Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: literary

  • Poem: Peripheral – 11/02/20

    Poem: Peripheral – 11/02/20

    Peripheral.
An untidy, outside view casting the unseen realms into my being.
I breathe them in,
gulping, drinking all I see with the colours which seem so worthy
of being absorbed,
I know their feeling.
 
I can be vaguely promised something more than a glance,
should I, with great enthusiasm, seek to swing my sight forthcoming
to see if focused I really can gather more
than peripheral sight has to offer,
because when unfocused sight occurs is when we
view and dream that which is not readily seen.
And amazed I will be,
astounded whereupon my mind finally casts to the sights
that I yearn for,
to be presented with.
Peripheral carries more meaning. 
 
There is nothing more trying that being unable to succeed
but, with ardour, I will try some more,
to view something, anything, that I can build upon
with strong ascent.
 
I will rise, my abilities to pursue that which I hope to observe,
but not only observe but to recognise and submit,
this is my dream coat,
my dream.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Manipulative and depressed?
I’ve been assessed,
thank you to this deck of birds,
by my own hand, I’ve been able to determine,
that which the world may think of me.

Selfish and unkind is perhaps how I am perceived,
because of the manner in which I composed my words,
expounded my poetry.
Through depression, through illness and anger and tribulation,
that is what has come about.
 
I cannot dream of anything other than spurting forth what is within me,
to censor, to flag myself,
it is an indelicate picture.
 
Though, of course, some writings must be withheld,
but understand, with wellness,
my true being returns,
my flames riding the curve of my back.
 
And beneath the crescent moon which waxes and emits 
a necessity for persistence and change,
I will preen myself of any loose ends that don’t need to be there,
the challenge is not removing the flames which are unrequired,
in fact, damn it all, I’ll engulf myself,
you know this firebird will never truly expire.  

© 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: Life Lessons on a Path – 03/01/20

    Poem: Life Lessons on a Path – 03/01/20

    An expansive view,
surroundings enormous,
and my heart,
it beats tightly nestled within my breast,
crying out as a reminder that I must be true.
 
True to myself,
like an enthusiastic whirligig which will always spin,
relentless,
without its own natural breath but making his own,
he survives.
Better still, he thrives.
 
I will continue to turn and turn
and find my niche,
where I’ll express an ongoing internal landscape,
more than I’ll display in person,
viewable only by myself behind closed curtains.
 
There’s a space within my soul
which I once ached to share,
to divulge without thought,
without consideration, 
an alleviation,
unnecessary wrongful confessions, which,
while conjoined to the quill,
I shared verbosely and with calligraphy so flamboyant
o’er and o’er, 'til there was nothing left in my inkwell,
let alone in the recesses of my mind.
 
I’m disinclined to share the inky Rorschach interpretations
of sullied silted experience,
and as such,
my preference is to unwind current struggles and tidings
remaining in my world,
from these I’ll take my fill,
I’ll share.
 
I need never grieve again for shrieking heights,
nor those days of pinprick slender sickness,
manic confusion,
psychotic delusion,
so many people met,
yet so few remaining.

No, I will only allow my vision to be cast over the plains,
the fields of my existence
which I can detail, and breathe in the embodiment
of calming words assisting my soul 
to become tamer, 
to become wiser, 
and to allow my offered text to reflect 
what's scrawled within my innermost pages.

© 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: Swing Me So – 25/01/20

    Poem: Swing Me So – 25/01/20

    Sublime is this scene from so very high,
I cannot believe this is happening to me,
to be captured within such power of Nature
it is arresting,
it is amazing.
 
With her brewing potency, such rage beneath the sky's surface
and a stock standard collection
of sheer memories with others who have already left,
a breathy fresh emotion replaces it, and I know
that in this form, its majority of 
accompanying thoughts need to be
seized and trained,
in a method tried and adapted,
from the losses 
I will heal, I will heal.
There is the sense of replacement and regeneration
within the rise and fall.
 
Swing me so, dearest,
push me over the edge,
in a whirling of your intent allowing me to
rise higher
and preposterously fall,
I’ll gather the safe billowing air by my sides,
they'll pad my re-entry into the clouds.

I feel emptier without supportive comrades by my side,
but Nature reminds me that she is here,
and some will return in good time.
 
I dismount the swing shakily,
the exhilaration was such a sweet potent rush,
and with a smile, I stumble on, 
my initial steps like a forest fawn,
unsure of where to place them.     
  
