Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    poem: spiritual beauty, soft melody – 22/03/22

    the dance the flautist sweetly breezes her melody,
    I can barely hold myself together
    that breath which creates wonder
    not an insolent din,
    fires once raged
    and sins were born
    but hell hath no current feature,
    gone, perpetually, is that scorn!

    no devils raging on shoulders,
    no carrying heavy loads to break
    weary backs,
    they do not prance their fiendish means
    above the line of fresh air,
    because, because,
    they are no longer there.

    free of sin
    and lightly taking in
    the trilling shrill song,
    breezing
    of the instrument filled with delight
    and winding heart song, streams,
    what is it they look for
    what is it they search for now?
    peace, serenity,
    and then jubilance all around!

    angels ring and angels call
    they embark upon journeys
    to those one-lost souls
    perpetuating the knowledge
    of a thousand years,
    the collection,
    the atoms,
    enlightening.

    purple: violet and lilac,
    yellow: citrine and gold,
    ruby in her richest red,
    and pink, mauves,
    all around.
    And rose gold surrounding
    that symbol of love,
    yes, this integral melody,
    beautiful piece,
    has been carefully constructed,
    for the flautist, carefully made
    like a perfect bouquet for her
    grown.

    He takes her hand,
    as gently as can be,
    enlivened soul,
    enriched loving eyes,
    they know truest loves meant to be,
    deep inside.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash.

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  • poem: arm in arm – 21/03/22

    poem: arm in arm – 21/03/22

    Multifaceted and colours of the spectrum,
    a man romantic,
    with heart pounding
    for his love, eternal,
    to return to him again,
    their binding shade,
    deep violet,
    wondrous spiritual shade.

    they entered the world with floating stars
    when she decided to calmly
    leave this planet,
    she was relaxed,
    she knows her charms,
    arm in arm he accompanied her,
    then returned to a land, near not far.

    Oh, how loyal he is to her,
    it’s not just memories that keep her alive
    his sentiment for her is so pure,
    loving loving eternity
    they will never come undone
    here, nor the skies,

    betwixt for forever, a future lifetime
    still as One
    they will always remain together
    in heart, soul and mind,
    truest aching love.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image by Jo-B from Pixabay

  • poem: harken – 20/03/22

    poem: harken – 20/03/22

    it is with joy
    that I thank this
    world that I live in,

    This Universe that makes my
    heart sing,
    a certain knowing that tender love
    does bring.

    I thank the Universe for my guides,
    the archangels for their presence,
    and with goodness and grace
    heaven sent, I thank the Lord for being
    there for me, even when at times
    I fail at acknowledgement.

    Raise my ears to the Heavens,
    scorch the skies with my passions,
    and Kingdom Come,
    there is magic in my circumstance,
    delirium in my instance,
    and an amazing reverie for us to view,
    to speak of, to sing with,
    my darlings, won’t you harken with me?

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay.

  • collaboration: the sea-faring page and the empress – Braeden Kennedy and Lauren M. Hancock – 19/03/22

    collaboration: the sea-faring page and the empress – Braeden Kennedy and Lauren M. Hancock – 19/03/22

    Thank you so much to my good friend and fellow Melbourne creative, Braeden Kennedy (@bak_doodlin_away) on Instagram) for drawing this amazing piece of art for me to set a poem to.

    I am powerful, he affirms himself
    creative, talented,
    incredible, and different,
    the cool sea-blue surrounding his
    heart, mind, and soul,
    cerulean blue, seascape days
    calms him as he
    calls upon the sign of the angels
    exhibited by the sun’s rays.
    warmed by their love
    their guidance from up above,
    he basks in their glory
    and feels the connection from outside
    and deep within,
    it will last, he tells himself,
    a cruel voice sniggers from afar –
    “if only, you think…”
    manipulations from the other side
    another world perhaps
    alternative rides,
    taking a ride on the train
    with these characters,
    he won’t forget,
    their words often
    harsh, grating, snide.
    one, passes, thrusts a handful of
    tarot cards before him,
    apparently he’s a seafaring page and
    she the empress?
    he shan’t grow unfocused,
    with his art, he won’t digress
    with his guiding spirit
    he soars away from
    the clownfish and the sea
    the mermaids,
    the distractions,
    the memories which do not please,
    and from within
    he calls again to angels
    to allow his creativity to breathe…
    (c) 2022 Poem by Lauren M. Hancock @laurenm.hancock

    Artwork by Braeden Kennedy @bak_doodlin_away & @bak_animations

    Please visit, like, share and support Braeden’s artwork! He is so talented and his artwork so unique. Thanks once again, it was great to work with you on this, my friend.

