Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: memories

  • Poem: It Enlivens Me – 05/11/20

    Poem: It Enlivens Me – 05/11/20

    The colours brighten me,
    they take over my soul,
    they enliven,
    they heighten,
    they create a somewhat free-for-all.

    In my heart, which I’ll tame one day,
    when it is the time to blatantly shine,
    I caress memories and emotions borne of
    still-bated breath,
    I know they’ll surface soon,
    and that’s completely fine.

    The colour of the day is my favourite,
    it emboldens me,
    brings a spring to my step,

    wearing it, I feel girlish,
    and bright and bubbly,
    there are no more signs of outward duress.

    I cloak myself in my protective garb,
    because this is what makes me feel stronger,
    less saddened, emboldened,
    at large,

    my heart, still untamed,
    is presently screaming,
    multiple voices all
    one and the same,
    let us talk without hurtful candour,
    let us be kind at heart.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Valerie Elash on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Stage – 03/11/20

    Poem: The Stage – 03/11/20

    There’s no need to rant and rave,
    to set fire to the stage,
    the show’s come knocking
    it’s time to perform,
    ill feelings really should be tamed.

    There’s misinterpretation in the scenes,
    misunderstandings,
    certain explanations seemingly misheard or unseen,
    and the power in the moments is not
    the spat venom nor poison,
    but the future mellowing,
    the quiet contemplation.

    Will I ever reach that path where I am not
    in a situation of needs,
    in a situation where things feel incorrect,
    perhaps time apart is due,
    it’s calling,
    I feel.

    I thought it was possible,
    to not completely sever ties,
    to retain a friendship
    but it seems the truth is not this,
    I surmise.

    So, fly on high I will,
    let the sinking in my stomach be perpetuated nil,
    I will rise above the argumentative moments,
    we will clear the stage of such scenes,

    perhaps, maybe,
    there won’t be much left to view,
    it may have been all just a breathy dream,
    let the angst dissipate from the theatre still,
    allow the audience to softly clear the room.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Rob Laughter on Unsplash

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  • Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Male crickets chirp, signalling their romantic calamity. They know what they are seeking, whom they are aiming to have come into their world. But crickets; crickets, crickets, don’t we downplay their communication, assigning a meaning of humorous silence following a moment intended to be poignant, profound, or carry some other feeling?

    I used to love crickets as a child. I would hunt them for hours on end, following the sounds until hopefully, in the brush, I would pounce with jar in hand and happen upon one, to keep all of my own. I fancied having a cricket as a pet would be a grand affair. Sadly, I only ever succeeded at once catching one. They were often far too perceptive at hearing my lumbering human body’s approach and would suddenly hush with their song, thereby quashing my ability to reign victorious as a Cricket-Owning Queen.

    It makes me wonder, who else decides to silence themselves in order to avoid any unwanted behaviour or conflict? Who backs down, seemingly cowardly initially, but inherently wise in the end? For the world, with its youth and ignorance, with its body of fiery enemies and desires and wants and needs, can be dangerous for any little crickets to exist in, this is truth from my mouth which begs to be heard, all well as vowels formed to be seen.

    I used to want to capture bees as well. They were so beautiful and busy and perfect, that I wanted my own, even if for an hour, then I would return it to the safety of its pollen-filled world. Capturing a busy, occupied bee proved far easier than locating and capturing a garden cricket. Still, sadness then washed over me as I realised what I was doing, what had I done? I had captured something so wonderful which was meant to remain free in its own way. With a smile and a few comforting words, I gently released my unintentional prey, my beautiful companion if only for a few minutes of that day.

    And I hear them calling me again, I hear the buzzing of their fervent collections, I hear the shrill calling of the dances I took with crickets who surely smiled in wonder at my persistence, and I smile to myself at my childhood curiosity, and at knowing that nothing that calm, serene Nature created should be altered, should be changed, should be taken away from the comfort of their own damn home – how would I like it if I were plucked from the comforts of my very own abode?

