There are traits within that I pursueto make better or more settled to correct myself anew to advance forth, to speak a humbling truth,to start a path, or reach for one which I’d already made new.Should I travel in a manner that is safer, in a way?Or take the chance to work hard at what I have maybe been gifted [...]
This poem was for a prompt for World Autism Awareness Day. This is dedicated to my fellow Melbourne creative friend Braeden Kennedy who can be found on Instagram @bak_doodlin_away and @bak_animations .Title: I See Youby Lauren M. HancockI saw You and understood your spiritbefore I knew of your ‘Able’ and ‘Label’in fact, I’d never even perceivedyour name with [...]
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.
This is inspired by a prompt on Instagram called ‘Spellbound’ from @mlhmusings. The title alone inspired me to write this piece, which is admittedly very different from how the artworks would have guided me on their own. Title: 'Spellbound'By @laurenm.hancock ©I am spellbound by you, little darlin’,the little us which may never come to be,I [...]
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…
the standard rhythmic drum won’t work anymore, it’s not fitting to pound to the spuldr of another’s heart, no when you alone know where to recommence – life truly is art.
allowing her green centre to ache and heave breaths inert and then heavier cast bronze statue of sin elaborate not on the mishaps nor the immoralities untoward but feast upon the irreverence which rusts not that bronze but iron ore.
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!
Multifaceted and colours of the spectrum, a man romantic, with heart pounding for his love, eternal, to return to him again, their binding shade, deep violet, wondrous spiritual shade.
I am most honoured and delighted to share that I have been published at Spillwords as a featured poet. My sincerest gratitude to Dagmara K. and rest of the other editing department of Spillwords for this wonderful acceptance of my poem 'Fluidity is Mine'. Please visit to read Spillwords here to read my poem. I [...]