  • poem: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    poem: clowning around/won’t you join me? – 12/03/22

    the waves take me on a journey
    where I’m lulled into a sense of security
    and notes like gentle hands wash over me,
    I am amazed and quiet,
    there is nothing remaining above the surface,
    a breath and I’m underneath,
    the seaweed, coral, clown fish
    are brighter than above-days,
    my heart is pounding ecstatically,
    once well-rested,
    there’s so much to take in,
    to see.

    engineered cobwebs from
    entangled jellyfish limbs,
    mesmerising affray,
    dilating metamorphic,
    fluid heads, bodies,
    passing my very way,
    I become at peace with this sight
    entranced at their careless might,
    manners so poignant with each other
    there’s nothing which escapes
    my sight; gone under.

    And further under, I bury myself in the
    silt and sand,
    mischievous with this land,
    another clown fish passes, then
    mum and dad.
    Oranges brighter than witches’ cones,
    I smile to myself,
    they entertain, and I know
    their intent is nothing to amuse,
    they simply, casually amble,
    stop, move.

    How beautiful such a simple sight could be within
    a quiet night under the sea,
    so breathless, yet free,
    won’t you accompany,
    won’t you slip beneath waves,
    won’t you join me?
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Image from Unsplash.  

  • poem: the lake – 11/03/22

    poem: the lake – 11/03/22

    amazing though is this air I breathe
    wanton duck melodies from the lake
    make me sing
    their quacks and quacks speak of more
    than what’s implied by them
    with a dear friend around the lake I
    take a turn and admire ducks, smile at happy mothers,
    children, and puppies with men.
    I am animated, she listens with quiet calm,
    by her side, I need no longer need take her arm,
    for days of physical support are not near,
    there’s nothing to help me, nor there to fear,
    while anxiety can burden, it’s not featuring here.
    Our friendship, o’er long years,
    with gaps, sliced by angled swords,
    the silences lingered, anger had been present,
    could be heard,
    but through it all, a line of devotion and loyalty,
    illness an immutable thread
    but never each other’s enemies.
    She will always be my friend, she’d said,
    words which touch me now and blessed me then,
    a slight choking of the throat at gratitude from a
    wondrous, forgiving woman,
    for friendship with myself, would not have been
    the easiest to keep sealed,
    my angered mouth bubbled over at times,
    but she remained with great devotion still.
    I am not a goddess, I am not someone to be revered,
    I am not a higher being, I am simply myself –
    and when in the mood, other characters,
    so self-assured,
    but in the end, I am me, myself, and
    there’s nothing from that which can decline,
    to some I am the apple of their eye,
    and to some, they wish for me to evade their current times.
    I’ll focus on my loved ones, and kind friends such as she,
    there until the end, together, even in absence and solitude,
    her momentary absence not a mystery.
    I will and do understand her occasional need to pull away,
    gaze at the lake, with quietness away from my chirping
    and tunes,
    a moment’s peace, a mindful exercise,
    then returning by my side for the conversation
    to be properly seen through.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    March 2022
    Photo taken by myself.

  • poem: the colours, a beginning – 11/03/22

    poem: the colours, a beginning – 11/03/22

    The colours, they always brought me hope,
    Aura-binding, hue-enhancing,
    Pink, yellow, blue, green, indigo,
    But where is the pink, the love I know?
    I went through life from goals to achievements,
    Strengths to knowledge,
    Triumph and growth,
    But I fell apart,
    Underlying predisposition,
    Some of us break at the seams,
    Myself: undiagnosed manic depressive.
    Etching large shadowy figures on my
    Bedroom walls,
    Self-harm,
    Tears they would fall,
    Such joy, elation at some
    Then tirades I’d turn,
    Over perfectionism,
    What was going on…?
    My warning signs?
    Even I failed to learn.
    So begins my tale,
    Decade-long struggles
    Horrifying relapses to be

    witnessed and unfold
    Truth be told
    Not all needs enormous detail…
    (C) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: still the waters flow – 09/03/22

    poem: still the waters flow – 09/03/22


    Artwork by Lin Onus and Mandjad Productions “Michael and I are just slipping down to the pub for a minute” 2000

    (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

    water, our life force,
    as important as the air we breathe,
    value this we must, nurture it, cherish it,
    we do, shall, see?

    water,
    an elemental force, her importance, we heed,
    countering roaring fires,
    hydrogen and oxygen calm, in part,
    but citizens harrowed and tired,
    fled and flee,

    forget these moments?
    never,

    we shall not,
    smoke lingering on the breeze.

    we as a nation banded together,
    and of elements,
    fire, earth, wind, water,
    we encountered and employed them,
    to ignore the strength of these,
    alone or together,
    we’d be ignorant,
    and repeated recollection –
    nightmarish,
    awakening, split seams.

