Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poem

  • Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

    Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

     She joyously twirls bright ribbons yet feels dead inside,
     With a knowledge that what was once there, 
     Fresh-faced, bright, youthful, still alive,
     Is now broken, irreparable,
     Scattered in pieces upon the stage,
     An urban pavement,
     Nothing to show for the destruction,
     No sense of inner pride or holding her head up high.
      
     Her dolly-brightness is a façade
     The light and shade a humorous method
     At relaying that inside she is still ignited
     Still burning with life;
     One only has to look at her lack of brightened eyes
     To take in this scene with a sense of absent mirth.
      
     Oh, how she could have reached the heights
     Become more than she had ever been
     How she could have flown into the hemisphere
     Succeeding and achieving at building a life
     Of her own.
      
     But here she is
     Dead as a doornail because of the path that she chose,
     To vacuously entertain and be admired rather than use her mind, 
     To exercise the chemistry of her intelligent brain

     For a while she was simply an amusement
     A joke
     Something mocked behind open hands 
    Just something to be viewed in passing
    upon the set stage.

     But with time, hopefully she’ll rectify her life
     Breathe in once more
     And live a great freedom, a life
     Without recollection of that strife.
      
     Because dollies are meant to play
     Entertain their owners 
     Give them joy for hours upon days
     And seemingly there is nothing wrong
     With amusing another
     When it is performed with great respect of oneself
     And with an allowance of renewed life and vigour.
      
     Thus, with her self-justification and self-talk
     She feels less dead inside now,
     Her stitched-shut eyes now become visible once more,
     Brightened with the knowledge 
     that her presence is again wanted
     She is popular,
     Not cast aside onto the floor. 
      
     A renewed sense of popularity,
     A chance to regain a zest for life,
     To provide them with who she was meant to be -
     Now,
     She throws down her ribbons
     Which kept her bound and down.

     Altered, affected and no longer ill at ease
     She strives for something more,
     Something less vapid,
     A role in life where she could be
     Acknowledged as being more than what she’d been designed for,
    Her eyes are finally open enough to see.

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


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  • Poem: A Mirror of Blossoming Colours – 05/10/19

    Poem: A Mirror of Blossoming Colours – 05/10/19

     Stardust, starlight and blossom so bright,
     A mention of colours I see tonight
     Be they bold, subdued, or delicate, or brutal,
     I see them;
     Internally, I can feel them. 
      
     It is as though each colour has an emotion, 
     I assign a meaning to each shade, each hue,
     Only I absorb their meanings, 
     I can hear them,
     Can they feel my appreciation, too? 
      
     Like a beautiful tropical bloom in my sight,
     The combinations become heightened 
     As my emotions grow in power,
     There is nothing beyond my colours, 
     but an ephemeral fog which will last and obscure us 
     for a little while longer. 
      
     But the shades, oh, the shades, 
     How they make me feel such tender turmoil,
     Their assigned meanings remind me of
     The yearning years
     Where I was delicate and life was anything but simple.
      
     Where I ached for someone to truly notice my colours
     The uniqueness that my vibrancy displayed,
     How I wasted many years chasing other shades
     Not suited to me,
     Monochromatic in shade. 
      
     I thought they were right,
     I thought they would complement me,
     But my hues were too flamboyant and different,
     I wasn’t accepted -
     Always viewed as something other than wanted
     Usually indifferently, 
     An undesirable, unpopular oddity. 
      
     But now I can bloom with brilliance
     Just like this summoned flower before me
     In fact, it is as though it is my mirror
     Reflecting myself back at me.
      
     I no longer need to hide away,
     I can blossom and shine without doubt
     Without feeling afraid,
     The absence of approval is easy enough to do without,
     And my true self I do not need to disguise or hide away.

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


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  • Poem: Finding Your Footing – 05/10/19

    Poem: Finding Your Footing – 05/10/19

     There may be occasions where you’ve lost your footing, 
    in fact, many times, possibly. 
    Where your legs and feet scrabble for a holding, 
    a firmer footing, to cease the potential of falling deep, deep below. 

    When your heart is almost in your mouth, 
    the fear is palatable, tastes of thick iron rust,
    the bloodied mess that is your broken organ, 
    still beating, but a complete and utter mess. 

    There may be occasions where you slip and fall, 
    into the abyss of the great unknown, 
    speaking of darkness and unsureness 
    and times of great distress and unknowing. 
     
