I can’t be bright, I can’t be calm, I want to write darkness into their arms, the lovers’ capacity are shadowed in depth, their fates, true strengths will be met. In the witching hour their magic’s so bright, Moon sprays light into their night and the raven caws deep rumble, sharp, hard, one would never know if the moon threw or broke the bewitching stars.
The lovers entwine in depths of night now, needing solace in their minds filled with sadness and sorrow, are they caressing the wrong one, tales wrought, takes to be undone, and powerful are whispers under breath, grails to be found or hopefully won.
(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
I sit here by this loom — Hand making, hand weaving fineries For our sort beneath the moon. It is quiet here, absent are those memories Which once took up space within my cranium, The mind of mine where thoughts permeated of you and I, Once alive, now we have died.
Those recollections, Memories, Introspections, Interjections? No, not anymore. I don’t allow them to rise forth, Grinning ghosts and ghouls once dragging Like a wedding veil or dress trailing upon The rocky floor.
No, our memories shan’t live on, No, no, they will never rise, Into the air like helium would, No air balloons for me to view, No future tears to cry. (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved. Photo by ImAArtist on Pixabay
the magic of the Universe calls spiral patterns curl reminding us of grandma, mother and child the lush serene nature of breath glows from Gaia’s glorious eyes enlivened spirits exploring elves glittering sprightly sprites. I am amazed by the clouded blue before me above rainbows threaten to fall magnificent oceans, raging and still, waiting for the next wet treasure from Nature’s dripping eyes a blessing unto the animals forest dwellers and rainforest homes deserts with Libyan sand and zircon from a mystical land we should roam; emerald green reflected in the water of savannah’s dreams. Magic all around this world we call home cherish it we must trees to shoot forth, the jungle cats sleek and pleased birds soar on high eagles rise, swans dive. Precious be the little bugs who escape most eyes rescued spiders then released from harm by hands who love them to hide entranced, enchanted by the world we have here already created for us respect Gaia let us not destroy this bliss remain spellbound know her love, seal Nature’s union with a kiss.
The universal white light surrounds me, an ethereal net, damp, floaty cloud so soft I bounce into, not against it… freeform, flow, billowy nature’s growth, it is like an extra being within the room, some giant, invisible, quietly huffing and puffing, he smiles as he cloaks my aura, now no longer a sunny yellow disposition, but made into a vagrant’s imposition…
I am now unwelcome in this land, my journey blocked pathways, no obvious pillowed dreams.
I silently make my wishes known, my love must be acknowledged, for the other, feelings owned, the waves within my mind and being speak of delicate imperfection. We wrangle in motion, arms flailing, tongues lashing, and I realise, without an understanding, what on earth has happened, I am seen only as a bother that must be cleanly slid away, beneath the rug, swept under, and this giant ghost of an aura which surrounds me now was employed by the best of them, a master in charge, something, someone from on high.
I cannot determine his leader though, the degenerative nature still swims in his intent, and I know I must rid myself of this vagrant label before I become too spent. Enough of these games, I shrilly call to myself, and he, wherever his head and ears to register might be. A cloud of fluff is now not that exciting to see…
allowing her heart, green chakra to ache and heave breaths suddenly inert then heavier cast bronze statue of sin elaborate not the mishaps nor the immoralities untoward but feast upon the irreverence which rusts not that bronze but iron ore. karmic connections hence grow more and soul contracts stately dreams within her eyes she wants nothing more than to take the journey rip it by its seams, cherishing not the path, but the destructive nature, demise, of everything she thought she’d ever need. substance, subtract, divide, understanding the atrocities of current sins and wreaking havoc with subtle powers which give more away than sensational pages could ever hide, there’s nothing more to dictate she’s heightened, aware, rest assured, by her side her hand twitches, certain powers are abhorred, but her strength within, grown more and more.
the dance the flautist sweetly breezes her melody, I can barely hold myself together that breath which creates wonder not an insolent din, fires once raged and sins were born but hell hath no current feature, gone, perpetually, is that scorn!
no devils raging on shoulders, no carrying heavy loads to break weary backs, they do not prance their fiendish means above the line of fresh air, because, because, they are no longer there.
free of sin and lightly taking in the trilling shrill song, breezing of the instrument filled with delight and winding heart song, streams, what is it they look for what is it they search for now? peace, serenity, and then jubilance all around!
angels ring and angels call they embark upon journeys to those one-lost souls perpetuating the knowledge of a thousand years, the collection, the atoms, enlightening.
purple: violet and lilac, yellow: citrine and gold, ruby in her richest red, and pink, mauves, all around. And rose gold surrounding that symbol of love, yes, this integral melody, beautiful piece, has been carefully constructed, for the flautist, carefully made like a perfect bouquet for her grown.
He takes her hand, as gently as can be, enlivened soul, enriched loving eyes, they know truest loves meant to be, deep inside.
the waves take me on a journey where I’m lulled into a sense of security and notes like gentle hands wash over me, I am amazed and quiet, there is nothing remaining above the surface, a breath and I’m underneath, the seaweed, coral, clown fish are brighter than above-days, my heart is pounding ecstatically, once well-rested, there’s so much to take in, to see.
engineered cobwebs from entangled jellyfish limbs, mesmerising affray, dilating metamorphic, fluid heads, bodies, passing my very way, I become at peace with this sight entranced at their careless might, manners so poignant with each other there’s nothing which escapes my sight; gone under.
And further under, I bury myself in the silt and sand, mischievous with this land, another clown fish passes, then mum and dad. Oranges brighter than witches’ cones, I smile to myself, they entertain, and I know their intent is nothing to amuse, they simply, casually amble, stop, move.
But it’s no longer on my side, my love, and the key, wrong place, wrong inked time, and I need this man, and I guess, perhaps he needs me, too, pity I seem like the fool.
Not as a soulmate, not as a kindred spirit, but just a best friend. Just? Is that not good enough? Maybe it’s not, but it’s the best that I’ll receive? Is this truth? If so, to digest it, it’s rough.
These deeply personal thoughts collect in my head, should not be visually recorded, I should not post nor project but I need to get them down, out, I feel like I’ve cut myself off for a man who even doesn’t recognise my true crown. Not the visual, but the spiritual. The swirling, the colours, all around.
This logical, not even subliminal hurts, I am not in the throes, no, I am not, I need much more, damnit, but how much more can I demand before I’m cut off, no more love, whatever style, from his hand? Complaining? I am more than enough.
I used to be so independent and pretty now I’ve grown dependent, an ugly being, hand-holding baby, where is the prized confidence? Where am I now?
Kookaburras sing their laughter, two fighting for acknowledgement, one with the other, and galahs smile with their cheeky beaded eyes winking, oh my! and the lorikeets feast on our figs, damn it! Mum wants to know WHY. Why is it they are so greedy, sitting on the boughs so precious, looking for something delicious for a bird so pretty, one two flew the coup, out the nest, and well, life is just beginning. Slowly, slowly, starstruck, one is startled and soars to hide but her presence is noted, taken, assessed and made begotten, wondering what did she do to be ignored by hand holding little buttons?
There is the cryptic and here within are the clues, of life we must undertake many different, many hues, I am certain that there will be challenges, here now I acknowledge the twittering magpies who always stay home with their children, and knowing their loyalty, I know our pills must be taken in order for the positive side of myself to inevitably be spoken and seen.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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