Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • Poem: An Awakening – 21/09/20

    Poem: An Awakening – 21/09/20

    The ambient music is comforting,
    soothing unto my soul,
    it makes me rise along with it,
    and when the melody sinks with satisfaction,
    my heartbeat ebbs,
    it flows.

    I relish these special times I have
    to appreciate the music in my abode,
    where I am left quietly,
    contemplatively,
    to myself.

    No noisy interruptions,
    no untoward commotions,
    just me and my heart beating,
    eyes brightened,
    with joy, oh, such joy.

    I’ve never felt so serene,
    and I’m doing this simply as I please,
    I am at ease,
    I am relaxed,
    it’s so nice to not feel the agitation and anger,
    disquieting at that.

    The internal cacophonies have finally ceased,
    there are no danger zones left for me
    to navigate, even if I pleased,
    for inside, I am calm,
    it has taken me so long,
    to come to terms with the
    noisiness that was hurting
    my soul.

    Why was I unsettled?
    Why such internal rage and anger?
    The self-hatred,
    the lashing out at others,
    feeling dissatisfaction with my life:
    it seemed a permanent fixture.

    But now, now,
    I feel both motivated and at peace,
    at finally truly making something of myself,
    my life,
    the times I ardently strove for success had seemed
    so far in the past
    that replication never seemed something I could dream of,
    reach for,
    or could personally seek.

    Now, now,
    I am stronger,
    and I feel the serenity sink into my muscles,
    into my bones,
    and make itself at home,
    I am finally at peace,
    and there is no need to feel anything less
    than – within my skin –
    perfectly at home.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Saad Chaudhry on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Mediating My Life – 20/09/20

    Poem: Mediating My Life – 20/09/20

    Rosemary oil swiped either side of the doorway,
    and below the walkway, where I will enter into my abode.
    Rosemary oil, so glorious is the scent,
    wiped below the lip of my desk,
    to harness, relax, caress.

    I am embracing the softer side of life,
    scent,
    meditation,
    heeding surfacing dreams,
    taking care of my body,
    operating holistically.

    After being so hard in my thoughts,
    so obstinate in being unchangeable and closed-minded
    to things I was unfamiliar with,
    I am finally open to the healing permitted in this world,
    different types of blessings.

    It may seem like a small step to others,
    nothing really worth mentioning,
    but for me,
    it’s like addressing an inner power that allows me
    to finally embrace what I’ve been missing.

    And the amazing thing is,
    I can already feel the differences,
    the self-improvements,
    the happier state of mind,
    the positivity beginning to trickle then flow.

    No hardened soul to be envisaged anymore,
    there is no need to fight to struggle against
    my negative capabilities,
    I will relish the healing,
    I will cherish the process,
    and I will fall in love with the self-knowledge I am gleaning,
    the knowing.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

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  • Prose: Seeking Happiness – 20/09/20

    Prose: Seeking Happiness – 20/09/20

    The differences between us could be enormous. Life experiences, personal beliefs, ways of going about things. I guess the one thing we mostly have in common is a desire to be happy. Happiness can manifest itself in many ways from many things, but I’m not interested in seeking it through the materialistic. I’m interested in the personal and interpersonal. We can exist alone but who would we be without companionship, friendships, emotional ties, relatability?

    Over the years, my friendship circle has diminished somewhat, for whatever reasons disclosed or undisclosed, but I cherish those who have remained in my life. Human connection is very much required, especially for me. I know some people would happily exist without contact from others, but I feel they might be few and far in between, perhaps some already experiencing unhappiness and wanting to shy away.

    I know in myself the differences between us really don’t and shouldn’t count. We each have our own method of striving for happiness, but as long as the means isn’t immoral, cruel, or unkind, I encourage the exploration of your potential paths. Because, sometimes even we don’t know what it is that will make us happy; it could be a misleading impulse within our mind or heart, a shrieking volume instructing us to take this or that road, and then in the end, it was the wrong message and path all along.

