Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Where is the bite,
where is the snarl,
where is the slightly obnoxious
nature to my scrawl?
 
Why is – here –
softness shown
when all I wanted to portray was
bite, snarl, bite?
 
Isn’t it odd that
revealing vulnerability
can make me feel
so empowered then
sickly weak inside?
 
Like reaching to touch
the underside of a
floaty blue bottle jellyfish,
it is enticing, appears so tender,
yet danger silently lurks,
its mesmerising imposition,
the impending poison
speaks of
my scrawled pains, too.
 
I can rediscover my spikes,
my ability to cause chaos,
the alliteration,
the harsh 
ck ck ck,
no wide mouthed assonance,
no openly assessing audience tasked with
observing my aching abnormalities,
 
I’ll sink my teeth in,
create a toxic pair of punctures
for my poison to glide its way through.
 
Then the venom
can flood,
overwhelm this
Surviving Victim –
am I truly such a thing?
 
My latent negativity can
overwhelm them, you,
last night you subtly alerted me to this.
 
I have sadly travelled
throughout recent years
on a path of personal
bitterness which repels,
 
and negative swimming thoughts
toward myself,
they’re not purposeful,
but they are well practiced,
this bite has become well-worn.
 
Am I truly an overly grumbling entity
who should simply
brighten her mindset,
because that is
easier to see?
 
It’s not so simple,
I’ve lived with
snark and bitter tones
the last few years of my adult life,
 
I shall try, however,
to allow the kindness
to rise from beneath,
penetrate my being,
and speak such kinds words
to myself
because, maybe I am deserving of these.
 
Then, my acerbic tone may dissolve,
the cuts upon my paining tongue,
healed or removed,
whichever self-imposed punishments
I practice thrown away,
 
I can hopefully again be labelled as free,
having shed this layer,
this skin,
this disease,
of coldness, sadness, and dismay.
 
One can still retain the bite
without making the world feel uncomfortable.

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

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  • Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    I wonder:
Is there such a thing
as paralysis
of creativity?
The centre of
my thoughts that hold
intrinsic meaning,
 
where fireflies dance
and darkness looms
and fervent flames
of passion can
fill this room.
 
This room,
which houses techniques
and methods of madness,
has been disabled,
of smooth movements
it simply cannot
slide nor speak.
 
This is not a lacking
of inspiration
but rather a
hostile sense of
forced contemplation.
 
And I can sit here
patiently waiting for this
centre to regain fluidity
its natural flow which takes
 
my left foot, right foot
gently forward
until I reach,
closer you,
 
but this quiet solitude is disturbing,
so, I shriek,
paralysis now shocked,
returning to life,
 
stale tastes and thoughts
flow, unwelcome,
ridden of,
from this now-chaotic scene.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay

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  • Micro Poem: Heartfelt Ribbons – 02/07/20

    Micro Poem: Heartfelt Ribbons – 02/07/20

    when you breathed life into me,
i felt my tight ribbons unfurl,
the edges of me curling under,
towards my heart,
decorating me whole.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

There are moments of brightness among the numbness. A shine that burns through the darkness. Whoever brings you freedom, cherish them. Hold their presence close.

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  • Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    I’ve too much time on my hands.
For some, this would be paradise,
but for me, it’s a continual, 
rising obsession of poetry
and revisions filling my mind.
 
I can spend hours and hours 
retouching a word,
retouching another phrase, 
here and there,

rephrasing this and rewording that,
the stresses of syllables 
hold great power,
I am aware.
 
Too much time is dangerous,
I work arduously and arduously
even if my words may be 
ill received,
 
I strive for perfection,
the utmost that I can,
though I need to recognise my work
isn’t the centre of everything,
it is not all-encompassing.
 
But, for me, it’s a driving obsession,
the need to write, correct, 
edit and rephrase, 
to ‘right the wrongs’,
as they say,

my words, they have 
too much time
to be altered,
at night, I lay stagnant yet wide awake.
 
My phrases cannot sit and marinate
in their juices of potent honesty,
because, I won’t allow this:
changes and niggling, 
internal suggestions
are currently what compel me.
 
