Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: literature

  • Poem: Starry Eyed – 01/09/20

    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: Escape to a Land of Slumber – 31/08/20

    Poem: Escape to a Land of Slumber – 31/08/20

    I escape into a land of slumber,
where I softly achieve my goal,
to forget and feel nothing,
I am enveloped by reaching fingertips of
diamonds and solid gold.
 
They caress me with a richness
I’ve never known,
toy with me,
play with me,
these dancing hands I feel not,
though within them, I am at home.
 
I am deep in rest,
my back the fingers stroke,
and they play with my hair,
this escape is full of my hope,
because while I’m away in mind,
I am here and now,
though some would say my consciousness is not.
 
I relish these afternoon escapes,
the siestas which take me away
to a feeling of nothingness,
of wanted emptiness,
nothing here is awry,
nothing is astray.
 
And close to waking I experience
the most amazing thing,
I rouse slowly and recollect
remnants of a dream,
someone perhaps who I have missed
without realising?
Or perhaps I simply am recalling them fondly.
 
I rarely remember my dreams,
and when I do,
the fragment slips from memory,
perhaps the dream was a message,
or something else –
I nod knowingly –
maybe revelations will unfold naturally.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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  • Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    My body is a river,
I rush over you,
soothing as a salve or balm,
running over your pebbles,
smoothing their jagged forms.
 
My delicate hands dance,
my currents rise and fall,
to you,
my body is a river,
with my flow
I can cure you of all.
 
Aching, yearning,
pain which must be departing,
despairing,
depression,
lonely,
to cleanse you of these is my calling.
 
So, my liquid licks and laps
against your shore,
the in-between where
hunger and pain are raw,
unknown, a certain calling,
your fingers reach for me,
I flush you with calm respite,
truthful news,
release from your gloom.
 
You no longer suffer,
you are brave
for having survived your internal ravaging,
but because my body is a river,
you were permitted this vital saving.

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

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  • Poem: They Called You Average – 28/08/20

    Poem: They Called You Average – 28/08/20

    So, they called you average.
What is 'average' anyway?
Are you going to let their taunts get in your way?
Or will you rise, will you soar above the judgments, their negativity?
For some though, they’re more inclined to sink
and this image is more than dreary.

Some hearts can break at the slightest twinge
of criticism,
the human twang of strummed attack,
average, average, average,
is this what you are?
No, my darling, my dear,
I’ll speak of their words as if I’m 
breaking forth from Criticism’s prison with ease.

Awaken at every moment that you’re challenged
about who you are,
average is as average does,
this you are not,
and let me tell you this:
these taunts are coming from afar.

They are nonsense,
they are preying upon your insecurities,
in fact, can you now hear the echoes of their words
within the reverberation of your quiet words,
their intentions clearly seen?

Because to bring another down is cowardly and unkind,
why use such words with such power
to cause a sense of worthlessness,
a light removed from their eyes?
The shine of self-confidence and hope can sadly lose their gleam.

But average you are not,
never,
you outshine those letters arranged and intended cruelly,
hear my words instead,
you are amazing and strong and true,
allow your confidence to rise through and through.

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

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  • Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    It doesn’t matter how bad life gets,
hope can still trickle into view,
positivity like a painted, beaming smile
on a canvas reminding us that
a positive perspective is the
correct view.
 
No need to succumb to despair,
I know it can be difficult
but know there will always be at least someone there
with a shine in their eyes,
an offered brightness to your day.
 
And then with you,
an ability to look outside of yourself,
not introvert,
but bloom,
share what’s within
our hearts, our minds,
what they have to say.
 
Do not view yourself in the negative light
some may wish to behold,
brighten, with hope,
you’ve so many tales to share and tell,
 
Broaden your horizons
further than just your despair,
because, in doing so,
you can inspire others to reach out
from their pains,
this can be accomplished almost anywhere.

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

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  • Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    I murmur into the darkness,
whisper softly,
I breathe,
 
complex heart-song,
twisted tuning,
haunted melodies,
 
I open my eyes
only to see
a triptych of beauty,
 
artistic finery,
talent conjoined
with colour refined in shades only for me.
 
I murmur,
I murmur,
I murmur,
 
softly, now, see?
I traverse through my mind,
my brightness the spotlight
 
which allows me
to see the artist’s
work, one of a kind, freely.
 
Internally I heave,
and I breathe,
heavier still,
 
and I postulate that this
will be everything
that I have ever wanted,
 
needed,
been required
to ever see.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

    Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

    This is dedicated to my mother.

To be brave means to ignore that knot in your stomach,
to fight its twists and turns,
to be resilient within oneself,
to know all will be fine even if there’s a chance it won’t.
 
