Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: literature

  • Poem: Beneath My Layers – 01/07/20

    Poem: Beneath My Layers – 01/07/20

    Sometimes,
occasionally,
I feel like I’m coming back to life.
 
When the outer layers
peel down and around me,
revealing the
scintillating softness inside.
 
So curious am I to
view and feel and touch
this part of my identity,
where I am 
completely vulnerable and wholesome
and completely, utterly me.
 
This nature of myself 
is obvious to all,
yet still some are oblivious,

they are unused to this 
type of enthrall
in which I project a 
certain quietness,

an ethereal truth that 
whispers and ebbs
and flows
amongst the undergrowth -

these moments are special,
they herald timely news.
 
The tactile response of
hand upon softness
upon treasured flesh 
upon raw skin,

surrounded by that 
delicate fog,
sensations
of seeking something 
internally,
 
I’m curious,
what does this 
softness of myself
really mean?

Am I gentle?
Does my kindness live nestled in 
the undergrowth,
behind those protective outer layers?
 
Should I keep revealing this side,
this part of me,
so vulnerable I am
to others?
 
It’s as though I’m a
lost babe in the woods,
bare and so innocent,
I smile, grin with a
single infant tooth,
 
I am away from home,
yet I am right here,
there is nothing to worry for,
be concerned about,
to fear,
because my softness
is finally here,
 
and of my strength,
such internal,
unseen strength,
I am quietly aware.  
 
Beneath the layers,
I’ve finally found myself
and I am so proud 
to be here.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Marjon Besteman-Horn from Pixabay

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  • Poem: I Cherish – 01/07/20

    I cherish:
the wind whipping about my hair,
the still-bitter taste of sweetened coffee –
it reminds me life’s not always sweet.
The taste of crunchy cereal in the evenings,
the gentle tap-tapping of
conscientiously-used computer keys.
 
The welcome inertia of
remaining in bed long after a nap,
the loving words spoken to me,
that from anyone else would be cliché,

a feeling of coming home to
family after a weekend away,
their smiles from the couch
as they greet you warmly,
knowing that you were 
and are always wanted,
it is a fact that will remain.
 
The solitude offered
when I simply want to work 
while being alone
in the comfort of another’s company,

the powerful sensation of
breathing, absorbing, 
into my cold being,
the warmth of another’s close body,

a hand, a gentle stroke,
reminding me that my world is 
quietly amazing.
 
I appreciate the little things,
though they can be so often hard to see,
taken for granted,
I must force my eyes open,
willingly breathe these blessings in.
  
Sometimes we can be
distracted by things 
which overwhelm
and seem of more import,

but I shall share this with you,
appreciate your life, 
your blessings –
I know that I’ve been blinded temporarily,
but I now know and appreciate
what I have before me.
 
Because we must cherish and
treasure the little things,
they’re so easy to dismiss,
to sweep aside and
complain of petty things,
or focus on other areas of our lives.
 
Betroth yourself to the memories,
the circumstances,
the power of love,
of consideration,

and if you cannot,
perhaps something will appear,
reminding you of your blessings
with its intervention.
 
Perhaps you’ll feel alerted,
eyes wide open to that
which is before your very eyes,
and I wonder, I wonder to myself,
will we see or remain blind?  

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

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  • Poem: Depression, A Realisation – Spoken Word and Text – 01/07/20

    Poem: Depression, A Realisation – Spoken Word and Text – 01/07/20

    I’ll admit it.
Depression must be settling in.
The sadness has quietly 
crept into my clothing and then into my bones,
until I’ve become used to his company.
 
I snipe at little things,
take offense, 
wallow with despair,
I want to reject this feeling,
but I am too languid,
I need some form of interjection.
 
But my mouth, my tongue seems far too fat
and lazy
to conjure itself into the words,
Leave me alone;
I don’t want your company,
because his is the only partnership I can envisage
that’s making me feel so utterly lonely
even when surrounded by those who care for
and love me.
 
He’s like that tight, oppressive, unwelcome sweater
that you try on from years earlier,
to see whether the style still fits,
still suits you,
and you realise that his sizing is just not right for you.
 
And you can’t throw him off,
emotional you become,
engulfed in the face by years-old musty scent,
from the attic my depression now becomes,
he suffocates,
I panic,
I try to escape.
 
It seems too hard though,
to throw this sinister, insipid being off.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay
    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/depression-a-realisation-spoken-word-poetry-by-lauren-m-hancock

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  • Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Every morning is the same for me,
I rise, I pad, I create hot water that I stain 
black with bitterness,
a substance that does please.
 
I open my laptop, 
attend to the various avenues,
hoping, wishing, waiting,
for the stats to reveal certain clues.
 
Is it bad to hope for the 'views'?
Is it bad to desire more 'likes'?
As someone who creates, I feed off the sensation
that my work has some effect upon other people's lives.
 