So, what to do with 
this obsession?
This drive for perfection, 
or as close to it?

The need to present the best I can,
that’s healthy,
but this method I’m experiencing 
is causing an unpleasant reaction.
 
I could close the computer down,
walk away for days or hours,
but I’m far too attached;
I’m stuck,

to write continually 
is my life now,
it has become that 
part of me where upon
the gap in my heart 
has been sewn.

The stitching, the patching,
of that broken, 
missing piece,
is now where 
bushels of words and truth
are overgrown,

and my words, 
in your mind, 
I will speak –
I’ll find it difficult if I were 
to ever let go.
 
Too much time has its setbacks,
I’ll shut my notebook, 
close the computer down,
when will I learn to 
slow my mind down?     

When will I learn to 
leave my words alone?

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

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  • Poem: I Cherish – 01/07/20

    I cherish:
the wind whipping about my hair,
the still-bitter taste of sweetened coffee –
it reminds me life’s not always sweet.
The taste of crunchy cereal in the evenings,
the gentle tap-tapping of
conscientiously-used computer keys.
 
The welcome inertia of
remaining in bed long after a nap,
the loving words spoken to me,
that from anyone else would be cliché,

a feeling of coming home to
family after a weekend away,
their smiles from the couch
as they greet you warmly,
knowing that you were 
and are always wanted,
it is a fact that will remain.
 
The solitude offered
when I simply want to work 
while being alone
in the comfort of another’s company,

the powerful sensation of
breathing, absorbing, 
into my cold being,
the warmth of another’s close body,

a hand, a gentle stroke,
reminding me that my world is 
quietly amazing.
 
I appreciate the little things,
though they can be so often hard to see,
taken for granted,
I must force my eyes open,
willingly breathe these blessings in.
  
Sometimes we can be
distracted by things 
which overwhelm
and seem of more import,

but I shall share this with you,
appreciate your life, 
your blessings –
I know that I’ve been blinded temporarily,
but I now know and appreciate
what I have before me.
 
Because we must cherish and
treasure the little things,
they’re so easy to dismiss,
to sweep aside and
complain of petty things,
or focus on other areas of our lives.
 
Betroth yourself to the memories,
the circumstances,
the power of love,
of consideration,

and if you cannot,
perhaps something will appear,
reminding you of your blessings
with its intervention.
 
Perhaps you’ll feel alerted,
eyes wide open to that
which is before your very eyes,
and I wonder, I wonder to myself,
will we see or remain blind?  

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

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  • Poem: Depression, A Realisation – Spoken Word and Text – 01/07/20

    Poem: Depression, A Realisation – Spoken Word and Text – 01/07/20

    I’ll admit it.
Depression must be settling in.
The sadness has quietly 
crept into my clothing and then into my bones,
until I’ve become used to his company.
 
I snipe at little things,
take offense, 
wallow with despair,
I want to reject this feeling,
but I am too languid,
I need some form of interjection.
 
But my mouth, my tongue seems far too fat
and lazy
to conjure itself into the words,
Leave me alone;
I don’t want your company,
because his is the only partnership I can envisage
that’s making me feel so utterly lonely
even when surrounded by those who care for
and love me.
 
He’s like that tight, oppressive, unwelcome sweater
that you try on from years earlier,
to see whether the style still fits,
still suits you,
and you realise that his sizing is just not right for you.
 
And you can’t throw him off,
emotional you become,
engulfed in the face by years-old musty scent,
from the attic my depression now becomes,
he suffocates,
I panic,
I try to escape.
 
It seems too hard though,
to throw this sinister, insipid being off.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay
    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/depression-a-realisation-spoken-word-poetry-by-lauren-m-hancock

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  • Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Poem: My Morning Show – 30/06/20

    Every morning is the same for me,
I rise, I pad, I create hot water that I stain 
black with bitterness,
a substance that does please.
 
I open my laptop, 
attend to the various avenues,
hoping, wishing, waiting,
for the stats to reveal certain clues.
 
