Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • poem: kookaburras – 07/03/21

    poem: kookaburras – 07/03/21

    Kookaburras sing their laughter, two fighting for acknowledgement, one with the other, and galahs smile with their cheeky beaded eyes winking, oh my! and the lorikeets feast on our figs, damn it! Mum wants to know WHY. Why is it they are so greedy, sitting on the boughs so precious, looking for something delicious for a bird so pretty, one two flew the coup, out the nest, and well, life is just beginning. Slowly, slowly, starstruck, one is startled and soars to hide but her presence is noted, taken, assessed and made begotten, wondering what did she do to be ignored by hand holding little buttons?

    There is the cryptic and here within are the clues, of life we must undertake many different, many hues, I am certain that there will be challenges, here now I acknowledge the twittering magpies who always stay home with their children, and knowing their loyalty, I know our pills must be taken in order for the positive side of myself to inevitably be spoken and seen.

    Bespoke I was obsessed with but I must take nature in, for what she is, I am not truly a tempestuous thing, nor the tempest, not in reality, but here, I must feel the wind, the breath, and understand I am truly blessed and my life I can renew, and once again begin.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    07/03/22
    Image by Sandid on Pixabay

  • poem: running from – 05/03/22

    poem: running from – 05/03/22


    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

    im running from the light
    sometimes it burns it sears my retinas
    im running from the light its too good to take,
    these prophets, seers

    i don’t need their hints at fate which aren’t
    even accurate as of late
    I can determine my own cloud
    witness this
    I’ma tempt and leap all bounds

    I want to explore the darkness
    trail in shadows but still exist in light
    a dichotomy of reasons, new tomorrows
    in which I aim to take both sides with flight
    with light
    with fight

    the shadows treasure me hereon in
    they know I know what it means to sin
    but the stagnancy of these fails to pour in
    I don’t need heredity circumstance
    I have no need for falsity
    I am here and now I am visible
    low or highbrow

    I don’t care to run any longer
    the past is not worth a shard
    a victim’s mentality
    arriving on a birthday ever so early
    gravitated armour
    shaded malignancy

    I don’t need these
    I choose the light,
    It captures me.
    what am I running towards?
    the new me. Why?
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash

  • Poetic response: a flowering beauty – 04/03/22

    Poetic response: a flowering beauty – 04/03/22

    I explored @artsinmaroondah exhibition at Maroondah Federation Estate today and found this beautiful piece, “Poise and Pride”. Here is my poetic response to the talented, beautiful, and wonderful soul, Hsin Lin’s, “Poise and Pride” @helloinnerpeace.

    “a flowering beauty”
    (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock

    luxe curls cascade
    waves frame luminous face
    the blooms they blossom unto her,
    grace, reverent, safe,
    strong heart, more,

    her poise, pride and passion,
    delicate petals at her angelic core,
    she was born with trust to capture, listen
    no mauves to be seen near or far.

    only cyan blues and fuchsia tips and
    rich light bright living greens
    a yellowing spontaneity
    drip drab, no, drops of reverent expression
    there, ‘tween.
    so hear, so hark, so listen, envision,
    her pristine soul to be seen.
    (c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock.

  • poem: the crow – 02/03/22

    poem: the crow – 02/03/22

    the raven dances before my eyes he’s really quite a dream

    dark enveloping sight to be seen I want to be taken by him

    he rolls his r’s he dances, charms, his deep blue eyes engorge

    and pretty pretty provocative he flaps his wings: –

    what a dirge…

    never battle weary, never battle heavy this path is owned by him

    and him and I we touch the stars the dark moon heaves the skies

    I heard his words they’re in my heart

    but I cannot fathom the sooty, blackened art

    so unto him I cry.

    but I will dream of another man

    I have my crow he’s native bound house dwelling on sand

    he’s the perfect familiar to a darkened ‘line

    with nine lives to live but on number 10

    I guess this cat has more times to thrive

    and she, oh she, will, coupled with he, will conjoin

    entwine, divine,

    and dine upon each other’s feasts,

    their souls will know, be, hailed unto thee

    the sunset’s reds and blues don’t matter the horizon glares before our eyes

    but for a crow and for a cat and the wandering accompanying later bats

    we will divine with magic all damn night,

    we will divine with sheer and utter delight.

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

    Photo from Pixabay

  • poem: neighbourhoods – 03/03/22

    poem: neighbourhoods – 03/03/22

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

    I’ll take you on a personal path, one where love and light exist. Where the flowers blossom and grow so large we might mistake them for a place of romanticism and trysts. Where the stars will never cower in shame, where the voice within will speak truth all the same, where your eyes will widen, and childhood memories will become unfrozen, the melodies of the world will sing to me.