    But crickets chirping in my memory tell me there’s no finer point to be made, nor a softer point to be emphasised, just to live life in harmony with the world, and we will get along perfectly fine.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Krzysztof Niewolny on Unsplash

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  • Poem: In-Between – 24/09/20

    Poem: In-Between – 24/09/20

    My land of In-Between is glorious,
    that space which cannot be defined,
    can’t be plotted,
    accurately located,
    yet it houses my wealth of memories,
    my heartfelt song,
    prose, poetry,
    the magic of my inner layers
    which are only conducive to goodness,
    kindness,
    and moral wealth.

    Imagine a cloud-speckled sky,
    with Sun gently winking,
    mischievousness in her eyes,
    a wooden chest appears,
    which glorious beings heave into view,
    its carvings elaborate –
    specifically made for me,
    long secreted away from you.

    For now, I will allow your eyes
    to fall upon this chest,
    after all, I have permitted you entry
    into my Land of In-between,
    Then and Now,
    I shall open it up with great nobility,
    the masterful moment of
    revelation feels truly amazing.

    But once the interior is viewable,
    inside there is nothing to see,
    at least for you,
    but for myself,
    a visible wealth of memories.

    The feelings, intense emotions which
    wash over,
    permeate my entire being
    are so utterly cleansing
    that I feel I’m experiencing them a second time,
    truly,
    wholly.

    With confusion, I see you glance away,
    you look hurt, cheated,
    as though I permanently masked from you
    my thoughts, memories, dreams,

    I call you ardently,
    but you seem intent on your desire to leave.

    I cannot please everyone,
    I’ve been struggling and striving to do
    this for so long,
    no longer will I lose who I am
    because some can’t accept me,
    I am myself,
    and that surely must be enough.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Light on the Horizon – 13/09/20

    Poem: Light on the Horizon – 13/09/20

    What is this headiness I feel
    when I gaze into the horizon?
    The feeling that everything will be okay reassures me,
    calms me during this fine day.

    The tears wept and shed a night prior
    which wracked my soul and
    reminded me of the reality
    we all face here
    have caused my body to ache,
    my head to suffer,
    but now, no more.

    The release, the utter flooding of emotion
    was required at the time,
    and while I rarely sob,
    it was something I needed to own,
    I realised how I truly felt inside
    which I don’t acknowledge most times.

    But the headiness when I gaze into the horizon,
    the colourful morning canvas splashed with
    resonating fire and pastel caresses,
    the sight welcomes me and makes certain that I will feel its
    strength and beauty within me each moment
    that I recall the vision in my waking dreams.

    There is nothing to mourn,
    only that which I should cherish,
    the time together,
    the future and present moments in which
    my mother and I can meld
    our spoken dreams, our woven company.

    I will remember these times,
    events, no matter that they were
    sometimes taken for granted,
    our time here is actually so precious,
    each moment spent with her is
    downright momentous.

    I want to recall the precious times,
    not remember any negativity or suffering.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Laib Khaled on Unsplash

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  • Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Time spent,
time passed,
overlooking the trickling hourglass.
 
Many years have been told,
my stories of old,
projected through this object.
 
Each grain of sand
a moment,
an event, or emotion captured in time,
 
treasuring my history,
whether it be beautiful, depressive, 
riddled with angst, or shining exceptionally bright.
 
When I see these events 
or moments
slowly fall to the vessel’s section below,
 
I am reminded of
the feelings,
my recollections take hold.
 
And how I have grown
from a petulant being
to a wiser, more worldly woman,
 
I pride myself on being accepting,
compassionate,
playful, joyful, and loving.
 
Though the history
was filled with
great turmoil,
 
I can empathise with others more
because of my winding paths undertaken,
my twists and my twirls.
 