Is it bad to hope for the 'views'?
Is it bad to desire more 'likes'?
As someone who creates, I feed off the sensation
that my work has some effect upon other people's lives.
 
But views without likes,
now that’s an interesting notion,
they make my heart sink slightly,
but I shan’t allow any sense of
commotion,
angst,
anguish,
or weighty rumination,
 
to permit these existence
would be unwise,
something unwarranted,
better to learn from 
whichever mistake was performed
and for my next creation
strive for something 
more appealing and perfected.
 
There is no shame in understanding
that occasionally one shall err 
and one will fail
at being the effervescent, welcoming being
that appeals to most,

but then again, some enjoyed the darker side of me,
my prior pain, the rapid rise, 
the subsequent self-imposed suffering,

they empathised with these moments,
perhaps because they proved that 
humankind can fall,
from my delicate mantelpiece
I had fled, took my leave before them all.
 
I suppose it’s better to vary what I show of myself,
a slow striptease? 
I'll undress myself to reveal not my skin, 
not my muscles, 
not my bones,
but my inner strength,
the quiet fortitude that lives within me,
to reveal the true nature of myself,
why, this is what I hope others will wish for 
and quietly desire to read. 

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

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  • Improvisational Poetry: “The Cacophony Cease!” – (Poem, Recording, Discussion) – 28/06/20

    Improvisational Poetry: “The Cacophony Cease!” – (Poem, Recording, Discussion) – 28/06/20

    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/the-cacophony-cease-spoken-word-poetryimprovisation-by-lauren-m-hancock
    Click image to listen to “The Cacophony Cease!” in browser or on SoundCloud.
    Method discussion below poem.

    "The Cacophony Cease!"

I feel the reverberation
through my fingertips,
through my bones,
into my marrow,
 
a source of quiet vitality in which I encase
certain memories,
certain experiences,
so potent and noxious
they should only be for me.
 
I won’t allow others to see or feel them,
to experience the anguish,
the pain,
the ecstasy,
that would prove far too much, you see.
 
Besides, it would be untoward.
it would be unwise,
to share everything with everyone
because there are moments
in our lives which we must keep private,
we must remain quiet,
these need to remain secretive, you see?
 
And suddenly here appears a character,
she’s beautiful,
dressed in lace and organza,
her dress flowing,
tulle behind her,
 
as she twirls and twirls and twirls,
like the fallen angel that she was,

she is,
she was,
she is,
she WAS!

She is?
 
Which one is it?
It shouldn’t really matter.
 
She’s on show and she knows
that she needs to put on her bravest face
that will ever be worn,
because this dress, this petticoat, this tulle
is just the theatrical,
she’s hiding something
but she twirls and twirls just as she knows how.
 
The cacophony is growing louder in my head,
ordering me to be quiet,
to not dare reveal as much;
not all needs to be shared.
 
Because attention is not always as important
as retaining as a sense of dignity,
the reputation of oneself,
 
and while dragging one’s experiences up and out,
back to life, can be contentious,
it’s not something which should be realised,
it may not leave the best impression.
 
It’s important to understand that where one has been
is not where one is,
and is not where one is going,
 
the future is where we should be flowing.
 
And that’s what I need to understand, always,
to look to the future,
to not always look behind to the past,
for sitting comfortably in the present and
aiming toward the future
is what I want,
is where I want to be.
 
These violent noises:
will the cacophony cease?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock (Recording: Words, Music and Artwork)
https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/the-cacophony-cease-spoken-word-poetryimprovisation-by-lauren-m-hancock
    My Process of Experimenting with Improvisational Poetry

When it comes to recording my poetry, usually I start with the words first and then record with or without a backing track. But I thought to myself last night, “Why don’t I start with a backing track and then just say whatever I want, on the spot and see what comes out?”

It really was an interesting process. I came up with many different concepts to accompany the chaotic piano key bashing I had recorded many years prior during the height of a bipolar relapse. 

