Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • Poem: My Peasant Fairy Godmother – 18/11/19

    Poem: My Peasant Fairy Godmother – 18/11/19

     My peasant fairy godmother,
     so round and delicate and wise,
     an orb and an orb unto herself,
     she flies to me through the skies.
      
     To provide me assistance,
     to provide me with hope
     she waves her hands and magically 
     provides me with her delicate scope
      
     of wisdom and inner strength
     of power and enhanced desire
     she touches my nose with her glistening wand
     and I cry out:
     “I can finally leave home!”
     I possess the power. 
      
     Because my desire, my mission,
     is to not leave to meet my prince,
     my desire is to be self-sufficient, 
     to create a world, a home for myself,
     among the whistling trees,
     beneath the glistening stars,
     underneath the warming moon
     which smiles upon me with ease.
      
     Now I need not run from my duties,
     of attending to many others,
     of being on my hands and knees,
     cleaning up after my sisters.
      
     I now know I have the power to 
     walk away from the muck,
     it is not my responsibility,
     I can now work Life out on my own,
     according to my own internal clock. 
      
     It is brave of me to do away
     with the burdening system that kept me away
     from obtaining a sense of freedom
     where I was always downtrodden.
      
     In my new rich silk and satin blue gown
     I will run from the lot of them,
     My life is now my own.
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Into the Mirror – 16/11/19

    Poem: Into the Mirror – 16/11/19

     He stares at himself: 
 who is this being he has become?
 He barely recognises the shapes, the forms,
 the features which make up his fasmall-poem-mobilece.
 Now, they are a conglobulation,
 his eyes scan the scene,
 a personal level of understanding
 of what is occurring beneath the surface of 
 lucid dreaming.
  
 His mind is in tatters,
 his anger explosive, 
 A feeling of overwhelming loss of control,
 his triggers, oh, those triggers.
 Abounding his sense of being,
 ripping his heart out, 
 either broken or whole;
 he’s completely lost all sense of control. 
  
 His face now shape-shifts, 
 as though a desert mirage,
 strangely he feels a tip-tip-tapping at his head,
 his crown,
 and he wonders at these, 
 are they delusions?
 Or are they borne in reality?
 He cannot be himself right now,
 because his understanding of who he is
 is no longer so upstanding. 
  
 He pierces his gaze into his right eye
 and then the left,
 hoping to calm himself
 or at least instill a sense of order —
 perhaps rigid or subtle
 but wholly still there.
  
 He knows what process he is undergoing,
 For him, it is brought on by stress, 
 A psychosis long having been in the making,
 He is in the eye of the cycle now.
  
 He won’t tell anyone close to him 
 what he is experiencing,
 the suffering and angst that he is feeling,
 because that is how he is, 
 he’s introverted and with inner feeling,
 not wanting to burden others with
 his sense of broken state of being.
  
 No matter how much he might yearn for
 a level of understanding
 or care,
 he does not receive this because of his situation
 others are not aware.
  
 They are not sure what is wrong with him
 but his anger, oh his anger does give rise
 to something purely animalistic,
 and now having revealed his state of mind to another,
 the understanding ticks over, it arrives in ample time. 
  
 He is strong for holding himself quietly
 while he attempts and succeeds at fixing himself,
 but when it comes to issues of mental health,
 one must not take it upon themselves to reduce dosages,
 essentially self-medicating oneself.
  
 The man now in the mirror with his mediation is strong,
 he has permitted the real being to return, 
 he’s gladdened his essence has come back along,
 no longer having to control the 
 rising sense of discomfort and lack of control 
 he had experienced as a whole. 
  
 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Coulda, Woulda, Should – 12/11/19

    Poem: Coulda, Woulda, Should – 12/11/19

     As I sit upon that mountain top
     of coulda, woulda, should, 
     I wonder to myself what would happen
     if I actually would with my actions do. 
      
     The methods of my madness,
     the truth among the omission of lies,
     my projected sense of attitude
     determined to succeed before
     all sets of eyes.

     Where the observers sit awaiting,
     watching carefully as I traverse the
     steps in my life where 
     I should have been filled 
     with embarrassment and regret.
      
     The moments where I could have wished 
     to have wiped clean the visions and those times
     but the truth is I don’t want to wipe them away,
     they are history,
     they are part of what made me 
     here and who I am today.
      
     Without such experiences 
     who would have known whether I’d have
     travelled down a differing though 
     similar path and be worse off in my 
     current version of today?
      
     Best to work with what I know, 
     And cherish the way my life has turned out
     upon this promising open path.

