Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: metaphor

  • Poem: wild dance – 11/11/21

    Poem: wild dance – 11/11/21

    I dance with my heart in the moon’s mouth
    he treasures it gently,
    carries it lightly
    never will he drop it
    because he is divining surely
    total ineptitude
    I sit here hands open wide
    and smile
    give me my heart back
    I speak with earnest
    he shakes his head a little while
    and sighs

    and relinquishes as he views
    my desperation
    to once again be in pure contemplation
    in recipient of my beating heart
    filled with fervour and pace
    like a startled rabbit
    I need it
    I want it
    he hands it to me
    reinsertion:
    my heart begins to race

    what is this feeling I have
    this flighty adrenaline life
    the moon the moon give me a
    look so wise

    i was merely looking after your heart
    making you feel less alive
    so you could live in the undergrowth
    of your contentment and strong strive
    (11/11/21)

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

    Previous Post: changes – 10/11/21

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  • Poem: Sentiments – 07/09/21

    Poem: Sentiments – 07/09/21

    A tirade inside
    flows with voluptuous sentiment
    from the lips of one
    blue in the face,
    feelings of entitlement,
    the inability to quieten down the torment,
    or seemingly distract oneself from something
    deep within, and dormant.

    Treasure not those memories,
    incorrectly saved,
    interpreted experiences disgust for
    another day,
    allow the truths to come forth,
    blatant, flooding like a river,
    still,
    discomfort at knowing
    that there was something awry,
    rest upon the windowsill,
    glance away at the wanton Moon.

    The voices within the soul,
    reside in the mind of cracked cranium,
    a wonder that the bravery is not part of them,
    displayed with justice, observed with hope,
    their pathway can be traipsed around all
    one likes,
    but without intention what is the point
    in delving into the complexities of things,
    of their mind,
    when there’s nothing positive or learned to see?

    Diatribes now,
    deranged, delinquency,
    causing curses upon everyone close to me,
    me? Where do I come in the journey,
    I’ve not been ropable for a while,
    until now, until this very moment,
    I will dismount my stallion, golden horse,
    and wipe away the negatives, the undesirable durations,
    others’ sad inability to change.

    I will converge, I will create, I will continue
    to rid this world of hate,
    for what is done when I’ve performed my will?
    What shall we be left with?
    For services, please apply through the mail.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image source

    Previous Post: Fashionable Undertakings – 06/09/21

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  • Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

    Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

    The growling primal fear
    which rears its head
    dances its eyes over our
    circumstance,
    and in a plethora of
    understanding
    it wisely retreats into
    the distance,
    pillars surround us
    as petals, thrown,
    fall from invisible hands.

    The area we find ourselves in
    beckons to outsiders
    near and far,
    cajoling them,
    calling them in,
    to come join
    the party,
    if one could call
    it this,
    we are prisms within
    shafts of light,
    sensing deep within.

    And so, we carry on,
    dispel any negativity,
    growth is a factor,
    plurals multiply,
    lace-widths of sin
    and unroll do these errors from past, future and
    unknowns,
    our history determines
    how much we want  
    others to know.

    So, wary are we,
    these refractions dance so thin,
    like slicing daggers into
    unwanted entities,
    our lovers hear and own
    everything that shouldn’t
    be seen,
    as though thickets,
    deep brush,
    slash, gash, branches
    not so tough,
    do and say are different things,
    but results matter most,
    is what some might say.

    Thinning out,
    excavating memories of time,
    white-hot circumstance,
    disallowing swallows flighty times,
    drift away from that sea
    that calls and calls,
    deep swells for you,
    and for me – well,
    I’m tackle what I am given,
    arrivederchi.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Emma on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Shade – 07/08/21

    Previous Post: Rose – 07/08/21

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  • Poem: The Flea Market Contraption – 15/07/21

    Poem: The Flea Market Contraption – 15/07/21

    The flea market presents –
    options – one-of-a-kinds,
    and rip-off pieces,
    poor imitations,
    badly woven threads,
    lurid patterns,
    blatant patent breaches seen,
    and the imaginary,
    the ingenuity,
    and the copies of a land
    in between.