In these improvisations, I spoke of my condition, I spoke of interrupted dreams and nightmares, I spoke of the sense of self, I spoke of creation. Many things. The problem was, there were parts of the recordings I liked, but others which I did not, such as when I would fumble, or when my ideas didn’t flow nicely, or were rather unimaginative. Within the errors though, were some great ideas I could have reused, but I just kept recording on and on without noting down the phrasings which I did feel were successful.

As you might have noticed, as of late, I have been exploring my life by taking steps backward and assessing what has been, what should not have been, and now, what is, and what could be. Letting my words flow through my consciousness like a river or stream allowed me to explore what's on my mind, and what I deem as important at this current time for my work. 

I finally tentatively settled upon one recording and put it up last night just as a draft to review it in the morning. I felt it was good, but not quite strong enough, so I set about writing out the script of my words, then adding and editing and subtracting. There was not much rewording. 

Thus, here is the result of my improvisation efforts from last night and this morning. Please have a listen to “The Cacophony Cease!” I hope you enjoy it.

I enjoyed the creative process myself.

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  • Poem: Thank You – 27/06/20

    Poem: Thank You – 27/06/20

    Sometimes I don’t feel like writing,
but something compels me
to create,
 
to dig deep beneath
the superficial,
to find something meaty,
or rich like marrow, 
a delicious read to taste.
 
Something tantalizing,
that the reader will
hunger for,
whetting the appetite,
will palatable words soar?
 
What can I create?
What can I make?
That will appeal to others
evermore?
 
It is my duty
with this pen,
to detail something
both truthful and meaningful
that cannot be ignored by them.
 
But, I can fail in this measure,
no matter the arduous
work and time
I put into a piece,
 
some works are destined to 
have little success,
some untoward qualities that
won’t beckon to thee.
 
I can’t please everyone
with my daily content,
although I will
thank you all,
those who remain,
those who decided to stay,
 
even those curious,
for a fleeting look,
I am so grateful
for your presence hereupon this day.
 
Please visit another time,
when you view the moment opportune,
to share in my thoughts,
up, up, and away.
 
I know sometimes
my words may be stale,
perhaps for you
they do not ring true,
 
but I’m only human,
with imperfections 
just like you,
and my words can
carry fault with them, too.

But I thank you for
your attention,
as I happily reflect
or share bittersweet disconnect,
 
and for allowing yourselves
to be an audience,
I am utterly thankful
that my words you continue to peruse -

I hope to see your inquisitive faces 
again very soon.

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

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  • Poem: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    Poem: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/first-and-foremost-spoken-word-poetry-1 
    Jovial and content,
happy, playful, sweet,
a way of living has evolved
from haphazard,
crazed dreams.
 
Where I tumbled
from one scene
to another,
trying to find where I belonged,
 
acceptance, love,
were what I was seeking,
the line thrown to reach them
rigid and taut.
 
No more slapdash or faux pas moments,
lacking of personal respect or dignity,
when trying to be cool,
outgoing,
effervescently fun,
 
doesn’t the truth sometimes prove itself
so sad, that tale to read?
The invisible ink in my journal runs,
of catharsis, I’ve no longer
any need.
 
The party girl,
while wild and popular,
only appeals
in that moment,
out of context,
her vivaciousness
can overwhelm,
 
I’d rather sit quietly,
penning a soliloquy,
read a beautiful sonnet,
or appreciate a heartfelt song.

Darker tales there are to tell,
crawling amongst
soot, filth,
and grime,
 
an underlining of
their facts,
they are acknowledged,
here recognised,
if I were more civilised,
I’d toast them away
with you
with hearty glasses of rich, health-coloured wine.
 
No real compatibility determined,
so many met,
yet my personality,
heart, looks, or mind,
did not seem to fit,
 
finally, I realised
I needed to be
happy, accepting,
and loving to myself,
first and foremost,
only me.
 
With true acceptance
came an
overwhelming sense
of realisation,
 
an understanding
of how much I’d
lost myself in
the naivety,  
the flighty dreaming
of youth,
 
the one true love
I first needed was myself,
and only then
could l reach out for
the hand
of another,
this is truth,
 
to have,
to hold,
to care,
to acknowledge as a
warming, doting other,
someone who will always be there.

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

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