Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • poem: which side to choose? – 27/02/22

    poem: which side to choose? – 27/02/22

    by Lauren M. Hancock

    choosing which side to take,
    it’s really not that hard,
    to rise and rise with great distinction
    or to sink and remain at large.

    there’s no shame in being positive and pretty
    with my words I will conflate them, will engorge them
    with slim and shaded shadows
    the truth has already been forged,
    lusciously, freely.

    the time I take with every piece
    I spit it out as though an undesired precious dream,
    a nightmare in fact, some have come to be
    but only in my dwindling ill-durations,
    irreverently.

    have respect for some and respect for all
    but what matters most when you’re in the presence of ghosts
    who make you laugh and cry and everything in between
    is this truth in itself
    is this really what it seems?

    more so humankind who seemed to
    prey upon me
    seemed to play with my weaker points
    reading my life
    enabled the training
    those clicks and turns all the while
    delicately, indelicately?
    there’s nothing, just an indelible style.

    I did not, do not appreciate being treated
    with operant conditioning
    I am not an animal, I am myself
    I am a woman above and underneath
    and between.

    speak not of those sickening months and years
    nor my fears, anxiety, poor Jurassic tears
    there is nothing sycophantic
    in my words right now.

    I will rise and rise
    and you’ll see –
    you’ll see how far I’ll go.

    I have the tricks I have the honesty
    I, I have the expertise
    I have the know-how,
    I have it all,
    I possess my keys,
    whether high or low-brow.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay
    (27/02/22)

  • prose poetry: the turning tides – 26/02/22

    prose poetry: the turning tides – 26/02/22

    fighting against the turning tides, the waves rise and crash upon the open shore, begging for appeasement, begging the waves for more. The fish and seashells and mermaids and mermen crawl from well beyond the shore. There’s barely anything left upon the seabed, so tumultuous it has become indeed, from tridents these waves of terror have been sent, and wreaking upon my life the charlatans and evidence of danger all around, whose going to reinstate that purple crown? That glowing iridescence that lingers above my head, once there, once gone, and once again now dead, then revived all around?

    There are starfish lingering in the bed, in the crevasses, and one large, large star within my head.
    “I am terrific,” it says, “I am here and now, won’t you reveal, won’t you remain unashamed, somehow?” I smile to myself, for this pink and yellow starfish is actually amazing to me, she’s how I see, I breathe, I be, through the very evidence that is wrought deep within me. Myself as a mermaid, no, that is not right, I need to be five pointed and note-worthy, without means of a fight. And toss and turn now, deep within my rest, I grin widely now, because I feel blessed for having entered into this scene, this amazing joy it does bring, the tides crashing upon the shore, shall I ask for more, for more, for more?

    And now these dainty little crabs dance up from beneath the sand, left way this and right way that, they don’t want to hold hands, instead a conga line they proceed, with no difficulty, of course not, please, under the sea is where they will be, under their sea indeed. The tides will evermore change but they will still irrevocably remain the same. Precious beauty and pink and blue, with danger zones nil, just a rapid wash of hues. The sun shines down brightly today, this very day, and escape, escape I shall not, come whatever may.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay
    (26/02/22)

  • poem: daggers – 25/02/22

    poem: daggers – 25/02/22

    daggers in her eyes
    she is potent with her stare
    take a needle and thread and prick that evil eye
    with precise care
    the deepest blue you did ever see
    boring into her into me
    flight takin now
    irreverently
    disrespectful they’ve brought her, me,
    down to our knees

    bruises form
    it’s a part of our love
    delicate delicate pink gangly bird
    won’t you realise
    they don’t want you to go
    because it’s better off remaining
    in the syncing of our clarified minds
    the twins the twins
    what’s left of them
    decimated before they were even alive

    but this is the way it should be
    this is the way the
    countering of my feels
    I don’t have the right to procreate
    said she
    I don’t have the right to bring another
    into the world
    not with our lingering malignancy
    mental health disease

    I live in this haze of what’s right and
    what is wrong
    loaded bullet, baby,
    do not ever face that gun
    neither shine it on a spotlight
    you are not a martyr from kingdom come
    stop crying, what’s in your mouth,
    disgusting,
    let us come undone.
    (25/02/22).
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: to bloom – 24/02/22

    poem: to bloom – 24/02/22

    Image from Pixabay

    To bloom within means not unravelling oneself, not pulling apart the petals, but securing them to one’s own mooring, so she can be seen for who she truly is, and was and still is. Underneath all, she is full of goodness, despite the anger, the sadness, she has her own manner of charms. She has much love and charisma, but flowing over before the negative ascension and dramatic type of karma.