To be brave is to put on that face of strength
for your friends and family,
to not allow yourself to crumble within,
to take everything within your stride,
to face this with a smile,
a smirk, a grin.
 
To be brave is to research absolutely everything,
to be most informed means to be most prepared
for if all the details and statistics are known,
does this not mean a more intelligible road?
 
You are brave --
I can hear and see the positivity
in your words and eyes,
not once have I seen a tear shed,
body curled in suffering or misery within your bed,
and most certainly it’s because I know
that for you, yourself,
you understand you must be strong.
 
To make it through this with positivity and hope,
there is hope you’ll get through it soon enough,
this is the means through which you cope.
 
We are here for you at every turn,
here to offer calming cups of warm water,
or offer company, to sit quietly,
you bravely speak with close others
of the path ahead
as though its nothing,
nothing to worry about,
because you, you know you will mend.
 
There is only brokenness within,
and it’s a physical not mental state,
I never see any signs of mental suffering,
perhaps you hide it away from me,
expel it softly in your room when it becomes very late.
 
But for your journey,
you have no need to prove that you are brave
because I already know it
and now I’m truly seeing it,
you will make it through this storm,
you’ll become right as rain.

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

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  • Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

    Poem: Encased in a New Home – 18/08/20

    I exist in a cavity which yawns,
through it winds the breath of a midsummer’s gusting around a yew tree’s
gaps and leaves.
 
This cavity has been hollowed out by a pneumatic drill of life,
its thoughtless operator did not check for underground hazards,
didn’t concern himself with the overhead wires
and animals upon their tails as hangers,
no, this negative space has been constructed only to my liking,
a place for me to exist,
my hiding,
he understood my needs.
 
Somehow, how can a widened interior house someone whose own interior
is still healing,
still shattered in areas, still widely-known for easily breaking?
I present in a different manner to stop the worrying,
to stop others holding concern, I am happy, though inside I could be better.
 
While I am unfulfilled, I am full of desire and drive,
within this small cavity I exist undisturbed,
able to construct my thoughts,
the drill shudders and trembles around me,
wanting to make more space for this growing body,
because, growing like my heart and soul, which repairs themselves slowly,
this place feels like home now.
It does, truly.

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

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  • Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

    Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

    If you could forget specific parts of your life,
would you willingly wipe that part of your mind?
 
Would you trade unwanted thoughts, experiences and dreams 
for empty compartments,
nothing to sift through,
nothing to see?
 
But is this not at the detriment of your history,
your comparison of experiences,
the gratitude of understanding
that sometimes, some things,
negative thoughts, sensations, memories
so terrible 
may be required as a means 
of showing brightness next to suffering,
the comparison is by its nature incredible.
 
Though, to purposefully cause oneself amnesia,
would there be side effects of this?
What would happen when we forget pain and suffering?
is it all it’s made out to be?
Did you know that from darkness and despair can sprout positivity?
 
The feeling that we’ve made it through,
either together or alone,
knowing we’ve braved the storm,
perhaps that’s enough to leave purposeful amnesia well alone.
 
Regardless of retained memories,
we will make it through.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    When I was much younger,
I dreamed up a fairy tale,
in which I was treated not as an 
obedient princess
but an adamant, decisive queen,
strong-willed yet still compassionate,
rescued from my bitter loneliness, 

and accompanied by,
walked alongside through life
next to a wonderful, endearing king 
in this world which often strikes against those who
pause to dreamily admire the sky,
while busy lives hustle and bustle,
rush on by.
 
Together we would dance and dance,
and seem like forever 
we were holding hands,
our twirling,
our waltzing,
my dipping,
for me, he would eternally care.
 
Then as I grew,
reality sunk in,
a realisation I didn’t need a man to save me,
I could fall and crawl and lift myself on my own,
princess I was not,
queen neither was I,
but my world,
my decisions I owned,
I had the courage to walk it alone.
 
No matter how I longed for
love, affection,
devotion,
when I was ready,
I trusted a king may still eventually show,
 
perhaps the first would be the last,
his appearance might be a type of curious offering,
life’s rewarding,
within my heart a new fairy tale 
began emerging -

although through love, 
I did not need saving,
I needed firm self-acceptance to continue  
developing and growing.

I could stand by myself, 
all alone, 
but sometimes it is nice 
to not be on my own
and as long as equality would be present, 
reign true, 

the yearning and hoping 
for another to complete the picture,
there is nothing wrong with that, 
perhaps my dream wasn't so childish,
nor so outlandish to quietly treasure and review. 

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Alise AliNari from Pexels

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