    I shan’t dance along by the riverbed, though dead it may appear, for underneath there is life, true life, crawling with breaths, bubbles of air. The animals are there, causing sabotage and strength and they won’t ever be tamed, not even during Lent, for their position in the world is clearly at large, big, white beautiful snow leopard, and he’s keeping you and I in perfect charge. We are allowed, no permitted, to wander the garden at large, we are allowed, no, promised to be taken upon deck, above board, of this world, heaven-sent. The charms and wonder within our scope, prisms here, envelope hope, do not chide us for having fun beneath the sun, we are special, we are wanted, and our skills shall never ever come undone, in fact, they’ll soon take hold.

    We are as unique as you and he, and she and they, beyond the breeze, each holding hope, an awareness, scope, of deep meditative breaths and dangerous calls. We are the animals who get things done, we are the children who once ran from fun, and we are the young adults who allowed our worlds to come undone, all in the name of joyousness, all in the name of immaturity, to these which we would run. We have shaped up, of course, those days are simply memories, horse, carriage, dragons, chopped, singed trees, but of course, I do not wish to envelope ourselves further, we’re already entwined and are together, together. Matter not these days, they were puffs within airy clouds, the sun hailing all around, harkening from horizon-bound. I won’t shatter in due course for I have repaired and I’m coming good, I’ve always been good even when I’ve not wanted to be so, that’’s how I escaped all those neighbourhoods.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Photo by TheDigitalArtist from Pixabay

  • poem: the saviour – 03/03/22

    poem: the saviour – 03/03/22

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

    Jerusalem is bathed in the most portentous of light
    for this place it has time
    time for the change of seasons
    for a time of worship
    for my lover
    who would fly there in a heartbeat

    the land I cannot describe
    nor can I open my mind, to this world
    their sacred words are like churning songs in my mind
    where I will listen, I will pray, I will TRY TO FIND
    the answer that’s on everybody’s lips
    who is He
    and is He to stay?
    Is he a human being this time or did a demon meddle,
    this is NOT to stay?

    the dream scapes in my mind show delve and ride
    alongside hell horses
    they have reigned this time
    what with our earth spinning with nuclear and disaster
    and foreign aid and daddy oh papa
    he understands this situation is dire
    we must reunite before it becomes so much harder

    the flag our peoples flag waves in the dainty breeze,
    red yellow and black
    Mabo, Mabo, Mabo, won’t you see?
    I organised my time into ins and outs, meetings and times,
    I’ll be talking to another master soon,
    already inspired by one living close to one night,
    former words writes, so devout.

    So now I’m here in Jerusalem and perhaps the news is bad
    I didn’t bring any bad karma
    I wiped it and determined my next scope
    lauren laughs she cackles within
    then peals of giggles and laughter with her friend tom
    he loved her oh he loves her
    reunited, with my beloved lover, tom and raven, all at once,
    So self assured.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Photo from Pixabay

  • poem: still here despite it all – (repost from another platform) – 01/03/22

    poem: still here despite it all – (repost from another platform) – 01/03/22

    ~~~~~Still Here Despite it All~~~~~~
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock
    what is it about me that this some of this world seems to abhor? Am I not immaculate enough, in and of myself, to be considered something sightly and toward? Someone worthy of being heard? Of not being ostracised, unread, too? Am I something so abhorrent that they cannot understand my illness, that this decrepit twin which attaches itself to me during delusions and paranoia and versions of heightened moods, exists, my flagrant mania? Is there no care, concern, nor empathy to be viewed, to be seen? I feel just a walking ghost, with a gust of wind who shouldn’t matter at all, I slide through loosely hung sheets, trailing my stature because to them, I’m no longer seen, and I am not whining, nor crying, nor languishing, or despairing, I am simply making a point that I feel I’m not here yet again.

    But it shouldn’t matter for this is my own path, forging ahead is the pathway to choose, I choose to continue, I desire to be seen, to be heard, and if I can’t, if I’m such a joke then why is it that when those whom I love hear my creations, my poems, my words, they are impressed, surely I’m not being humoured by all, that their words are to me a version of being blessed? No, this cannot be the case with all. I do not believe it to be as such, I know I can in thrall.

    I can make my mark, in my main world I already have, and if this is how I’m met elsewhere, with hostility and dangerous eyes, and allusions, and insinuations which are mean and cruel and unkind, well, dears, I will still continue on my path, it’s not even a fight. It’s a means of reckoning with myself, telling, assuring myself that I am worthy of freedom, expression, and here, those foes, once-friends, there is nothing more important here, nothing more, if anything, than this I will put on the pulse. I was ill. I should not have to make amends. Feel my heartbeat, I am still here, breathing and living, and I will not allow others to dictate my fall. I can do that all by myself, and through experience I have learned to soar so well.