    But I encourage you to trust both your heart and mind, and if the message is a mistake, it’s an opportunity to learn about what is not right for you. Forget about our differences, and start embracing the similarities. Broadly speaking, we all want to be happy. Let’s make this happen.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sam Manns on Unsplash

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  • Prose: The Path of Self-Acceptance – 19/09/20

    Prose: The Path of Self-Acceptance – 19/09/20

    I lay my head softly to rest. It is morning, but I have been awake since eleven in the eve. I don’t toss and turn like some do when their mind is at unease, but I feel the dismay within. Or it may in fact be vehement, it may be sorrow, it may be “How did I find myself in this circumstance?”, my life begs of me, tells me there’s other ways to go, and I wish I were strong enough right now to explore those paths, to find a different way for myself.

    Change appears to be imminent, to be calling for me, it is ripe like the wind bustling against furry spring peaches weighing down boughs, decorated by leaves, and I can almost smell their fresh scent beckoning me forth, tantalising, making me reach for the tree to pluck, pluck, pluck, to my heart’s content indeed.

    As I shut my eyes gently, I imagine different circumstances and outcomes that would come from different decisions. Would I be happier, feel different, be led to a path anew? Or am I already on this path and don’t even know it, the path of self-discovery and finally, finally, renewed trust in myself and self-acceptance?

    It has been years since I have wholly trusted myself and my judgement, and now it feels right, the air pregnant with expectation that I should take my reliance on myself back into my hands once more. I am stronger than I have allowed myself to be, I have allowed myself to wilt and have this lack of strength be believed. I am so much stronger than I have allowed myself to be.

    In order to raise the valiant part of myself once more, I need to listen to my heart, hear what it tells me, and then in the silence, listen harder, some more. It is all a method of growing, and unlike those ripe peaches which were allowed to flourish and exist, I had permitted the death of my growth, but now, now, I must live! Stagnant had I become, but alive, now I must be, this process must become.

    I will allow myself to breathe, and flow, and grow. In the mirror, I will smile during the process, carefully watching myself.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Beautiful Tragedy – 18/09/20

    Poem: Beautiful Tragedy – 18/09/20

    Our love was a beautiful tragedy,
    we flourished from the taste
    of its existence,
    the way we reacted and acted was
    like that of a giggling pair of youths.

    But we lacked maturity,
    good times could not only be the
    ones had,
    falling into his eyes,
    his hurt,
    what did it truly mean?

    Listening to and sharing tales,
    the mutual opening up of
    old wounds,
    and while information was privileged,
    I sometimes felt ill-equipped
    to properly advise or comment.

    The tragedy behind our
    wall of defensiveness against the world,
    our fortress of affection
    which was mean to enclose,
    protect,
    preserve our magic,
    only to be seen, admired, and envied
    at certain times by others
    when we decided to be on display,

    the tragedy was that our perfect little bubble
    was our downfall,
    and a lacking of self-understanding
    on part of one or both –
    perhaps specifically one,
    perhaps it was me.

    The absence of self-awareness,
    a reasoning and knowledge
    of what was required,
    what was necessary for the
    growth of the heart
    could cause a cacophony,
    reverberations to be felt and heard
    for many an eve.

    Now truly seems the time to heal,
    I must attempt this;
    we must try our best to repair,
    cannot have one or the other disappear,
    a desire rise to vanish into thin air.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Morgan Sessions on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Your Tower – 17/09/20

    Poem: Your Tower – 17/09/20

    Lost connections,
    fallen by the wayside,
    the electricity which surged,
    now plundered of pride,

    hypocrisy which seems to glimmer
    at the door,
    I wonder what was intended,
    and were the relationships meant to be more?

    Tainted by disconnect,
    lacking in joinery and glue,
    once so potent,
    alienated – by choice?
    Is this the truth?
    Walking away,
    time to rebuild without dismay.

    Sometimes stronger on your own,
    perched in a tower,
    the only being there to recognise
    your humble throne,
    you are strong, despite it all,
    you can achieve comfort,
    consideration, quietly, Queen,
    you know,
    your silent goals.

    Strenuous may be the thought processes
    where you dance with indecisiveness,
    but know you are the maker of
    your own fate,
    don’t forget your heart,
    little lady,
    for it may become too late.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Tobias Reich on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Construction Site – 16/09/20

    Poem: Construction Site – 16/09/20

    Your world will feel like a construction site,
    workers wandering the areas with intent,
    lifting, hauling, attaching, installing,
    ensuring that progress is made,
    this is why they’ve been sent.