    These, my friends, are occasions which enable learning, 
    where you can take what you will from the putrid or frightening moments, 
    and make of them something worthwhile, 
    a learning process where you drag yourselves up 
    and out of the murky dark.

    The strength of character displayed from 
    when you fall and how you pick ourselves up demonstrates a 
    certain strong will and determination 
    that I know you must be proud of possessing. 

    Because darlings, I know that you can make it 
    through these pains, these issues, 
    You’ve done it before, 
    And you can do it again. 
    Just listen to your aching heart and plaster it with bandages of courage; 
    You’ll make it in the end.  

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


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  • Poem: Apparition in the Night – 04/10/19

    Poem: Apparition in the Night – 04/10/19

     The apparition comes in the dead of night
     One unblinking unnerving pupil
     A ghastly flowing body
      
     He enters my dreams soundlessly
     Through the cavities of my broken mind he travels quite efficiently.
     Never ceasing to amaze,
     This apparition knows how to communicate entirely wordlessly.
      
     How he emphasises his point
     Drives into the ground his defiance
     That his phantasmagoric appearance is required
     For with the night he has made an alliance.
      
     Tucked away within my mind is he
     The corners and avenues where he travels does he
     Knowing solely what he is looking for
     That one key for opening that mighty blocking locked door. 
      
     Then my secrets will spill forth,
     All, the lot of them
     To be viewed, 
     To be sifted through by him.
      
     He will never find that key
     Never, not even in my weakened state of sleep
     My dreams now provide a barrier
     Impenetrable they are, 
     No gaps, the lock is heavy, wrought, and my intention for it complete. 
      
     Phantom, you may now take leave of this scene,
     Your presence is unrequired here, 
     Your expulsion is as exactly as it seems.

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


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  • Poem: Intertwined – 02/10/19

    Poem: Intertwined – 02/10/19

     Keep me warm, keep me warm, his heart said to me
     Hold me near, keep me close, his eyes spoke of his fears
     Love me tender, love me true, his lips formed his precious request
     Hold me near, love me more, never abandon,
     Appreciate me the most, never less. 
      
     As his hand slipped into mine,
     Intertwined fingers, 
     Yours and mine, he said with a smile.
     Love me eternally, I’m always here for you,
     Let us stay, let’s sit for a while.
      
     My hand casually relaxed upon his chest,
     Feeling his heart beating frantically,
     Was this how my love made him feel?
     Excitable, edgy, heightened, at its best?
      
     A racing heart and a raging mind can cause devastating effects,
     But he wasn’t of that type.
     He was perfect and he was mine.
      
     Instead I hold him, 
     Instead of him holding me,
     I nurture him, I cherish him, 
     Convince him that I will not leave. 
     
     This I do so without words, 
     With a simple but gentle touch
     Our hearts are intertwined like our fingers
     Together we have become.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

    She became lost in her daydreams, her thoughts while awakened, the sparkling moments during which her life was reassured and free. When a contemplative little smile was upon her lips, the dreary world outside could not come within. She was protected by her angels and passed love ones, they formed a circle, a colony around the areas where she was most weakened. Here within, they protected her crushed heart and soul, broken from her wanting dreams.

    Her angels knew how to make her smile, they whispered words of teardrops from Heaven, laden with sweetness and reassurance that she would make it through the morning. How her heavy heart ached, but they massaged the thump-a-dumping organ into something more palatable, more wholesome, less heavy and cumbersome. Something that could be socially acceptable for the beings upon an often-judgemental Earth. But as she was had been enough; she was perfection for her place in Heaven.  

    How there were many answers for her prying queries and questions, the posing thoughts that needed to be addressed by her pained mind each day, every second. Why was she this way, why was she perpetually made the victim, and why was she permitted to live through each distressing scene? It wasn’t difficult to view the situation; she was beautiful, inside and out, her very presence caused others a great commotion. But why didn’t they see her for herself, a unique being, different from everyone else, who required times of contemplation — she did not always need the hoorah happening.

    She remained still, eyelids slightly flickering, like the wings of a tentative butterfly intent on tenaciously hovering just above that height of five point five feet, high enough to feel spectacular, yet dangerous enough to know no higher. She laid back in her mind, allowing her feelings to wash, to overcome, and realise that in essence, it does not matter who is judging, because who she is now is a great success because of her shortcomings and life errors she’d triumphed over, willingly overcome.

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


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  • Poem: Boastful Love – 01/10/19

    Like a lion I can bellow, like a lion I can roar.

