready to breathe,
to inhale, exhale, be myself,
the darkness can flow aside
effluent mess into the drains,
instead replaced by purging cleansing rain,
I shed tears but they are unseen,
melding with the droplets reigned down
by a heaven or God who I am unsure even exists.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Sophie Dale on Unsplash

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Poem: Looking to Brighter Days – 07/08/20

I tell myself to be positive,
there’s no reason in the world that hope for human life
should cave in.
 
I tell myself to see the positive side of things,
that there is not pain and suffering everywhere I turn,
my heart shouldn’t flat-line:
the highs and lows of existence, 
the pitch should still sing with a subtle twang and slight whine.
 
While I think of those unknown, unnamed others
who have suffered from disaster,
those whom have passed, while loved ones grieve,
lament their family members, friends, close others,
I will recognise their plight,

and I tell myself I must be positive for others,
perhaps if I can bring a single person a smile
this day,
I have created and shared a little light.
 
While things may seem uncertain, maybe everything
will turn out okay,
I see that being open and ready
to receive the daily bad news
makes us stronger each day,
 
and to accept that while things aren’t set to improve just yet,
others have, or are experiencing similar or are suffering far worse,
and we must collectively fight with our inner strength
which makes battling these challenges so right, 
our quest to dispel this unseen danger every day and inky night.  
 
To be positive in a world that’s in a state of disaster,
it is wise and it is perfect to do so because it provides
us the hope that we need to keep on going,
positivity and optimism will never go astray,
they’re traits we should intentionally master.
 
While events and numbers may stare us plainly and cruelly
in the face,
I know I can absorb the news and tell myself,
it will get better, it’ll take time,
there are measures in place,
we must have faith.
 
And faith is what we really must grasp,
hold it above our heads graciously,
or clasp it to our chests,
and pray for deliverance from this evil seed
which has implanted itself into the fabric of each of our lives,
we will make it through this,
we simply needed to make some slight adjustments and sacrifice.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Holger Link on Unsplash

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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: Fumbling Fawn – 28/07/20

I am struggling to rise to my little hooves, 
I am failing to grasp hold of balance,
I am calling, calling, for this ability to visit me,
the skill to be mobile, to be free.
 
For so long, I’ve been unable to properly walk and stride,
how problematic for a soul for whom the desire to explore is so vividly alive!
Alas! I fumble, my extremities dance, not so subtle, nor nimble,
this fawn, I need my mama to guide my hooves,
my awkward legs, they wobble and tremble.
 
I tentatively rise,
she nudges my behind, permits me balance temporarily,
while I sway and sway
and then blindly fall, this time I smile
because it is between fawn and mother,
this clumsy style,
I am dancing my own moves,
and I treasure our routine for this little while.
 
Because Mama and I, she has not much time,
she must set off to forage, to collect for the needs of hers and mine,
she will leave me alone all day
while I manage my practice of walking,
try as I may,

perhaps she’ll not return in time,
perhaps she’ll never return at all,
how can I consider this?
My heart breaks,
my stomach plummets, it falls.
 
But for now, we dance,
she smiles, nudges me left then right,
steps upon my hooves to steady me,
as though a gentle holding of hands,
 
I am one of her truest loves;
Papa is busy leading the herd.
She knows she must leave me again for some time,
she promises to return later,
she nudges my cheek,
licks this warm nose of mine.
 
Oh, how I wish more of our time could
be spent all together,
Mama, Papa,
fawn/baby, mother, and father,
but it is not meant to be so,
we each have our set roles,
and I most certainly will take this challenge,
I will become nimble and learn not to fall.
 
It is essential to stand with my own sets of legs,
because one day, oh God, please don’t say when,
Mama and Papa may suddenly be required to go
and perhaps they shan’t return again,
it's a truth I do not want known.    

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay