Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: love

  • Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    Flash Fiction: Poison in a Land So Sweet – 01/11/19

    I lay myself down in that quiet meadow that exists only within my mind. I rest back, against the soft, pillowy grass and I allow myself to keep. To become at one with the scene, the beautiful sunset, the sublimely coloured horizon; it is so glorious, and I know it’s only for me. I bask in the wonder, treating my eyes, my amazed orbs to swell and brighten as the light slowly changes, the atmosphere darkening, into the dusk of the afternoon. And I lay here waiting, for you to come soon. I lie in wait, for your presence, to keep me safe.

    There is nothing to fear in this landscape, for I have created it all on my own, but I wish for you, I call for you, to visit at least, or perhaps to return here and decide to call this home. A land in which you and I can exist, with love and soft-spoken dexterity, our hands, their movements, clutching each other’s, are not at all amiss. We grasp our attentive and longing outstretched hands, linking also arm in arm. But, my love, you have not come, will you ever arrive?

    My careful eyes watch for you, I know you won’t leave me alone for too long.

    But in trots an arrogant fool, one who does not belong in my precious landscaped scene, nothing to compare with you, because he is too proud, he is too haughty, yet I am confused, do I pay attention to him or ignore him completely? After all, it seems far too rude to dismiss another, even though he seems rough and overly boisterous and showy. I am not in the practice of being rude, I dislike the practice and behaviour greatly. So, I make eye contact with this buffoon, who is lauding himself throughout my delicious scene, trampling on the flowery neighbourhood, and I, close to rolling my eyes, acknowledge him if but for only a few seconds. I do not want to encourage him, to have you feeling my eyes treating you as seconds.

    Oh, how he prances, how he dances, before me, his masculinity screams for my attention, begs for it more and more, until I cannot help myself, I start to laugh, he’s amusing, and this encourages him some more. And then suddenly, you appear from the corner of my eye, from behind a dense bush, and your eyes scream betrayal; I cannot do anything but fumble: I wasn’t moved by him, I want to scream, I wasn’t moved at all, not a little. Yet my heart, how it now aches, at having hurt you in a manner unintended, I am filled with guilt, while the buffoon stands to attention, smiling widely, grinning with obvious pride bursting from inside. He guffaws at the problems he has advertently caused me through amusing and entertaining me with his wiles, and all the while he remains there, cocksure, boastful, pride-filled – of him I am reviled.

    I reach for you, but it is too late, you tell me I have made my choice and it is time for you to dissipate. With tears forming in my eyes, you melt back into the horizon, never again to be seen, in this fantasy of mine, you are now gone. You were my only delicate and sweetened portion. I weep for you, but this buffoon has proven his method: a rapid and obvious sabotaging poison.

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.   


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  • Prose Poetry: Shedding Intolerance – 29/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Shedding Intolerance – 29/10/19

    I’m like a brightly blazing deciduous tree except I will not weep for you. Because while my colours alternate from light greens to crisp fawns and crunchy dryness as the seasons go from bright to dark, days longer to short, at this moment I’m far less tolerant, adaptive I am not.

    Release not the inner emotions, the angst which we both feel. The grinding of stone upon pavement, the scratchy itching frustration I feel. The knowledge that I am absorbing a melody that I do not wish to be performed through me, and the strangeness and wearing down of my barely-present tolerance is surprisingly unyielding. I feel rather affected, and most certainly quite ill at ease. 

    I’d much rather be alone in these moments, and cast off my unwanted and unfeeling leaves in silence. They are not necessary. And neither is this irritation which is featuring heavily in this ongoing dramatic story.

    There’s a brief pause now, an interlude, to allow anger and the stifling feeling of unrest to build into an explosive level of intent and mistrust. Because, neither of us seems to want to admit wrongdoing, or take responsibility, or be willing to say we’re sorry. We’d rather war with our displeased silences than allow ourselves to become defeated and at a loss.

    But instead we’ll confide in one another, especially with you sharing how you truly feel. Your frustrations, your sufferings, your immense irritation; your desire for me to wholeheartedly acknowledge your communications about how you feel. It is not all about me, it is due to the surrounding world which surrounds your considered yet busy, ever-changing bubble; you voice, you vent, you scream, then you’re seemingly spent. We now link hands, and forehead to pressed forehead we gaze into one another, our eyes calming the other, the viewing of our aching souls entwined together. 

