Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: memories

  • Poem: Tall Stars – 08/07/21

    Poem: Tall Stars – 08/07/21

    Closing time,
    the curtains shut,
    enough of this pantomime;
    we’ve watched smouldering stars.

    Time and time again
    we’ve viewed crashes and burns,
    from deep evening
    into the precious morn.

    As surely as they’ve arisen,
    they began spectacularly falling,
    stories resplendent,
    some unusually stalling,

    highlights of the millennium,
    highlights of the times,
    wonder not at their endings –
    significant pages finally calling.

    And duration of life
    seems longer
    the more we linger,
    beckon, tempt
    the stories further,
    coax forth –
    encouraging hands and fingers.

    Stars, tell your tales,
    share your stories in full,
    otherwise relinquish your memories
    to the handsome, awaiting Moon.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Rakicevic Nenad from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Sing My Melodies’ – 07/07/21

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  • Poem: Unexpected Callers – 29/06/21

    Poem: Unexpected Callers – 29/06/21

    I carefully consider the moments
    that carry themselves
    before me,
    the cantankerous callers
    embarking upon intrusion
    at my door,
    they knock and knock
    at my bruised heart,
    casually then insistent
    their volume grows.

    Obnoxious be these memories,
    boring into my spirit
    and my soul,
    cataclysmic their cries become,
    courageous I must be!

    I fling open the windows,
    the doors of my being,
    allow them providence,
    permit them entry
    into the safe-houses of my
    internal gaping wounds,
    allow them to nestle,
    making a home of them soon.

    My self-awareness knows
    their presence is at
    a detriment to me,
    but who else will house them,
    these, my memories?
    They are my responsibility.

    And carefully, my wounds heal
    all around them,
    the callers,
    they shudder and groan,
    and now assimilated once more
    within my flesh,
    they are saved,
    their salvation
    was my process.

    Here they can retire quietly,
    be laid to rest,
    no more pain,
    no anguish,
    no suffering,
    silence,
    oh, precious silence,
    it is miraculous,
    it is all-knowing.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Julia Volk from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘The Courage to Remain’ – 28/06/21

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  • Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Sprite-like eyes,
    rainbow glimmer,
    delighting,
    no need to try,

    the sunbeams stretch
    from there to evermore,
    a chest-full of memories stored,

    but I flitter them
    to the wind,
    like vagrant butterflies
    they linger
    and they gain height,
    they soar,

    on the breeze
    they carry,
    unwanted, lightening
    their loads,
    becoming less heavy,

    until light as burnt ash
    detailing what I don’t want,
    ignited beneath that full moon,
    under the delicate sky,

    and an internal sprite dances
    without an imp,
    mischievous was he,
    playfully devious,
    some might have seen or agreed.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘In Pieces, Yet Whole’ – 09/05/21

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  • Poem: The Vision – 29/12/20

    Poem: The Vision – 29/12/20

    And the proof is in the vision,
    the truth is in the See,
    the horizon is there to be admired,
    by us, by you, by me.

    We have triumphed over that which
    causes us pain,
    let us relish the moments,
    the announcements,
    one and many the same.

    I think to myself often,
    what has become of them?
    I wonder to myself,
    where is their part in my rose’s stem?

    For the ability to have been supportive,
    to be there for me when I needed them most is,
    the proof is in the vision,
    my memories,
    they were there,
    perhaps as one in a million,
    they claimed to always care.

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

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  • Poem: Lead – 25/12/20

    Poem: Lead – 25/12/20

    So, lead with me,
    leave the dust behind,
    call to me,
    seek what you need to find.

    Don’t dawdle in the moment,
    grasp onto it, true?
    Leave with strength and honour,
    follow your words through.

    May I smile at your departure,
    may I warm at your arrival,
    may I wilt at nonsense spoken,
    vehement words that can’t be unbroken.

    So, leave me in the light,
    to shine unto myself,
    this is my time,
    I don’t need to be dragged along
    with the power of morbid song from the flight.

    (early December 2020)
    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 

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  • Poem: Solitude – 17/12/20

    Poem: Solitude – 17/12/20

    A little bit of freedom,
    a nice hot cup of tea,
    or a long black, milk served on the side,
    soon to be enjoyed by little old me.

    Wandering around and around,
    little sights to be appreciated,
    to be seen,
    things we took for granted
    once upon a time,
    now appreciative I am,
    and I’ll continue to be.

