literature – Page 17 – Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Poem: Dull Tongue – 15/09/20

I must move on,
my tongue, dull and tired, can no longer remain clipped.
I must move forth, in realising I am deserving of much more.
I must step forward, understanding that I am worthy,
I am priceless,
I must go on, because I am strong,
I am wise,
and I must exercise this intelligence.

For many hours, I sat here bubbling and brewing,
angrily explaining how I have been made to feel.
For many a-time I have expounded over and over
exactly how actions or inaction cause me to believe
negative things about myself,
that my presence is merely humoured,
and I cannot help but feel insulted,
when something apparently more interesting came along –
there goes the desire for this contemplative yet fiery poet.

But I must understand there is little point in chasing after Disinterest,
little point in tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly,
why, that would be remiss,
because why humour that character,
why allow him my attentiveness,
in doing so,
this will mentally continue to take me down,
and I cannot have that,
I must retain my level of sparkling self-confidence,
my golden shining crown.

I think it’s odd how easily I’ve been cast aside,
how love could be expressed in this loveless kind of way,
but in another way, I am rather happy I’ve discovered this so early,
how easily I can be replaced,
although the other will scream I’m not being replaced,
that they are simply occupying themselves,
keeping themselves entertained.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Hugo Jehanne on Unsplash

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Poem: Speaking of Kindness… 14/09/20

I can speak of kindness,
of the heart,
of warmth,
of the joy of before, despite now,

I can speak of closeness,
of love,
of holding hands while we’re all in rows,

I can speak of courageousness,
I can speak of strength,
I can speak of resilience,

I can speak of the potency of our inner charisma,
of our undying self-knowledge.

I understand that current times are heartbreaking,
they are tough,
they are causing pain and suffering to many,
ongoing,

and while I acknowledge this,
I will encourage us to band together and become
stronger than ever,

to determine what we can do for one another,
to give credence and hope
to each other.

To be able to place a hand upon another’s shoulder and say,
“I understand what you’re going through,
even though I may not have experienced it this day”

the empathy will shine through like a light unto a
previously-darkened tunnel,

and if the recipient does not want the light,
there is no problem,
perhaps they’ll welcome it tomorrow.

For we have become a little shy and inward
during these times,
afraid of reaching out to humankind,

insular, toward ourselves,
if we open up our hearts,
we’ll feel the warmth of someone else.

To share in what you have,
to delight in sharing a few words with a passing stranger,
to see the smile in one’s eyes above a mask as they pass,
why, that is beauty in and of itself.

The connection between human beings is more than ever
important to people such as you and I,
and we’ll feel the pain and suffering,
ease, ease, ease,

connections are ever so important,
we must keep these linked,
inextricably,

because if we don’t have hands to hold,
no one to lean upon each other,
then who will we have if we start failing
at harnessing our inner power?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo credit: United Nations Covid-19 Response on Unsplash

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September 14, 2020

Poem: Light on the Horizon – 13/09/20

What is this headiness I feel
when I gaze into the horizon?
The feeling that everything will be okay reassures me,
calms me during this fine day.

The tears wept and shed a night prior
which wracked my soul and
reminded me of the reality
we all face here
have caused my body to ache,
my head to suffer,
but now, no more.

The release, the utter flooding of emotion
was required at the time,
and while I rarely sob,
it was something I needed to own,
I realised how I truly felt inside
which I don’t acknowledge most times.

But the headiness when I gaze into the horizon,
the colourful morning canvas splashed with
resonating fire and pastel caresses,
the sight welcomes me and makes certain that I will feel its
strength and beauty within me each moment
that I recall the vision in my waking dreams.

There is nothing to mourn,
only that which I should cherish,
the time together,
the future and present moments in which
my mother and I can meld
our spoken dreams, our woven company.

I will remember these times,
events, no matter that they were
sometimes taken for granted,
our time here is actually so precious,
each moment spent with her is
downright momentous.

I want to recall the precious times,
not remember any negativity or suffering.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Laib Khaled on Unsplash

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September 13, 2020

Poem: Flourishing – 10/09/20

My lips drip with compassion,
the honey drags itself into view,
my tongue flickers,
a slight taste of care and hope imbued,
the lingering residue.

I am careful with my ability to share
understanding,
and self-knowledge,
the strength of being able to know oneself entirely,
it can be learned,
I am learning it, too.

I was lost,
so confused I was away from the land that I deemed
important,
my home,
and then a revelation,
changes,
the way forward seemed clearer
and brighter.

And now here I am,
detached from the heights of stressful moments
and I drip with the sanity of the wise,
because now I am managing
rather than floundering,
and by example, I will show you, too,
how to fly.

Guide yourself through positivity,
a gentle act of self-kindness day by day
will never go astray,
take the time out for yourself,
don’t chase others,
respect yourself,
before looking for somebody else.

True compassion for myself drips from my lips,
my tongue flickers out,
I taste the honey
as though I’m a bee,
and I realise,
oh, how I realise,
the path that was laid out for me.

It is not one of suffering,
but one in which I will be flourishing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Amy Shamblen on Unsplash

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September 10, 2020

Poem: Paper Cranes and Airplanes – 09/09/20

She sits there with paper at the ready
wondering what it is that should keep herself busy,
the beauty and wonder of creating
a paper crane
or a slick air-mobile to cut the air
so precisely.