    Like a kitten, I can curl into your crooked elbow, relax myself and purr. Into a crumpled heap I can fall, into your wanting arm.

    Here I am not boastful, as I am occasionally wont to be. Here I am quiet, subtle, subdued — here it is just you and I, the vibrating resonance of the breaths of us two.

    Rise and fall,

    rise and fall,

    until slower we become, simultaneous, as one,

    sleep beckons to us, to the humming of our pacified dreamscapes and

    the freedom of our wild and outrageously intricate love.   

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


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    Motivational Poetry and Prose: Glorious Goddess – 30/09/19
    
			
    Motivational Poetry and Prose: Glorious Goddess – 30/09/19
    
			
    

    




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





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    Poem: The Creepy Crawly Paint Job – 29/09/19
    
			
    Poem: The Creepy Crawly Paint Job – 29/09/19
    
			
    

    




     He creeps on prong-like legs,
     looking for something upon which he can work his paint laden head
     Because this contraption cross creepy crawly is here to transform 
     private rooms in dire straits
     one feature wall at a time.
      
     He wholly enjoys 
     no, correction,
     he experiences much mirth,
     from dipping and rolling upon the ugly outdated shades and hues
     of olden times that were deemed as more than beautiful enough.
      
     He feels and knows he is doing the world -
     or at least the owners of the rooms a great service -
     by creepy-crawly-rolling along their walls that were doing their owners an utter disservice.
      
     He knows how to carefully navigate his pointy feet away from the fresh paint
     on one occasion he’d stepped in the fresh trail
     and after being screamed at?
     Never again!
      
     From then on, his feet were placed delicately outside of the paint trail,
     he understood that to be useful he had to correct errors immediately 
     without any time for a thought to be preserved about it still;
     it had to be automatic,
    no mistakes, no fails.
      
     His method of painting also had to be methodical
     not of madness or franticness
     painting feature walls might be boring but boy
     wasn’t the enjoyment of viewing the pleased owner’s pleased eyes ultimately worth it?
      
     This is what he lives for
     to change the world of others
     arduously labouring rolling here and there
     day in and day out
     without any care for himself: 
     personal time he has done without.
      
     He wishes for others’ happiness
     he knows that to attain this that his glorious paint jobs are the solutions,
     and one-by-one he transforms the world of a couple, single, or family at a time,
     While their smiles are collective,
     Appreciative as one. 
    




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





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    Poem: Snorbert’s Deathly Device – 28/09/19
    
			
    Poem: Snorbert’s Deathly Device – 28/09/19
    
			
    

    




     Snorbert the Coiled Doggie possessed some terrible untoward thoughts
     he was obsessed with making smoke tricks with his vape
     he believed the special smoke gave him increased volume of thoughts
     and physical energy to make him trimmer and taut.
      
     While he was tripping on his words and slurring on his S’s and stumbling on his vowels
     his mind felt restless, more aware, yet not at ease at all.

     He imagined darkened thoughts of capturing ganders of geese 
     and frightening them into being tangled in masses of tall angry trees
     and then
     bucking with broncos and lassoing them with the most delectable of ease.
      
     His favourite method of his state of being was of course, coiled, or rather
     known as psychedelic.
     He could be entertained for hours it seemed
     when his lungs were pacified, but secretly drowning
     their futures breaths to be shallow and frantic.
      
     But there were moments when 
     the clouded sky of raw brutal thoughts was shifted aside,
     away,
     to reveal a clearer mindset and a satisfied ride, 
     where he could mentally feel the ease of calm trickling rain.
      
     Where for a moment there was no idle feeling of him drowning with meandering sensation
     a repulsing sense of mentally altered satisfaction
     Snorbert now had a clearer agenda and it no longer involved becoming elevated 
     because of the vapour.

     Realising in this moment it was responsible for his strange thoughts and lack of ardour
     he tossed the device into a lake
     watched it sink, 
     deeper, under, deeper still:
      
     Soon enough it would never again be seen.  
      
     There was no time in his world for potential future mental illness
     and lung disease, or even death.
     He was a smarter doggie now, 
     he had awakened, he now knew the facts.
      
     That tempting temptress of a device could cause him the loss of his life
     or at least the comfort of deep fresh breaths 
     his God-given ability to inhale and exhale freely.
      
     There is a lesson to be learned
     but he shall not righteously parade his tale before you all
     Snorbert simply sits calm, still, clear-minded,
     as I finish recalling his story to inform, not to enthral. 
    




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





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