    Please do not misconstrue the shades which line her face, the complexion yellowing, a life and lives once gone, seemingly gone to waste, no, focus instead upon the glory within her saddened eyes, the glimmer of blue hope and the way her orbs take in the electric scope as she struggles with mental health and achieving a disguise. There were so many underhanded comments among her visit an other world, when wishing for a life with more ease.

    Reading and assessing her times, the pages lie quietly there with scribblings, handwritten notes, colour-coded, unknown is the manner in which she knows how to speak. Chaos be the matter, and chaos was at large. Largely within her mind, but certainly around her. around

    But she will be permitted to Heaven’s door one day, and asked not to leave but to continue to fight all affray, so yes, you are correct, she has not bloomed yet again again today, yesterday, nor directly this and another forthcoming day, but by goodness is she learning to co-exist and reconnect, and given the complex circumstances of her illness, that’s a mighty lot to achieve and say, she just sometimes needs to Vent.

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

  • poem: lovers – 22/02/22

    poem: lovers – 22/02/22


    pathways and journeyman 
    women and lovers come along, stay by their sides
    they are stoic, they are calmers, 
    they wear quiet forms of armour, 
    protected by the ones they love, 
    their swords, their shields are made more potent, 
    because fighting evil and chasms and voids can be dark work
    all done in a night and days,
    without a form of talk. 

    Focus not upon the irreverent, 
    the naysayers, the belligerents, 
    and instead become entranced with beauty, 
    melody and love, 
    there is power within, if you see the beauty of a dove
    released from closed hands, with the most delicate of ease, 
    lovingly, lovingly, lives attended, 
    we, the couple will dream, 
    and now with our army of light and love, 
    we will make new pathways, 
    shining a light upon the cause. 

    there is nothing, Nothing, that can’t be stated for the truth, 
    I am there for this moment, I am here for the proof, 
    and I will become enchanted with the whistles, 
    the chirps among the trees. 
    O’ hark, a galah, oh hark, a kookaburra, 
    and hark, a morning magpie, and her lover, 
    and baby together. 

    The bent head of a dying rose that’s really just sleeping, 
    prune her not, 
    her scent so forbidden, only those worthy will sense her
    but never she censor her true remaining thoughts. 
    She has already done so by ivy wrapped around her base, 
    the shrapnel hidden tightly around her waist, 
    the armour tickling her jaw-defined face. 
    And a prince will lean in and breathe in the scent of her, 
    never forgotten, never to forget, that moment when these two
    had met. 

    © Copyright 2022. Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.  
    Image from Pixabay
  • Poem: serendipity – 21/02/22

    Poem: serendipity – 21/02/22

    Image from Pixabay

    There was serendipity one night,

    Fate was there to be seen.

    Through an hourglass or an oculus

    Spirits there to dream.

    But these were not pleasant,

    They stole away my breath,

    Gasp, hope,

    The murder they intended,

    Fearful,

    Nasty little boys,

    Irreverent scope.

    Will never happen,

    They will not achieve this intention,

    However ill meant.

    The pathways they are eradicating,

    Newest tunnelling,

    Funnelling,

    Like the spider that she was,

    No longer is,

    She loves in singular, not deuce,

    Never three,

    And for the whirling in her mind,

    Taps of coffee cups,

    One two and three,

    Been talking and talking

    All morning for hours,

    Please, won’t you let it be??

    (C) 2022. Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • new life

    what i need to do

    what im trying to do

    is clear the toxicity from my words and my mind

    its a journeying

    its a process

    humbling it is in style

    to wake up and realise how irreverent I’ve been

    so utterly disrespectful to the ones i love and need

    i am ruining them i have ruined them

    their hearts and minds within a dream

    by aching words i am now suffering

    feeling the pain at knowing what i said how i spoke

    was far less than comfortable or tame

    i can only bleed so much energy for i am splattering with ease

    the ink blots the chimney tops

    roar to life as burn pillage the hunted one

    but i am here i am resting relaxing my ailing mind

    and somehow ill know ILL KNOW that i will make it through again

    turning over those hinting leaves
    and reassuming my good goals

    (c) Copyright 2022. Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: a winding tale 15/02/22