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poetry: An Eyesore – 11/11/19

    Poetry: An Eyesore – 11/11/19

     Herein lies this creature, 
     the cause for great alarm. 
     Idly he stares at you, dead socket, 
     your heart beats, skips and thumps.
      
     You’ve never seen a thing like this,
     the glassy glossy sheen is making you spin,
     there’s nothing living 
     beneath the surface, surely?

     Though you’re still frightened,
     this creature makes you feel so 
     nervous and utterly poorly. 
      
     His colours may confuse you,
     befuddle you as you observe,
     the creature now scuttles here and there
     towards you: 
     Oh my, why, what nerve!
      
     You recoil instinctively,
     you don’t want a thing to do with him,
     then with a running leap he jumps
     and lands upon you,
     isn’t this an interesting scene?
      
     Snuffling like an adorable pet,
     he engulfs your face with licks and kisses;
     it’s a free for all,
     there is not a section of your skin that
     his kisses and licks are missing.
      
     Then you realise this creature is 
     actually simply misunderstood,
     taken for face value, 
     as many before him had, and after him would. 
      
     His appearance is nothing he can alter,
     and when it comes to observing something
     different and unique,
     I hope you will not again falter. 
      
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. 
    All rights reserved.  

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  • Poem: An Old Friend – 07/11/19

    Poem: An Old Friend – 07/11/19

     Flowery, happy moments, 
     where our moods and our words 
     would bounce and leap around,  
     our eyes playfully locking with the other’s, 
     as we smiled and pranced, 
     our voices singing in unison, 
     such a joyous sound. 
      
     I remembered how happy we were, 
     where we would spend all 
     our spare time together; 
     you’d visit me in the various locations 
     in which I’d lived, 
     and my goodness, the fun and mischief  
     we’d always seem to find.
      
     The days and nights which were 
     happily managed,
     when the sun arose 
     it was too soon for the dawn.
      
     We would explore the world in its 
     exciting realm of darkness, 
     the music thumping loudly in our ears, 
     and our eyes dancing this way and that
     searching for other people 
     to approach and learn more of.
      
     I’d always be too shy to get onto 
     the floor for a dance, 
     but you loved to move so fluidly,
     your limbs shifting so freely.
      
     But, we grew apart,
     for each of us there were differing trends,
     different paths we chose:
     some to be proud of,
     others not so much,
     but in the end, 
     there were decisions and results 
     of great commendation. 
      
     Because we both succeeded
     in our own ways,
     and while we do not speak, 
     and perhaps we will never 
     see one another again,
     at least I can hold the memories in my heart,
     strong, proud and true,
      
     that I had someone,
     a former great friend in my life who had 
     stuck around longer than     
     most of the people
     who were in my world had proven to.

     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known 
     as Alice Well. All rights reserved. 
      
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  • Poetry: Artistry – 06/11/19

    Poetry: Artistry – 06/11/19

     
     It seems we are all striving to be seen creatively
     for our mastery at whatever our 
     hands, mouths, eyes can fashion, shape, produce.
     To be acknowledged for our skillsets at these,
     our desire to exercise the right to be 
     creative and wonderfully delve.
      
     The foundations have already been laid,
     there is no resistance anymore,
     our work and statures are well respected,
     everything is here available to us,
     our talents can truthfully soar. 
      
      
     Edit not your words which have presently flowed,
     tidy not that corner of your painting whose 
     colours appeared to have self-imploded,
     rephrase not that section of vocals which 
     ascended and trembled so delicately that
     your heart felt it too had risen.
      
     Creatively speaking we are in a new age,
     these are times where our artistry is embraced,
     accepted,
     looked upon with praise and as distinguished,
     not shunned or having our practices 
     abhorred or dismissed.
      
     Instead others look upon the creators with 
     wonder at our skills, 
     amazing imaginations,
     imperfect yet perfect construction of our talents,
     the ability to reproduce while avoiding direct replication — 
     this is an age that we cannot dismiss.
      
     For, our artistry and ingenuity are those that make our work 
     wondrous, amazing creations to be venerated and 
     allow others to be
     visually impressed or otherwise 
     placated and pleased. 

     We can impress with our skills with the greatest of 
     excellence and ease.
     
     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved. 

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  • Poetry: Like A Child – 06/11/19

    Poetry: Like A Child – 06/11/19

     Sometime he’s like a child,
     he can sit there with device in hand,
     smile across his face,
     technology doing anything but going to waste. 
      
     I casually read to him my words,
     of the former verse he approves,
     not that I was hoping to continue,
     but with this sporadic melody,
     I will proceed, openly and vocally,
     I will allow the awaiting audience an open view.
      
     He sits now in contemplative silence, 
     touching the screen here and there,
     searching for something to amuse him,
     or educate him,
     without a concern, without a sense of care.
      