© 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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  • Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    I urge myself to persevere. It is the only possible route to take. Of course, wallowing and huddling in bed is an option, but it’s not one I would readily like to select. One can only indulge in so much melancholy and shutting oneself off from the world until enough is enough. It’s time to get up, get out, speak loudly, with sumptuous sounds and absorb all that life is offering. And once out of bed, dressed and ready to exit my home – alone, mind you, I am rarely alone – and I take the first step outside that I’ve made in days. I’ve been holed up inside the house writing poem upon frustrated poem, with vicious words and synergies, and little positive to say.
 
But now, outside, the wind rushes around my face and my body, whipping my shoulder length hair that’s been begging for a cut for weeks, perhaps even months. I take in the sumptuous feeling, it’s as though I’m in the eye of the storm and I am the axis around which everything of this wind’s rich tone colours are centring. I throw my arms outward with abandon — who knew such a feeling was awaiting me? The power of Nature’s amazing force, right here before, behind, all around me. And I feel as though I’m being cleansed, vacuumed away of the negativity, the solid space that wreaked my interior for the last durations, times which I cannot take back. Only can I learn from them.

Playful now becomes the mood, and I laughingly pronounce an rrr, rrr, rrr, to try my voice again. My imagination presents me a playful slick seal begging to be rubbed on his belly or his back, his whiskers tickling my cheeks as, in my mind, I give him a big kiss upon his face. He does not turn away, he pokes out his tongue instead, and joins in with the Rrrrrrr’s of being pleased in the moment, and finally I realise I’ve done it, with this wind, with this amazingly fresh gusting breeze, with my odd imagination, I am cleansed and revitalised once more, no need for aggressive expressions, no need, anymore.

© 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: Languidness – 16/01/20

    Poem: Languidness – 16/01/20

     Languid, my arm flops and hangs from the mattress,
 I am but a mere weakened being 
 suffering my body’s wretched heat.
  
 My toes wriggle, it’s the most exercise 
 I’m able to perform,
 I am exhausted, and I’ve barely woken up.
  
 What is this ill health surrounding my body?
 a yellowing at the edges of an ancient book,
 curling me into an apostrophe, 
 into bedlam my innards are rearranging,
 my health it needs cleansing.
  
 I sleep for hours at a time,
 on and off, 
 the clock ticks with a decisive inertia 
 I cough and cough,
 but my lungs are still bloated and unclean.
  
 The pages turn into smithereens
 which I am made to breathe,
 the tainted yet immediately literary air 
 is now within my airways
 and is exploring my bloodstream.
  
 I smile to myself,
 languid though I am, 
 I reach for pen and paper
 scrawl for hours – 
 the ink is dragged along the modern parchment
 by my excitable left hand. 

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

 Photo by twinsfisch on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Stupid Youth – 13/01/20

    Poem: Stupid Youth – 13/01/20

     I remember being on that highway
 where I urged you on from my car
 to keep up with me
 the exhilaration breathless wind rushing 
 gasp inducing risk taking
 no one else here to see.
  
 100 110 115 pushing 120 could we go any faster honey 
 130 that’s it! 
 140 we’ve hit it,
 our cumulative grins bounce with chuffed merriment 
 from within our chassis 
 I know you love it, this feeling of being stupidly free
 there’s no one else here, you see,
 nothing wrong with this.
  
 A whirr whirr whirr resounds
 damnit, I cry, slowing as slowly as can be from 
 such a high speed
 widened eyes,
 Police officer, how can we help?
 Stupid selfish little girls 
 He hopes the lesson sticks and the expensive tickets help. 

 © 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 Cucu Petronela from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Suspended – 12/01/20

    Poem: Suspended – 12/01/20

     She hangs mid-air,
 suspended, as though from faint fairy strings,
 with the mischievous beings, barely there, 
 holding her aloft, 
 chattering quietly, smiling, sparkling, 
 socialising among themselves.
  
 She understands she is not perfect,
 she’s been sneered at and jeered at all year,
 a hopeless reach into the view for perfection 
 she’s been striving for, 
 because her beautiful curvaceous limbs 
 apparently do not match her 
 enviable waist circumference. 
  
 Why was she made this way? she wonders,
 as the fairies continue to dance,
 why was she made with measurements to 
 please herself, 
 but to cause her superiors to grow aghast?
  
 Mesmerised by the music of the twittering fairies, 
 a sudden overwhelming wave of realisation 
 washes and oozes into her pores,
 causing her to lose all sense of control,
 she trembles, she shudders, almost falls.