But views without likes,
now that’s an interesting notion,
they make my heart sink slightly,
but I shan’t allow any sense of
commotion,
angst,
anguish,
or weighty rumination,
 
to permit these existence
would be unwise,
something unwarranted,
better to learn from 
whichever mistake was performed
and for my next creation
strive for something 
more appealing and perfected.
 
There is no shame in understanding
that occasionally one shall err 
and one will fail
at being the effervescent, welcoming being
that appeals to most,

but then again, some enjoyed the darker side of me,
my prior pain, the rapid rise, 
the subsequent self-imposed suffering,

they empathised with these moments,
perhaps because they proved that 
humankind can fall,
from my delicate mantelpiece
I had fled, took my leave before them all.
 
I suppose it’s better to vary what I show of myself,
a slow striptease? 
I'll undress myself to reveal not my skin, 
not my muscles, 
not my bones,
but my inner strength,
the quiet fortitude that lives within me,
to reveal the true nature of myself,
why, this is what I hope others will wish for 
and quietly desire to read. 

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay

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  • Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Poem: A Sleepless Night – 29/06/20

    Exhausted,
I roll into bed,
does it roll back into me?
That’s a question for myself,
do you think it does so tenderly?
 
The doona now wraps himself around me,
presumptuous, he takes up over half the bed,
it does not matter there’s nobody laying next to me,
that space is for me to sprawl,
not for Doona to spread!
 
Electric Blanket quietly sizzles to himself,
cackling softly as he overheats and overwhelms me,
in the midst of my sweaty nightmare
that is of my imagination’s frightening making,
and the heat which he throws from beneath me.
 
My socks want to escape, one is flowing from my ankle,
the other is barely held by Big Toe,
I scramble with opposing feet to Save the Socks
from becoming redundant -
oh wait, they already are.
 
Doona has been thrown down,
useless upon the ground,
Electric Blanket is irritated his heat is no longer caressed,
What about me?
I am freezing!
There’s no point doing anything but
shuddering and trembling,
sockless, without a blanket,
it’s below zero degrees in Melbourne tonight!

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Pablo Elices from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Poem: Ceremony, Interrupted (Fiction) – 29/06/20

    Loyalty can be twisted in this bitter life,
one pledges themselves to you,
through the bitter, through the challenging,
through the positives, through strife.
 
A hand outreached,
a hand to hold,
to be indelicately snatched away?
 
What am I to do with myself,
you swore to love me evermore,
upon that magical day.
 
We may have performed this ceremony
with little formalities,
little rules,
a lacking of an officiant, a priest,
 
but our careful words were filled with loving intent,
our adoration was there to be seen.
 
By the pond in the park,
where waddled white happy ducks,
we joined ourselves with love and hope,
no matter that it was make-believe,
this signalled our time,
our moment,
when our lives became so close.
 
Entwined were our destinies,
we were meant to meet,
our fate so rich, so true,
no matter the circumstances,
you promised to cherish me,
as I will always cherish you.
 
As our friends and family
stood by,
so chuffed,
so proud,
a voice called from behind everyone,
a bitter, demon-like sound.
 
Did you realise what he did to you?
Do you realise what he’s done?

Open mouths,
everyone turned,
agape,
to view this evil one.
 
Her eyes were crazed,
she was proud to show her wretched face,
she screamed on and on
that you have been unfaithful,
 
you pulled your hand from mine,
stepped forward to confront her,
but with a sly grin,
she dashed away on her own accord.
 
Is this the truth? I demanded.
It was something I could not believe,
all nights spent together,
You’ve always been with me.

You shook your head frenetically,
you would not humour that ‘basket case’,
She’s an old flame, you explained,
who was jealous when I left.

I sighed with relief,
surely this was the truth,
you wound your arm around my waist,
yet my mind knew what to do.
 
I would not question you further,
but I will investigate her details,
what kind of a person with a mouthful of lies
ruins an unofficial, yet heartfelt union??

After the ceremony, you quietly pulled me aside
to say...

My heart is so devastated,
my life will never again be the same.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

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  • Poem: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    Poem: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/first-and-foremost-spoken-word-poetry-1 
    Jovial and content,
happy, playful, sweet,
a way of living has evolved
from haphazard,
crazed dreams.
 
Where I tumbled
from one scene
to another,
trying to find where I belonged,
 
acceptance, love,
were what I was seeking,
the line thrown to reach them
rigid and taut.
 
No more slapdash or faux pas moments,
lacking of personal respect or dignity,
when trying to be cool,
outgoing,
effervescently fun,
 
doesn’t the truth sometimes prove itself
so sad, that tale to read?
The invisible ink in my journal runs,
of catharsis, I’ve no longer
any need.
 
The party girl,
while wild and popular,
only appeals
in that moment,
out of context,
her vivaciousness
can overwhelm,
 
I’d rather sit quietly,
penning a soliloquy,
read a beautiful sonnet,
or appreciate a heartfelt song.