    You wrap your arms around your now-caring and almost-barren tree, as the last leaves from my limbs fall with gentle ease. Winter is upon us, allow each to warm the other with a manner of understanding and openness to be felt and seen. For, our hearts are fiery in the heat in which they deliver and the clipped words and admonishments are lost in the airy but biting winter’s breath — this argument seems like the end of an unwanted era. Allow us to communicate more effectively, to prove true calming consideration at its best.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved. 


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  • Prose Poetry: Icy Heart – 27/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Icy Heart – 27/10/19

    Your heart, my love, has grown as solid and as cold as a block of impenetrable, unbreakable ice. I can’t imagine you remaining like this for much longer – it’s devastating in its effects, my aching heart, my saddened eyes. Because my heart, my love, is breaking, cracks and fissures quietly appearing, into pieces I become, as you sit there pleased, smiling to yourself because for you, this is punishment, admonishment that I deservedly accumulated with ease.

    But then you smile quickly – you cannot help yourself, that flash of delight that shows that you’re no longer pretending to be a harsh version of yourself, and now I realise that you were simply just playing a little game, toying with my emotions for that brief moment. Seeing how much I adore you as I crumbled before you, until you lovingly uttered my name.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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    Illustration inspired by a reference photo:

    Shutterstock image: 146245403, artist: Xanya69

  • Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

     I love it when you make your bed around me, 
     as though I’m a mini human burrito.
     
     I adore being so silly in the kitchen for you 
     as I wriggle and wiggle, 

     showing my happy dance, 
     a humorous movement, slight grooves, 

     more laughter, if you please, 
     just a little, if you will.
     
     I appreciate when you bring me cups of coffee and tea 
     and become slightly angered when you 
     forget about me and don’t,

     But all’s fair in our little tiffs and wars,
     Our hearts meld, that’s what matters most.
      
     Allow us to go from strength to strength,
     Taking on the challenges of the world.

     Us two against whom? 
     None, there are none standing in our way,

     Because we control our life’s climate, 
     Our weather,
     Our potentials, we decide them.
      
     We are but two constellations in the 
     sky known as the fabric
     Of human life,

     We burn brightly together and 
     linked in arms we are forever,
     Our names will be written in our 
     version of the skies.
      
     Our adoration for one another, while playful, 
     Raucous,
     Can be seen in the quiet moments 
     where we say nothing at all,
     There is no need to talk or touch. 
      
     A simple understanding that you are there for me,
     And I for you,

    And even in the most trying of times,
     We will remain as tightly linked 
     Firmly held together with permanent glue.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.  


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  • Poem: Set in Stone – 22/10/19

    Poem: Set in Stone – 22/10/19

     I giggle and I squeeze, 
     I hold your hand with ease, 
     Impeccable our love is
     Amazingly high I feel I’m flying – 
     I’m free. 
      
     Like a bird of prey, I descended upon you
     I wanted you all for my own,
     I danced around the circumstances, the fact,
     That I was still unwell when discharged to home. 
      
     I spoke of colours I saw,
     Protection spells cast in my mind’s eye,
     You became upset with me,
     Because, you wanted me to live in reality, 
     This formal stringent style where I did not wish to be. 
      
     And so I refused, 
     I pulled away, 
     And like a stubborn sprite I continued to dance,
     Because I am blessed with you as my circumstance 
     And our connection would be built to last. 
      
     It simply took time, 
     For me to know,
     That you would strictly, wholly,
     Be mine. 
      
     Together, our fates sealed, 
     Our story daily set in stone.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    Prose Poetry: A Bouquet of Fronds – 15/10/19

    You, my dear, are like a bouquet of colourful, delightful fronds. Rare in my life and treasured and adored, I hold you close like this exquisite leafy arrangement, because of our love I am truly assured. Need not there be gifts of diamonds and gold, of precious gemstones set in shining silver — those gifting days have long passed. I caress you, like the bunch of bright and perfumed foliage to my chest, and breathe you in, your precious, peculiar scent. The heady perfume that you create without even batting an eyelid, a resonance felt in my heart as I inhale, then heavily exhale and once more, I breathe you in. I draw in as much as I can from your loving presence in my life, and know intuitively that unlike the glorious bouquet that you happily presented to me, your existence in my life will never be fleeting. You, my love, will always be mine.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    There was a river flowing from my heart at the point where we first met. Two streaming rushes converging into other, as we assessed and smiled and interacted with one another. I drew pictures on the back of your hand, little symbols here and there, you allowed me to be cutesy and my childish myself, and I so love that about you, that of my personality, you were immediately made aware and you didn’t back away, you didn’t seem to care.