    then the stagnant life
    where we were hidden away
    socialisation limited for our needs,
    closed work spaces,
    many months of solitude,
    from society, away, away!

    now, no major flames
    or tempests fanning another destructive force,
    no fire-forced movement – “Hades”,
    pentacle, downward swipe,
    instead again, lives lost,
    pictures, memories, animals, remembrances of families,
    destructed homes,
    now lakes and rivers overflow…
    when shall we be saved, when will we know?

    but there’s fluidity and a resilience within us all
    natural disasters will not keep us down
    we, Australians, are strong and homegrown
    brave and true, working together
    we save each other
    we rise up with others

    for bold is our connection with Mother Earth
    we respect her, we revere her, we are in awe of her
    its power, her mighty force
    for the power she provides
    and the strength and cruelty with which
    she can decimate,
    be present, or run and hide.

    like silken thread we ride her waves
    undulating untamed like the dingo
    and his friend ray
    the flames they’re battered by winds
    but we stay true,
    together, united, resilience sees us through.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Artwork by Lin Onus and Mandjad Productions “Michael and I are just slipping down to the pub for a minute” 2000

  • poem: schizoaffectivity – 08/03/22

    poem: schizoaffectivity – 08/03/22


    SCHIZOAFFECTIVITY
    family can be a strange thing.
    One minute you’re loved then the next you’re like a pestilence,
    an unwanted being.
    Of course, bringing it upon oneself, well, that’s something different,
    but in the end, I was made the tyrant,
    laid away on the shelf
    though only temporarily.

    And I suppose, I suppose it is so,
    this falling-apart thing that happens to my mind
    when I go temporary awry,
    momentarily insane,
    is this the pushing button inside, or on my brain
    that makes me ill for two closed months
    when I’m made to be locked away,
    my words spoken loudly in vain?

    I am just a patient,
    mentally, I have delusions,
    grand, carried out about the land
    and while I whine and scream,
    still want to shine,
    in my hand a small cup
    of perilous potions to be sucked down inside.

    The system wants to treat,
    they do it in the best ways they can
    but some they cannot help
    people like me initially
    on medications I feel they burden me,
    I choke.

    There’s nothing different about health these days
    in fact, there IS, but in time I will realise
    that some just wanted to help
    some were happy for me to shine
    and like the ordinary world,
    with some others, they wouldn’t pay my words
    a dime.

    I understand I can’t always please,
    temporarily the medicine makes me want to heave
    there’s just so much of it,
    my addled mind,
    years ago progressed from bipolar
    to schizoaffective disorder,
    whilst in my “prime”.

    This tale can go on far, far longer
    but I won’t give away the book,
    I just want others to have a peek in,
    have a tiny look,
    and oblige me this favour,
    won’t you take my words,
    many were my saviours,
    but most of all,
    close knit:-
    family, friends, and a brave tolerant doctor.
    And her protégé, of course,
    but I cannot name her.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Cartoon photo by mohamed_hassan on Pixabay
    Original photo of myself

  • poem: depressed downward key – 08/03/22

    poem: depressed downward key – 08/03/22

    © Lauren M. Hancock
    my key is permanent, it’s on the left side of me,
    the side which I spoke of in my metaphoric language
    of how
    I don’t need a man
    and time is always on my side
    I am independent
    I will never need another’s fate, nor abilities.

    But it’s no longer on my side, my love,
    and the key, wrong place, wrong inked time,
    and I need this man, and I guess,
    perhaps he needs me, too,
    pity I seem like the fool.

    Not as a soulmate, not as a kindred spirit,
    but just a best friend.
    Just? Is that not good enough?
    Maybe it’s not, but
    it’s the best that I’ll receive?
    Is this truth? If so, to digest it, it’s rough.

    These deeply personal thoughts collect in my head,
    should not be visually recorded, I should not post nor project
    but I need to get them down, out,
    I feel like I’ve cut myself off for a man who even doesn’t
    recognise my true crown.
    Not the visual, but the spiritual.
    The swirling, the colours, all around.

    This logical, not even subliminal hurts,
    I am not in the throes, no, I am not,
    I need much more, damnit, but how much more
    can I demand before I’m cut off,
    no more love, whatever style,
    from his hand?
    Complaining? I am more than enough.

    I used to be so independent and pretty
    now I’ve grown dependent, an ugly being,
    hand-holding baby,
    where is the prized confidence?
    Where am I now?

    Am I assumed to be unworthy, betrayer,
    there goes my crown?
    These tainted thoughts, I must succeed, at tactically
    beating them down.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    08/03/22
    Original photo by myself, (c) 2022.