Darker tales there are to tell,
crawling amongst
soot, filth,
and grime,
 
an underlining of
their facts,
they are acknowledged,
here recognised,
if I were more civilised,
I’d toast them away
with you
with hearty glasses of rich, health-coloured wine.
 
No real compatibility determined,
so many met,
yet my personality,
heart, looks, or mind,
did not seem to fit,
 
finally, I realised
I needed to be
happy, accepting,
and loving to myself,
first and foremost,
only me.
 
With true acceptance
came an
overwhelming sense
of realisation,
 
an understanding
of how much I’d
lost myself in
the naivety,  
the flighty dreaming
of youth,
 
the one true love
I first needed was myself,
and only then
could l reach out for
the hand
of another,
this is truth,
 
to have,
to hold,
to care,
to acknowledge as a
warming, doting other,
someone who will always be there.

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

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  • Poem: Chirpy Little Bubbles – Text and Audio – 25/06/20

    Poem: Chirpy Little Bubbles – Text and Audio – 25/06/20

    Communication cruelly cut,
aren’t I a sight to see?
A trembling, blubbering,
emotional mess,
the stress is
clearly affecting me.
 
Why did you
withdraw your words,
love?

Was there 
something untoward
that I said?
 
Will you and I be apart forever?
My unintentional
offense meaning
I’ve made my bed?
 
Oh, darling,
how I will
miss you,
those cheeky,
clever thoughts
you’ve shared,
 
while I am here,
absolutely annihilated,
decimated by you,
my formerly
treasured sound,
my prize.
 
Because what I
long for most,
more than anything
in this world,

is to
capture bubbles
encasing your words,
your voice,
in shimmering iridescence,
 
and when I will
pop, pop, pop,
these little bubbles,
your charming, warming
voice will be
brought forth
only to me.

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

***Author's Note*** 
I'm sure you all know the feeling when you think you must have said something wrong because the other person stops replying. This poem can be read in either a humorous, lighthearted manner, or in a more serious tone.
    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/chirpy-little-bubbles-spoken-word-poem

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  • Poem: Stood Up – 24/06/20

    Poem: Stood Up – 24/06/20

    I sit in the bar quietly
where I am docile,
where I often softly wept
nomadic tears of loneliness,

I long to be held,
to feel loved and alive,
not empty, bereft, and alone.
 
Desperately, I sought matches out,
for a connection that was perfect,
meant for them and I alone,
an exhilarating circumstance,
where two pairs of eyes would lock,
they'd meet,
and both our hearts would begin to fervently pound.
 
But, in this bar,
I have been expecting,
I have been awaiting your arrival,

your welcomed beeps became a cessation,
fifteen minutes after you were
meant to sidle in with a smile.
 
You promised you’d be here,
you’d been waiting so long
to meet me,

our discourse has been
passionate and intellectual,
potent and electric,

lightning stimulated my heart
each time I heard that tone,
the sound to reassure me
your interest was still there

whether by the shining sunlight
or the calming moon
upon which I would 
dream and stare.
 
I felt you may have been made for me,
at least that’s what I hoped for,
suspected,
but now you’ve disappeared off
the radar,
I text my friends -
one cruelly tells me
your absence is expected.
 
I feel lost,
I feel used,
I feel stupid,
I feel dumb,

if only you hadn’t gotten my hopes up,
these tears wouldn’t have appeared,
why did you run?
Which actions of mine were so untoward,
what about me is inherently wrong?

Like you made yourself into a magic trick,
I, too, will make these stinging tears vanish,
I'll walk away,
feigned pride in my stride,

and if you'll call,
I'll have nothing left to say,
a man like you
has no place in my life.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by LOC TRAN from Pixabay

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  • Poem: They Can Try – 23/06/20

    Poem: They Can Try – 23/06/20

    Sometimes in this life,
you’ll come across
people who want to
bring you down.
 
To place you lower
than themselves,
denigrate,
control your voice,
mute your sound.
 
They may be able
to control within
a certain realm,
where cavalry
and royalty
exist where they live,
 
but they cannot
snatch the fight from you,
your opportunity
to present your facts,
to fervently express,
to succinctly speak.
 
Perhaps you’re unaccepted in
their built-up kingdom,
but the fact of the
matter is, 
I’m not sinking,
I don’t need saving.
 
Am I a pesky person
for sharing on and on
at length,
confessions in the form of
poetry,
blunt or flowery,
sometimes thicker than timber,
facts to be saved, learned or relived?
 
Is this a crime or sin?
 
I shan’t allow
the silencing to have
any ill effect,
 
if I’m not welcome,
I’m unwelcome,
an ironic fact this is.
 
I shall carry on,
carry on,
I don’t need to
share when words
are halted by others,
I’ll accept the apparent ruse,
 
and right the wrongs
by continuing to
share as I see fit,
I have my own space
for poetic compositions and tunes.

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

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