    01/03/22
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    (c) 2022 my own photo

  • post: i will be – 01/03/22

    post: i will be – 01/03/22

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock

    I will be the boisterous me
    I will grin and bear the dreams
    I will heal and steal that light
    the sun of the Son of the Sun
    I will rise when the prisms sparkle rainbow sheens
    I will be fortuitous
    and reach for desired dreams
    I will call and call for items like sticky pearls
    because they satiate my need for nourishment
    be and end all.

    I won’t fold beneath pressure
    I will contemplate and begin to once again know my other
    my shadow self I will tame and feed her charisma
    my Peter-Pan syndrome
    my rainbow sprite self won’t go under

    I will live with an inner dream
    childhood fantasies of writing and creating art and music
    are everything, as they seemed
    I will not complain nor will I whine
    because within is my great divine
    and I will reach it, reach her,
    the moment I speak I will become of her

    Let the laymen understand me
    and even let the complex mock me
    I won’t heed their warnings
    their shooting signs
    because this is my life
    and I’ll direct it just fine.

    Whittle down the edges of a
    childhood book with worn pages
    and travel with me
    travel, become,
    love is what keeps us together,
    and we shan’t come undone.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.   
    Photo from Pixabay
    01/03/22

  • poem: perform – 28/02/22

    poem: perform – 28/02/22


    by Lauren M. Hancock
     
    I wanna dance the night away
    away from the tirades and smiles and the drains
    from the bastards and the potions and the trees that won’t
    bend to them
    the portentous little rascals who think they have the best of them.

    I won’t dance in the ocean, no, no,
    I won’t dance in the lukewarm sea,
    I won’t float in the bubbles where the fish might surface
    without mermen
    I won’t dance in the ocean
    I won’t toil, succumb to the lot of them.

    What I will do is this,
    I’ll prance to Schumann and Liszt
    and Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov
    Prokofiev and Dvorak,
    and then Mozart and Handel will grasp my heart
    with the lot of them
    I will perform Bruch and Lalo
    and beg, no, beg, for future, golden tomorrows.

    My violin, its fingerboard, blacker than the devil’s sin
    demons alive within, won’t you reign them in?
    And listen to my talent, reinstated through
    tyrannous hard work,
    I’ll make it, I’ll make it,
    you’ll see, this body will perform.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay  

  • poem: arisen – 28/02/22

    poem: arisen – 28/02/22

    even when I’ve not everything I need all around
    I have all I need when I’m here
    the bare minimum does not contribute to any sense of gloom
    nor quaint snipey conversations within the room
    my face doesn’t grow tired or long
    because I am here and now
    and by my side is… you.

    I know you’re tired of the same old love poems
    dedicated to you and I,
    perhaps things are about to change,
    perhaps we’ll move on, move forward,
    move forth,
    we are too good for dwelling upon the
    prior circumstance –

    we will move forward.

    no matter how long it takes,
    how many angsty bitter tunes and rhymes
    I won’t be like that today,
    at least, not this time,

    I wander our memories,
    childhood, adulthood things
    as I clean with slow ease,
    wondering what to bin, what to keep,
    what to allow as designated for others,

    and I realise how quickly time’s passed
    before my very eyes,
    and I contemplate what happened to the stars,
    the moon, oh the stars
    when my world was up in arms,
    I was angered, bitter, untidy, nasty,
    cruel to mankind,
    it wasn’t pretty,
    but it was only a spell,
    for a tiny moment in time,
    and recovery is poignant,
    it is turbulent,
    but it’s occurring,
    within hours.
    within minutes and seconds, darling.

    And those who decide to stand by me,
    as friends, as warriors, as heroes,
    times three,
    many have been here in the making
    but only three remain somehow,
    maybe more,
    but they’ve no designated doors,
    not yet, anyhow.

    I am watching and waiting for the complete revelation,
    about the words they will say and unravel
    tongues engorged like a tame good-willed Cerberus,
    I don’t know, not quite, what they can do,
    but I’m excited to see how the utterances will
    help me,
    assist me,
    my mindset, my confidence to entirely return.

    Lovingly, achingly, away from me,
    I’ve made my childhood bed, and what about you,
    dear sir?
    Shall you rise from my head?
    A memory, a mere memory?
    No, shadowy darkness and smiles,
    spirits assured.

    Now drink to us.
    Both seemingly arisen from the dead.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.   
    (28/2/22)
    Photo by spirit111 on Pixabay.