    But things are different,
    they’re somehow not the same,
    I can’t change what’s occurred,
    the situation cannot be tamed.

    So, I wander,
    and I think,
    and I tell myself,
    don’t reminisce,
    because it’ll only cause things
    internalised to leap out from within.

    There are things that shan’t be
    spoken of,
    there are things which can be thought of well,
    because,
    there were times when
    happiness was surrounding,
    like a bubble, laughter like a potion,
    not poison but intoxicating,
    it’s now in the past,
    the solution diluted into a salty ocean.

    I wander the areas where light footprints
    were tracked many times,
    from favourite stores,
    to favourite shops,
    joy and widened eyes,

    “Look at that!” I’d exclaim,
    “Look at this,” I would call,
    “and here,” I would point,
    my words no longer listened to at all.

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

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  • Poem: Spells – (The Last) – 17/11/20

    Poem: Spells – (The Last) – 17/11/20

    My words became spells again,
    my words they wove their magic,
    the images proved so sincere,
    yet tired they became,
    the end:
    so tragic.

    I sewed the moments one by one,
    delved in and out the topics,
    recreated potency handfuls by handfuls,
    the result:
    confusion of moments.

    The truth of the matter is
    perhaps the words were not right,
    misinterpretations outdoors
    flew high into the sky.

    Anomalies present from whatever one might
    want to know,
    lay your head upon that grass,
    rest there gently,
    I’ll watch the subtle growth.

    Time can tell certain things,
    many different things,
    nearby blossoms absorb the moments
    in which they breathe the sounds
    with ease.

    They take on the subtle intricacies,
    borne as silent witnesses,
    voices raised in dire frustration,
    won’t the scents calm them
    along the breeze?

    But will they be subdued,
    relax themselves?
    Unravel the tapestry,
    work it all out?
    I think those others eavesdropping can
    quite obviously tell.

    My words once were magic,
    to others they became spells again,
    I wove them,
    and I weave them,
    and I let others carefully attend to them.

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

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  • Poem: The Fields – 14/11/20

    Poem: The Fields – 14/11/20

    I wander,
    the fields are blooming with colour,
    they’re illustrious, I’ve heard of them from afar,
    they have been calling from yonder.

    Their brightness is healing,
    I feel their hues trickle into my soul,
    my spirit enlivens,
    there are some things I don’t need
    to tell.

    Let the quietness be permitted,
    the expressions be subdued,
    at least from a visual standpoint,
    between the winding hills and the
    babbling brook.

    I don’t know what is more potent,
    the past or the present,
    but I hope to know,
    I hope to learn of them.

    And so, I rise from the shallows
    that kept me in their midst,
    the liquid that was constricting,
    no matter how little there was of it,
    and allow me now to flow,
    in the river that breathes and goes,
    the flowers to the side,
    they know,
    they know.

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

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  • Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Another chapter,
    yet one and the same?
    Different rules, different circumstances,
    differing frames.

    It feels odd to walk a path
    in an alternate manner,
    I’m here and now,
    watch me flower.

    The sadness is gone,
    but confusion can reign,
    I will not allow it,
    I hear someone cautiously call my name.

    Because there are set parameters,
    at least they exist in my mind,
    I must be careful to let them
    remain in place,
    lest they fuel like petrol on flame in time.

    I’m walking forward,
    I can develop on my own,
    I must continue this growth because
    it’s important to set in stone.

    I am finding a path again,
    I am moving, moving onward,
    and if those in my life would like
    to join me,
    then onward,
    onward,
    closer,
    to the goals,
    toward.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Bright Stars – 07/11/20

    Poem: Bright Stars – 07/11/20

    Bright stars shine in my eyes,
    I soak them in like they’re available to take for all mine,
    to pluck at them and stow away into my hidden spaces,
    into the cracks and tears that have been left by the decisions
    that I thought wouldn’t result in this,
    where time is the only cure.

    I’ve never been here before,
    beneath this sea of sparkle that
    encompasses and revolutionises
    my mind and memories,
    I wonder what to do with them,
    should I be without them all?
    So used to company by my side and now,
    replaced by ghostly air because of my doing,
    truth in truth,
    all in all,
    an undoing.

    At least I have the stars to sparkle and shine for me,
    at least I have their light to guide me,
    perhaps I can shine brighter than them,
    after all,
    they are dying or already dead.

    I still have my glisten. It’s just hidden beneath my layers.
    Photo by Ryan Hutton on Unsplash

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 

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