Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: perseverance

  • Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    I urge myself to persevere. It is the only possible route to take. Of course, wallowing and huddling in bed is an option, but it’s not one I would readily like to select. One can only indulge in so much melancholy and shutting oneself off from the world until enough is enough. It’s time to get up, get out, speak loudly, with sumptuous sounds and absorb all that life is offering. And once out of bed, dressed and ready to exit my home – alone, mind you, I am rarely alone – and I take the first step outside that I’ve made in days. I’ve been holed up inside the house writing poem upon frustrated poem, with vicious words and synergies, and little positive to say.
 
But now, outside, the wind rushes around my face and my body, whipping my shoulder length hair that’s been begging for a cut for weeks, perhaps even months. I take in the sumptuous feeling, it’s as though I’m in the eye of the storm and I am the axis around which everything of this wind’s rich tone colours are centring. I throw my arms outward with abandon — who knew such a feeling was awaiting me? The power of Nature’s amazing force, right here before, behind, all around me. And I feel as though I’m being cleansed, vacuumed away of the negativity, the solid space that wreaked my interior for the last durations, times which I cannot take back. Only can I learn from them.

Playful now becomes the mood, and I laughingly pronounce an rrr, rrr, rrr, to try my voice again. My imagination presents me a playful slick seal begging to be rubbed on his belly or his back, his whiskers tickling my cheeks as, in my mind, I give him a big kiss upon his face. He does not turn away, he pokes out his tongue instead, and joins in with the Rrrrrrr’s of being pleased in the moment, and finally I realise I’ve done it, with this wind, with this amazingly fresh gusting breeze, with my odd imagination, I am cleansed and revitalised once more, no need for aggressive expressions, no need, anymore.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Poem: The Yew Tree – 21/01/20

    Poem: The Yew Tree – 21/01/20

     A distinguished yew tree silently stands before me, 
 speaking of regeneration and rebirth 
 and all that is everlasting, 
 within my heart it resides, 
 while monumental, it is a temporary fixture, 
 nonetheless an awe-inspiring picture.
  
 Who planted this reminder for me, to never give up? 
 A sign that, during times of impassioned illness and 
 ill choices there is still hope?
 The yew promises me time will continue on, 
 and there will always be that turning point known as Hope. 
  
 My mind aches at the thought of beings once in my world,
 who, in their dilapidated state could not draw themselves 
 away from the saddening muck that stills their lives,
 some remain happy to exist in their quagmire,
 they feel their current situation is something to treasure.
  
 There is no sign of a yew for them to never give up, 
 any hope for advancement has sadly been pinned down.
 Talk of hopes and dreams is dismissively cast aside, 
 too difficult, too unattainable, unmanageable,
 by their own reasoning.
  
 I want to show them my yew.
 I wish to inspire them, too.
  
 Had I remained sunken in my mud pit,
 I may have drowned like the rest of them,
 a reflection into an ability of an awful mentality,
 dark times, though infrequent, featured, 
 clouded heavily. 
  
 Now, my tree becomes a home for my thoughts,
 within its leaves and branches I bury my phrases, 
 my toiled words, my loose metaphors,
 because maybe at a later point,
 they’ll come in handy,
 or at least perhaps they’ll remain as personal pictures, 
 destined to become tidy and used mindfully.   
  
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved. 

 Image by Ilona Ilyés from Pixabay

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