    They are making certain that changes are timely,
    are attractive,
    and according to the plans for the one who is paying,
    and you, you, my friend,
    are the one plotting with paper and pen,
    are these alterations what you’ve asked
    for from these women and men?

    It can be so hard when you allow others in to tinker
    and touch sections that need progressing
    but are sensitive because you have this thing
    in which the way they already are,
    you cherish them,

    and your mind, your heart,
    the pit of your stomach,
    they all react in some such way,

    and then presently, these sites are becoming works of art,
    with the final touches they are made to apparent perfection,
    any more than if you could have left them?

    Did you really need to bring in subcontractors to mess
    with what already was?
    Weren’t you enough before you were meddled with willingly,
    because you felt you weren’t enough?

    Or are the changes so right, correct, what were needed to
    brighten the heart’s sorrows, your intellect?
    Your world may be a construction site,
    but you permitted the work to be performed upon it.

    ©2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Dull Tongue – 15/09/20

    Poem: Dull Tongue – 15/09/20

    I must move on,
    my tongue, dull and tired, can no longer remain clipped.
    I must move forth, in realising I am deserving of much more.
    I must step forward, understanding that I am worthy,
    I am priceless,
    I must go on, because I am strong,
    I am wise,
    and I must exercise this intelligence.

    For many hours, I sat here bubbling and brewing,
    angrily explaining how I have been made to feel.
    For many a-time I have expounded over and over
    exactly how actions or inaction cause me to believe
    negative things about myself,
    that my presence is merely humoured,
    and I cannot help but feel insulted,
    when something apparently more interesting came along –
    there goes the desire for this contemplative yet fiery poet.

    But I must understand there is little point in chasing after Disinterest,
    little point in tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly,
    why, that would be remiss,
    because why humour that character,
    why allow him my attentiveness,
    in doing so,
    this will mentally continue to take me down,
    and I cannot have that,
    I must retain my level of sparkling self-confidence,
    my golden shining crown.

    I think it’s odd how easily I’ve been cast aside,
    how love could be expressed in this loveless kind of way,
    but in another way, I am rather happy I’ve discovered this so early,
    how easily I can be replaced,
    although the other will scream I’m not being replaced,
    that they are simply occupying themselves,
    keeping themselves entertained.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Hugo Jehanne on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Speaking of Kindness… 14/09/20

    Poem: Speaking of Kindness… 14/09/20

    I can speak of kindness,
    of the heart,
    of warmth,
    of the joy of before, despite now,

    I can speak of closeness,
    of love,
    of holding hands while we’re all in rows,

    I can speak of courageousness,
    I can speak of strength,
    I can speak of resilience,

    I can speak of the potency of our inner charisma,
    of our undying self-knowledge.

    I understand that current times are heartbreaking,
    they are tough,
    they are causing pain and suffering to many,
    ongoing,

    and while I acknowledge this,
    I will encourage us to band together and become
    stronger than ever,

    to determine what we can do for one another,
    to give credence and hope
    to each other.

    To be able to place a hand upon another’s shoulder and say,
    “I understand what you’re going through,
    even though I may not have experienced it this day”

    the empathy will shine through like a light unto a
    previously-darkened tunnel,

    and if the recipient does not want the light,
    there is no problem,
    perhaps they’ll welcome it tomorrow.

    For we have become a little shy and inward
    during these times,
    afraid of reaching out to humankind,

    insular, toward ourselves,
    if we open up our hearts,
    we’ll feel the warmth of someone else.

    To share in what you have,
    to delight in sharing a few words with a passing stranger,
    to see the smile in one’s eyes above a mask as they pass,
    why, that is beauty in and of itself.

    The connection between human beings is more than ever
    important to people such as you and I,
    and we’ll feel the pain and suffering,
    ease, ease, ease,

    connections are ever so important,
    we must keep these linked,
    inextricably,

    because if we don’t have hands to hold,
    no one to lean upon each other,
    then who will we have if we start failing
    at harnessing our inner power?

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo credit: United Nations Covid-19 Response 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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