    Your water brings me sustenance and lifts the dehydrating fog; disallows my heart from becoming parched and dry, and nestles me into your hydrating, plumping love. At this rushing river where our hearts were made known of each other’s presence and traits, are where we meet daily, our emotions intertwining together, becoming vines wrapped alongside and with each other. Because that is how we are, our fates are now twisted, into tightly coiled shapes, and the thorns? Why, they’ve completely gone missing.

    Because there is no longer any room for personal barbed pain or undying senses of loneliness to be noticed, harped upon, and saved. Because together we are stronger, in charming and less charming circumstances we will remain with great ardour, and in saying this I will strongly ascertain that our love for one another will remain as long as our forevers.  

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.   


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  • Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    There was that special moment, when you first reached for and clasped my hand. Do you remember, darling, as we sat outside on my back porch, in those “King and Queen” deck chairs? You hesitantly, tentatively asked me if this was okay, I smiled and beamed inwardly to myself – of course it was fine! I wished that you could stay.

    Worried that others would return to find you here, an unknown, holding onto my hand, I calmed myself, told myself it would be alright, that we still had some precious time. And side by side we sat, smiling to ourselves, the silence comfortable, not awkward at all, with the overwhelming feeling that you might be the right one for me, after all.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.  


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  • Poetry and Prose: Symphonies of Kindness – 06/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Symphonies of Kindness – 06/10/19

    Feel those interlacing melodies, the interwoven harmonies rise and fall, like a spectacular swarm of hungry, eager bees, starved from Autumn and Winter, waiting for the buds of Spring to appease them all. These melodic bees enter the symphony as they desire, lifting and lilting with their buzzes strictly moving from flower to flower. The pollen dirties their legs, but, they do not mind, they are not self-conscious, neither are they abashed, because they love the dirty work as much as any other insect, except these can rise far higher than any other with a set task at hand.

    And like these precious hungry bees, I speak to you, begging for nourishment. For my meal of sustenance, and for my deep-seeded hunger to be fulfilled and cause a whirlwind of taste-bud excitement and delight. Others would not feed me their love, they starved me, in fact, they took from my heartfelt feelings and left me broken and bruised, a gaping hole in my stomach and soul, from associating with people who didn’t deserve the true Me that I was offering them. Had I offered my heart to you? Did you laugh as I despaired at losing the presence of you?

    But now I can hear that buzzing, accompanying a melodious male voice, speaking of acceptance, duality, and kindness, symphonies of smiling adoration and knowingness. You have taken me into your life, made music out of the lullabies I sung to thee, and with your arm around me, we sing together now, accompanied by our symphony of precious bees. Because their pollen will fertilise the flowers, make them bloom, blossom, grow, for many hours, and with their colourful additions into the scene, you and I can travel hand in hand to places we’ve never thought to have been.

    Our armour has been displaced upon the ground; unwanted, unnecessary, and now unknown. Because, in you, my love has been found.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poem: Crashing Waves – 03/10/19

    Poem: Crashing Waves – 03/10/19

     The waves hurl themselves onto the rocky shore
     As though on a suicide mission
     I wonder what it would be like to feel those jagged edges biting me
     Protruding through the breaking waves
     Their strangled sounds strangely comfort me.
      
     I dare to reach forth
     One step at a time
     A momentous awakening has come about this healing time.
      
     And like how I come to the sand for serenity and to show respect,
     myself, I blossom inside
     feeling and breathing good health.

     the racing thoughts in my mind
     the strange understandings still in place
     will eventually be wiped away
     replaced with thoughts more socially acceptable and commonplace.
      
     But I will not lose my vigour nor my ardour 
     Learning more of discovery, healing and self-respect
     The waves continue to crash
     My eyes divert from the scene as they capture human movement
     Ah, there he is: 
     I almost thought he wouldn’t make it.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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