Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: phoenix

  • poem: falling, falling – 03/04/22

    Prompts used:

    • Dearest Heart, I’m falling apart
    • My soul burns
    • Forlorn flames

    Title: falling, falling
    by Lauren M. Hancock

    My dearest heart I am
    falling
    apart
    I turn and burn,
    my soul is engulfed by the
    wandering cruel actions,
    my soul, it speaks, it shrieks,
    my spirit rises forth

    away from the gloom
    I fall apart
    floating, into pieces,
    ashes fly high and away,
    my darling heart watch me
    as I fall apart,
    my soul is destroyed.

    I wanted this but I am not of
    sound mind,
    the intricacies which arise
    when one splits pieces
    which are meant to remain whole,
    alive,
    spectacular though this is,
    like a fireworks display I watch my chakras
    break into shattered wheels of light
    brightening the sights for someone else
    who wishes to view a colourful plight.

    Shall I dance away the pain, dear lover?
    Forgetting that my happiness, my heart and its feelings
    do not bother,
    how far shall I go to be truly loved?
    Not by another but by myself,
    to stop this nonsense cremation I first need to
    extract my inner poison.

    But it is long gone, I’ve sucked it clean from my veins,
    watch me, watch me work at this prospect,
    lest we find the pathway leads to a garden’s winding path,
    I explore it in vain.

    forlorn flames then lick at my calves,
    my ankles my inner thighs, soft flesh treated, imbued,
    I’m nobody’s sea baby anymore,
    sink those ashes
    silt and soul-binding,
    and rise forevermore,
    myself, my inner love,
    will never disband,
    entwined forevermore.
    @laurenmhancock
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Artwork by Alice Alinari on Pixabay

  • Poem: Extraction – 09/08/20

    Poem: Extraction – 09/08/20

    I tell the man that he is tyrannical,
he can take his rubbish home with him tonight.
 
I tell the man he is delusional,
he won’t get anything from me this, nor any other night.
 
I tell the man he is dreaming,
how far does he expect to get with this attitude in life?
 
I tell the man I am magical,
I don’t need his nightly strife.
 
I fly away on brightened wings,
feathers soar,
no clippings,
there has never been an owner to determine how I move,
whether I can rise,
what I can do.
 
I am a winged woman in charge of my life,
I am a soaring phoenix who will pay no 
attention to a rude man’s fabricated strife,
because if that man had taken a knife to my edgings,
I promise you, darlings,
he would no longer be the one calling.
 
I tell myself that I am not ready-made,
I am uniquely here and now,
my journey to arrive here, though convoluted,
would shock and amaze,
I understand that while I rise and soar
I am impervious to the dangers that lurk in human form on the ground.
 
Fallen beings, so they’re called,
and devilish spirits, whose callous lives will unfold,
before my very eyes I spot them, in a group,
in their gloom,
and this is what I screech as I descend,
this is what I do.
 
Behold my substance!
I cry from afar,
behold my potent nature,
I’ve developed myself, I express with my shrieks and roars,
and when my heated wings of my blazing form
shift and shine and shine and move,
I wriggle in a manner that wholly flatters my form,
and their eyes, those sets of eyes are now enthralled,
transfixed, their gazes are proof.
 
What say you to a dance?
I offer one of the women then one man,
what say you to a challenge?
First – the woman – nods readily,
the other pales in comparison.
 
She attempts to move her body but she does so
clumsily, clunky, violently,
it wholly seems a joke,
I try to keep a straight face,
and encourage,
to extract some form of hope.
 
Now my turn,
I say,
as I shimmy, shimmy, flurry
my fiery form and wings either side,
each way,
 
I now engulf them all,
send their damned souls back to hell,
because if not,
they’d remain and likely harm somebody else.
 
I cannot have them on my conscience,
but their extraction is something which I must never tell,
their rightful banishment, little to no substance,
this sordid tale which shall never be revealed.

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

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  • Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Awaiting that irrevocable touch
Upon my hair-raised skin,
I know it will be magnificent, the time for reflection,
To make myself chaste, from within.
 
Butter me up, darling,
I know the emotions too well,
Of diving, sinking,
And finding no treasure,
The tides know my desires all too well.
 
But I will leap from the depths,
I will soar with grace and humanity,
The beauty of the softened mammal,
Splashes, re-entry.
 
And gyrations of the bluest truth,
Which, occasionally could not –
Cannot –
Be handled,
Herein lies the beauty of
the wondrous world of self-reliance.
 
And although most live and yearn to find a mate,
A twin flame, a soul matching ours,
The blueprints complex, though matching in many ways,
 
The phoenixes from their burning pasts,
Rise and soar,
Reaching their own old effigies,
Amazing and looming that they are.
 
We can live as one,
Or two,
A little of both,
That soft, generous touch I long for,
Why, it seems to come from the grasp of
A myriad of stars,
A bank of overwhelming hope.

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

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  • Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Poem: The Language of the Birds – 06/02/20

    Manipulative and depressed?
I’ve been assessed,
thank you to this deck of birds,
by my own hand, I’ve been able to determine,
that which the world may think of me.

Selfish and unkind is perhaps how I am perceived,
because of the manner in which I composed my words,
expounded my poetry.
Through depression, through illness and anger and tribulation,
that is what has come about.
 
I cannot dream of anything other than spurting forth what is within me,
to censor, to flag myself,
it is an indelicate picture.
 
Though, of course, some writings must be withheld,
but understand, with wellness,
my true being returns,
my flames riding the curve of my back.
 
And beneath the crescent moon which waxes and emits 
a necessity for persistence and change,
I will preen myself of any loose ends that don’t need to be there,
the challenge is not removing the flames which are unrequired,
in fact, damn it all, I’ll engulf myself,
you know this firebird will never truly expire.  

© 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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