The crane calls to her,
the idea of it makes her heart flutter with hope
what is about formations in paper that can provide another being
with the ability to broaden their emotional scope?

The airplane wants to be made,
to splice its way through the stars and clouds,
perhaps lean upon the luminous moon
not a man in the moon but a plane full of them
little figures of existence to be
positively at hand.

But she chooses the construction of the crane,
she knows that each fold will lean and paper attend
strength imbued
growing
courageous

paper dreams to be made for you.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Kevin Lanceplaine on Unsplash

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September 9, 2020

Poem: Perception – 06/08/20

Perception, my view of my world varies greatly.
Some days I will be bright and bubbly,
others, my nervous stomach cavernous, painful, empty.
My perception is like it’s being drawn across a dotted line,
where will the line stop?
Will visions of positivity or potent feelings be mine?
 
How I see things is not determined only by my internal workings,
rather, influenced by others and the way I react to their activities,
their feelings,
I do not dare sit here and blame,
I simply state and tell,
this is how my perception is swayed,
this I will reveal.
 
Of course, my inner cogs turn and gears grind
when reacting to something that upsets me,
affects my perception in my life,
but I cannot blame anyone for how I react or feel
simply because I should be able to control myself –
self-control, you know the drill.
 
And I wonder, how do others’ perceptions come about,
how are they constructed, do they remain constant
through an encounter,
level throughout?
I’m not sure, I’d have to speak of this with them,
what causes another person’s thoughts and
feelings to suddenly twist inside of them?
 
For some, it may be a riddle,
for others, I may have a slight internal view,
but if they fully alert me,
and I share my perceptions on that with them,
won’t we be all the more knowledgeable?  

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

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Poem: Never Letting Go – 03/09/20

Darling, do I make you smile?
Darling, do I wipe away trials?
And darling, do you – rest assured – realise
that you possess my bloodied heart entirely,
no pieces left for you to view or meld?

I’ve reached within and grabbed it,
quick as can be,
my heart pulsating, living,
it’s grotesque,
nothing like the picturesque scenes you’ve seen,
 
but I am enthralled with
the delicate nature of my soft organ,
it causes you to smile,
and wouldn’t you know this?
I am here and living and still you clutch me,
so exactly, so evenly, so well.
 
Unlike others, who will let me go,
you fiercely grasp with a fervour I’ve never known,
the stability I’ve long sought,
the ability to live without being concerned,
my future is not in tatters,
in fact, it’s flourishing,
along with the blooms of many others.
 
Someone once claimed to know to what I
wanted in life with them,
I never knew their/our answer
because I interjected with my own,
and I am certain that our answers would not have matched,
there would have been much to cancel and fix,
not complicated,
just looking for someone who understood each breath and word
that I'd breathe alone.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Nakota Wagner on Unsplash

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Poem: A Blessed Outing – 03/09/20

The sun is shining on my face,
it’s glary but I don’t mind.
It’s nice to be outside of the house,
away from the fortress that’s kept me safe
over time.

I have ventured out for specifics,
I am here after the fact,
being here is not especially dangerous,
I’m simply sitting here in the car,
waiting for her return,
and it’s nice to be outside
of the house that we call home,
temporary freedom,
this is a blessed fact.

I watch people leave their cars tentatively,
head towards the supermarket doors,
I watch others wheel their trolleys to the cars triumphantly,
as if this is their one day out amongst many.

And here she is,
carrying a bag of goodies
and two punnets of treats,
she’s had her outing, too,
and for the chance for independence I can tell she’s pleased,
after being specifically cooped up for her safety,
there are more facts to this story that I won’t 
allow to be gleaned,

we have relished these minutes outside
and aren’t we so grateful,
these times have changed how the world and 
experiences are felt, and seen.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Joshua Fuller on Unsplash

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Poem: Languishing – 02/09/20

I tell myself
that everything will be okay,
but I languish in bed for hours.
I lie here, my consciousness aching away,
my stomach anxious as I wonder
not what the distant future will bring,
but the next minute, next seconds, next hours.

I do not know how to deal with this despair,
I practiced positivity these last days without a care,
but what’s settling in is this irrevocable gloom,
of unknowing, what will come,
or whether things will change at all soon.

It’s like looking up the steepest hill,
some would think, “Keep going” and keep aiming for the summit,
but I, I am exhausted,
and I’ve barely performed any exertion,
but mentally,
inside, it’s a circus.

These times are trying for many,
and I know this,
I’m not selfish for how I’m feeling,
and I understand that others are suffering,
perhaps I could reach out a hand,
then I remember we’re discouraged from this,
I must keep my distance,
but wait,
I’m already doing this.

These four walls which once seemed like luxury,
a newly-developed introvert’s home
are caving in on me,
I want to disappear,
but then it seems from the outside world
I’ve already achieved this.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Poem: Stutter – 02/09/20

I stutter out what I want from you,
my anger causes me to shake,
I’ve never been this rowdy before,
my confidence piques -
before I know it, I’ll inadvertently break.
 
What is it about you
and this situation that causes me to uncontrollably squirm?
I can only tell you partial truths of the circumstance,
I cannot allow you to wholly learn.
 
For the truth is more than simplicity,
more than duplicity,
more than duality,
more than contextualisation.
 
To put it simply, I must breathe out
every single speckle of you
because I cannot have the world learn
that you’ve taken over me,
truth be told,
no more,
never,
not again,
the chance of this happening again?
None.
 
The sound of a lonesome wren.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

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