    Poem: a winding tale 15/02/22

    The wolfpack has appeared

    theyre kind and proud and true

    guiding me with circumstance andn power to see me through

    they howl and bay at the growing moon 

    theyre arisen so self assured

    but teach me, nein, I’ll teach them naught,

    we have

    skills to rise and trot.

    like ponies there are rearings 

    on a carousel there are reckonings

    interjections please, 

    dont irritate with ease, 

    with lightening speed I’ll fly through the breeze.

    their manes they are growing glowing 

    with eyes as fierce as fire

    who knows what perturbs them hour upon hour

    and unknowing is the fact of these –

    she will dance and dance within 

    like sprite’s hearts and wings will fly indeed

    and then to a microchosm a cell she will relate

    an embryo created within a darling that will come too late

    she’s paining in the abdomen or perhaps paining in the shield

    what’s more is not less a determiner for the future future trysts

    lay down within that field… 

    I shall not be open with every single thought

    no longer sharing every devilish or angelic words signed or taught

    and melodies I have created within my very own head

    these are spellings I create for myself 

    and they will rest just as I rest within bed

    I may go on at length 

    I may throw in metaphorical nouse 

    but I’m damned sure as proud that I could avoid the tidings of that day

    and here’s the point 

    let’s reach it – cut loose

    no longer hovering there in the breeze

    the mob have gone in distaste

    no more nooses 

    as of late. 


    (c) Copyright 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

    Original artwork by myself.

  • Poem: the constant common denominator – 08/02/2022

    Poem: the constant common denominator – 08/02/2022

    It feels so natural to speak the truth

    Embedded with Constance to see me through

    Upon the tips of my tongue

    A hullabaloo

    And an irrevocable meaning, melding

    Of heartfelt growling too.

    They’re, we’re indestructible, I know,

    View the airiness within me as my two delicates rose

    I need not have not

    Want for material things because the truth is

    My spirit is soaring.

    No matter what you say or do

    You cannot take me from the stars

    From the skies

    The sighs and I quickly taste that bitter pill

    Of poison

    For some refuse me heavens door

    No matter how hard I rap or knock

    I cannot get in …

    Frantic cries for Doc!

    The paid spread the mayhem

    LOST

    I calm myself

    It’s only motes

    Or dust

    My being is travelling

    Astral through the sky

    Whisper I sleep prettily and dream of

    Wonderful butterflies

    Shush as they encompass me

    Their light winged air begging me to stare at

    Their wondrous dramatic colours of sweet rich hues

    Nothing like where upon the earth,

    We are hunted for training

    For sailing for achievements

    For ENTERTAINMENT and more

    I am no more a sheep for fleece as steak is to hunger

    I refuse to be your sacrifice any longer r

    Before those guilty of harbouring powers from me for so many years

    Stuff you and your sister and your job cause your beard, because hey,

    I kinda like your beard. 🙂

    Returning in all seriousness, don’t cease my ability to soar, I don’t NEED you now, all I needs myself is my mind, my wits and the ability to laugh at funny situations.

    Because laughter shared is happiness gained, my love. Did you not know that?

    I like you more or less. 🙂

    (C) copyright 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Work on myself

    I’ll show you how I work

    When I clean sweep wash the karma from me until its distilled and green

    I’ll talk it walks!

    Watch me as I work to cement myself as mint grey

    And the colours of the rainbow

    Visitation? Come what may.

    I’ll show you how I work,

    When my soul is spotless clean

    Everything in taciturn and emblematic as I’m seen

    Watch the bridges burning red as I terrorise the torrents

    vaporise the nonsense

    That’s ingrained within my addled mind

    Watch me as I work it work it

    Move it drop it fix it stick it

    Moving around as though I’m in it

    Watch me bloom from within my turret

    The pink and black and stars of the sky with bending upon knees to see me as I cry

    The wanton need to always be seen has crystallised

    I’m perfectly clean, can’t you see?

    And you, and you?

    How about me?

    I will sleep soundly as I dream.

    The first dream of this century

    Where I didn’t want or need for anything other than being

    Happy.

    Now is this ending so ultimately dreary?

    Anything but, I believe it’s rather dreamy.

    (C) copyright 2022 Lauren m. Hancock. All rights reserved.