    I peruse the stalls,
    pace back and forth,
    my timid tippy-toes,
    they don’t guide me,
    they don’t lead me,
    I’m unsure of what to
    sample in this flea market
    land I’m in.

    Some ideas are magical,
    well-presented products,
    smartly dressed merchants
    in hide-away stalls,
    others are horrid,
    they hurt my eyes,
    these products, rubbish,
    unworthy of meeting
    hands or eyes.

    Amongst the trash and beauty,
    objects I see,
    I spot a contraption that
    might be for me.
    It is the making of
    cloudy billowy dreams,
    sanctified, certified?
    No, but perfect for I.

    It promises to churn through
    all my ideas,
    promises to rid me of
    encumbering fears
    and will lay away
    any confronting questions
    thrown my way,
    it will replenish my mind
    for many days.

    A mind-clearer,
    a dream-recycler,
    a precious gatherer
    of many mental pictures,
    the imagery within,
    perhaps barely initially seen,
    unclouded, decoded,
    all work done,
    prepared for me!

    But then I wonder
    is this not like a disease?
    Something which eats away,
    erodes at my dreams?
    Erasing me in ways
    I dare not speak,
    by bluntly, superficially
    simplifying me?

    And I cannot have this,
    I must remain complex,
    hard to delve into,
    thoughts difficult to be met,
    and so away with
    this idea,
    this contraption for me,

    I’d rather be convoluted,
    a puzzle unsolved,
    until I’m ready to make
    the pieces fly free.

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

    Previous Post: ‘Adorn’ – 14/07/21

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  • Poem: Precious Penny – 14/07/21

    Poem: Precious Penny – 14/07/21

    And here we are,
    oysters, with caressing shells,
    guarding our precious cargo,
    treasures which bloomed,
    prized is our interior,
    luminescent, pearlescent factors,
    created by us,
    we are magicians,
    view our splendour,
    sorcery,
    shall we slay the mirror?

    For, creation,
    this semblance of wonder
    in our lives,
    the more I enter my
    inner being, the more
    I find my, our
    potential utterly amazing,
    to have created something
    from barely anything,
    such beauty,
    astounding.

    While pink is mine,
    yours is blue,
    together we ballooned
    with satisfaction and bliss,

    off the beaten track,
    lean in for a kiss,
    the farmer reaches in
    and wrenches Little She from me,

    and now, darling,
    bereft I am,
    so empty,
    they have taken away my precious penny,
    but it was meant to be this way.
    I create, they harvest,
    I am forlorn,
    used,
    but truly, before the thieving,
    I’m always treated like their princess.

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

    Previous Post: ‘Especially Now’ – 13/07/21

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  • Poem: The Birds – 03/07/21

    Poem: The Birds – 03/07/21

    I have learned the language
    of love
    not by loving
    but by being loved,

    by being understood,
    known as heard,
    my inner self has expanded
    into a flourishing wondrous bird.

    First the phoenix,
    decimate my life,
    self-destruction,
    soot, ash, burn, stir,
    potential is rife,

    so then I become
    a crane of hope,
    a sign of quietness,
    of wisdom,
    breadth, width,
    how I’ve learned
    to cope.

    I reach forth, a feather,
    hold it out to be grasped,
    the whiteness,
    sheer purity of vision,
    unspotted,
    not besmirched,
    unmarked,

    stridently,
    my wings spread,
    here I am
    now an eagle with
    perceptive eyes,
    I am scanning the world
    below me,
    for I, I have risen,
    and further will I rise.

    I soar and explore
    the dawn, the dusk,
    daily vision,
    awry is not my intent,
    no, not me,
    not I,

    I understand, wanting more,
    not less,
    won’t I call for more,
    snatch more from Life?

    Unknowing of full potential,
    but by goodness
    I’ll allow myself to explore,
    because I need it,
    I want it,
    to be heard,

    let me project my shaky balance,
    I am, on this point,
    going to be, one day,
    be so confidently self-assured.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Vivid Waves’ – 01/07/21

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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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