     Because he is like a thoughtful, learning child,
     growing with his device he becomes brighter and wiser,
     using today’s opportunities to progress, not falter,
     and here is the sense of knowledge shown:
     it will be used, inserted, among his 
     thoughtful, intellectual banter.
      
     But, like a child, 
     sometimes his words will be cast aside,
     by adults who feel they know more than him;
     there is such a great divide.
      
     Their understanding does not encompass 
     their understanding of him,
     and where he lies in reference to his former knowledge
     and where the new technology and understandings are taking him.
      
     Perhaps someday soon he’ll release something of great use,
     something accessible and necessary for a large majority
     of the world to view,

     an invention,
     a contraption,
     with his initials emblazoned on the back:-
     congratulatory words all around, 
     these will be all the world will have to say at that.

     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Time’s Ticking – 05/11/19

    Poem: Time’s Ticking – 05/11/19

     Time’s ticking, my friend,
     where are you required most?
     Time’s ticking; let’s go,
     down the rabbit hole, 
     and around the bend. 
      
     Into the dark deep labyrinth 
     where we will fall among objects that have 
     quite spontaneously reappeared,
     in the darkness we will swim 
     as we twist and turn around 
     again and again.
      
     Where will this cavity take us?
     Will it lead us into truth
     and wisdom:
     a land of beautiful views?
      
     Or a world of impunctuality,  
     anger and hierarchy,
     where we are beneath every 
     visible and given sets of feet?
     Precious two by twos.
      
     Will we find a world of characters?
     Amusing, learned, wise and tough?
     Humorous and of Imagination’s making?
     Or will we simply fall helplessly into a pile 
     of awaiting dust?
      
     With this wise rabbit who always seems to be
     quite behind 
     the time,
     a pacifist but proactive also,
     if we follow him we’ll end up at the right place,
     at the right time,
     in the correct frame of mind.
      
     Because his watch is incorrectly set
     and he has performed this deliberately
     to make his appearance correct and just so,
     into the rabbit hole we will fall and fall
     and forever in imagination we will delve.

     © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Peacocking – 31/10/19

    Poem: Peacocking – 31/10/19

    He peacocks here, he peacocks there, he struts and struts as people stare.

    His showiness is all-too-easily-seen, and it reflects where he is going and where he has been.

    This bright bird with eyes that stare into your soul, they delve inside without concern for you nor care as they take hold.

    They intensify, enveloping you,

    Making certain to assess and formulate a plan or two for you.

    There is nothing these eyes do not see,

    For they view me, they wholly see me.

    For, this bird is rather sneaky, he wishes to play a game that is not so pretty,

    A game in which he can manipulate you,

    Into believing there is more than the two of him and you.

    For, his eyes, those eyes, upon his feathers they deceive,

    Wonder not whether they are in reality or falsified as can possibly be seen,

    Because as he resumes strutting and mesmerising all that can see him,

    I wonder to myself where this illusory bird has come from,

    And when from my life he will leave.

    I do not need the deception in my life,

    Of a strutting male as I try to once again make sense of the inner chasms and strife,

    As I will know from the past, there’s no reason to feel as though I’m an outcast,

    Simply because I am different from this showy, eccentric male.

    One day I’ll shine my feathers, the true colours showing through the brown.

    It’s not easy sometimes, being overshadowed by another leading the crowd.

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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    My New Book – Our Whimsical World

  • Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

     I love it when you make your bed around me, 
     as though I’m a mini human burrito.
     
     I adore being so silly in the kitchen for you 
     as I wriggle and wiggle, 

     showing my happy dance, 
     a humorous movement, slight grooves, 

     more laughter, if you please, 
     just a little, if you will.
     
     I appreciate when you bring me cups of coffee and tea 
     and become slightly angered when you 
     forget about me and don’t,

     But all’s fair in our little tiffs and wars,
     Our hearts meld, that’s what matters most.
      
     Allow us to go from strength to strength,
     Taking on the challenges of the world.

     Us two against whom? 
     None, there are none standing in our way,

     Because we control our life’s climate, 
     Our weather,
     Our potentials, we decide them.
      
     We are but two constellations in the 
     sky known as the fabric
     Of human life,

     We burn brightly together and 
     linked in arms we are forever,
     Our names will be written in our 
     version of the skies.
      
     Our adoration for one another, while playful, 
     Raucous,
     Can be seen in the quiet moments 
     where we say nothing at all,
     There is no need to talk or touch. 
      
     A simple understanding that you are there for me,
     And I for you,

    And even in the most trying of times,
     We will remain as tightly linked 
     Firmly held together with permanent glue.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.  


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