To be loving and forgiving in almost all respects,
it’s taken many years of learning –
I’m finally here,
 
I am more accepting of
what has been, what has passed,
and what might never be.
 
I possess the maturity
to no longer take umbrage
to slights or underhanded insults,
 
nor do I heavily and negatively
circumspect
or wallow in self-doubt.
 
I glance back at and into the hourglass,
though I know rumination
has its place,
 
let me allow the tales of old
to become simply historic,
in my mind, only saved.
 
There is no need to cling
to the grains of lost dunes,
I’m much happier now,
 
warbling, singing
my own tunes,
mischievous and loud.
 
Towards the future
I look forth,
the final sand grains fall,
 
into the lower portion
of the hourglass,
quietly, now settled.
 
And I guess that’s just it,
I must permit the past
to delicately drift away,
 
Lessons and strength
have been learned,
I’m fresh to face another day.

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

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  • Post: There is Hope – 14/04/20

    Post: There is Hope – 14/04/20

    There is hope if you look hard enough,
Among the shadows that lurk and loom,
No matter how difficult
To discern,
When our prying eyes have had enough,
We spot that glimmer,
That shimmer –

A glistening snail’s trail
Leading to that foreign place
That certainly is not home
But it calms you in a manner
Strangely stupendous
For something that is so
Different and odd to what would
Normally calm a throng.
 
And you sit there, quietly absorbing
That naked light,
A trailing of hope leading to
An outcrop, surrounding land full of shadows
Which has the power to relax you
With its scattered stars above,
An enormity, yet a closeness,
A childhood reminder of a time
That triggers something from afar.
 
And within you now a locket meets a key
And amazed you are
As your version of Pandora’s box flings open
But with a twist,
With internal, humble, resonant reassurances
You know there will be no casualties.

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

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  • Poem: Treasures of Time – 18/02/20

    Poem: Treasures of Time – 18/02/20

    I treasure them like a baby treasures his first blankie,
I hold them close and stroke them gently,
calmly, lovingly.
 
I understand that we may not
remain together always,
that soon I will be too overgrown
to walk with them in public,
that I must instead shy away from their presence and
observe them only in the dimness of my room.
 
These sparkling moments,
these memories I treasure,
will not remain with me forever,
but sooner enough I will trip with them,
I will surely falter.
 
Because while clutching onto the past
could prove a wondrous thing
an analysis of everything that occurred
may create a sense of longing,
and what I find most extraordinary is that
if I chose to live in my memories,
in my dreams,
then how could I possible live and exist in the present?
 
In the future I could not surmise of my effects caused from
a behaviour of the present,
and determining how forth I will go
is really, well, a challenge.
 
Clutching onto straws, sucking the marrow from the past,
the richness, its richness, undying, those moments are,
and I smile to myself, finally realising that we in ourselves
can be way too much to put up with, even for ourselves,
and dust to dust we will become,
our memories now disintegrated, gone, disregearded.
 
At least we tried to reign them in,
protect them all along.  
Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: A Home Away From Home – 30/11/19

    Poem: A Home Away From Home – 30/11/19


     A home away from home,
     where we can dare to dream,
     we carry our luggage, 
     our memories with us,
     a plethora of experiences. 
      
     A building in which we house 
     our deepest darkest scenes,
     and lightness in all mannerisms, 
     and some things perfectly in between.
      
     With our eyes peering curiously,
     and smiles widening on our faces all the while,
     we can scan through our tales and winding spells
     in a style of carefulness or happiness which abounds. 
      
     Because when quietly recalling our memories,
     with friends or family, or even just little old me, 
     we can feel joyous and buoyant 
     and so self-assured
     that everything is effervescent 
     in all their scenes. 
      
     We can relive, 
     we can feel, 
     we can dance inside,
     abound in delight all day,
     because these memories we have
     catalogued and stored 
     in our house of homes
     are where we enlist our hearts
     as our emphatic and empathic zones always.  

     © 2019 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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