 And for that moment, she understands that 
 yes, all in all, 
 she is perfect,
 not only in her own way,
 but perfect regardless of what anyone has to 
 say at all.  
  
 © 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: Misterioso – 11/01/20

    Poem: Misterioso – 11/01/20

     Misterioso, 
 that’s how the piece is marked, 
 to be performed with a mood of 
 mystery and secrecy, 
 perhaps it speaks of a quiet enigma.
  
 Through these bars and notes I will troupe,
 exploring the shaded corners,
 casting aside the yawning awnings of protection 
 from the vividness of truth,
 there are certain things here which need identifying,
 items that cannot be denied. 
  
 A trinket here, a seashell, a fuchsia handbag there,
 what do these accumulated items mean?
 The glass trinket falls, 
 shatters or cracks, 
 whichever fits,
 either way, it’s done for. 
  
 The seashell houses a little mollusc, 
 a curled life that doesn’t wish to budge,
 she is protected, you see, 
 safe from all things,
 unless something or someone nasty comes crawling in to see. 
  
 What’s in your bag? a petulant child will call. 
 Can I see inside? 
 No, no, no. 
 Inside are my secrets, my misterioso relics,
 perhaps even something living, 
 a best friend of sorts —
 we only deal with interpretation.   
  
 I can unravel the mysteries because I have the keys,
 each I have inserted into multiple locks that makes the
 circumstances and facts easier to view, 
 now a gaping treasure-trove of 
 what-say-you, and how-do-you-do?
 Shyness aside, I am here for you 
 with colloquial truth.  
  
 © 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 ThuyHaBich from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Nap Time – 10/01/20

    Poem: Nap Time – 10/01/20

     Thank you to someone special who permitted his
 fictionalising and through heavy edits, turned out 
 to be a different character entirely.
 ~ ~ ~
 I dance and prance before you, 
 playful hands edging your way, 
 eclectically jabbing to ruffle you, closer and closer,   
 my painted smile beams as hips swivel and sway.
 
 You present a stern scowl, 
 you have to nudge me aside, 
 you encourage my return to my original tasks,
 you’ve important things to do and write.
 
 But, I see the light in your eyes shine,
 your body moving to a rhythm as I continue this 
 interrupting frolic of mine,
 your computer screen's terminal is Darth Vadar black,
 flickering with a white-hat coder's dream.
 
 Riled though you appeared,
 I am highly amused, 
 so greatly so 
 I could mischievously perform all day.

 The tickle that grows in my throat from suspecting
 you are at the very least mildly moved makes me want to 
 squeal and giggle,
 I suppress them though, 
 I don't want to cause any unwanted upheaval.
  
 I know I’m likely interrupting something significant 
 but at this moment, it is time for you and I,
 together we can cherish my merriment and enjoyment,
 and perhaps even some special moments.
  
 But, you need to study, or at least want to concentrate 
 on something else entirely,
 you have certain things to attend to,
 well, darling, so do I, I’m taking a break
 isn’t it time you took one with me, too?
  
 All I want is to lie down, 
 to stretch this aching body of mine,
 using my mind for hours on end causes me 
 tightened muscles and lethargy,
 I just need to rest my eyes. 
  
 I wish for your companionship,
 we don’t have much personal time together,
 while I don’t wish for anything serious,
 I would love to have your comfort. 

 Where even the friction of your body lying next to mine 
 makes me feel contented and whole and 
 less alone, 
 the firmness of your form casts aside the 
 feeling of solitude begot from 
 working in your second study, 
 my temporary isolated room.
  
 Because I have purposefully excised myself from 
 the previous co-working area, 
 in this new study is where I find my privacy, 
 but after a few hours and a spell, 
 I’d like to have you next to me, sweet and loving,
 to let me feel your heart which, for me, beats so well.
  
 You finally acquiesce, I lie across your bed,
 obnoxiously taking up both places,
 with a smile, you roll me to one side,
 I lie down, curl into a ball 
 and with a giggle, proceed to snore. 
  
 You wrap your arms around me, 
 with a warmth I wish I had always known, 
 forms melding together, as though our curves were made 
 to fit the other's. 

 Your hands begin to explore but I push them away,
 push, push, push as you might have desired to do 
 during my amusing dance,
 It is time for sleep, I explain,
 this is the pressing matter of the hour,
 I feel your mood drop,
 your body disappointedly relax, 
 but soon we are asleep, 
 how I love our nap time.   
 
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved.
 
Photo by Gian Cescon on Unsplash

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