Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poet

  • Poem: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Poem: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Haunted are her eyes
    above a winsome smile,
    wistful character is she,
    hoping for more
    in a while.

    Fallen by the wayside,
    all her trickery,
    her witchery,
    her cosmetics,
    her haberdashery.

    By goodness what is told
    beneath those furrowed brows?
    Heavy times envisaged,
    poignant moments told,
    she loves to flicker
    her eyes from the
    land to the sea,
    a calming peacefulness
    takes over she.

    Without her layers,
    which peeled away
    one by one,
    she’s naked as the babe
    she entered the world as,
    all magic spells come undone,
    without the falsity
    of rare moments of rage,
    she no longer finds herself
    or others
    disharmoniously caged.

    For their prison was this –
    requirements to abide by society,
    she just wants to flow now,
    rippling waves,
    breathe, gasp freely,
    ride the swells of less commotion,
    battle away prior despair,
    no longer a ‘witch’ but a
    fair haired innocent maiden…

    What was wrong with her sorcery?
    She’d not ever know,
    only condemned for being
    different,
    not lining up in
    conforming rows,
    her magic is what
    she held pride in,
    what made her so proud,
    shriek and cackle
    she wishes now,
    to elaborate aloud.

    They have changed her,
    made her ‘pure’,
    sootiness cast away,
    undo, undo,
    bring back the smudges,
    the unsightly smears,
    her darkness is, was, forthcoming,
    can you feel it, dears?
    There’s so much she has to say,
    watch as the pretences fall away.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Tania Medina on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘The Hot Room’ – 13/08/21

    Previous Post: ‘Interior’ – 11/08/21

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  • Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Poem: The Hot Room – 13/08/21

    Orchids wilt in the hot room.
    It is summer here, outside, a belligerent winter
    with a dying, poorly Moon.
    They have thrown themselves from their stakes.
    Stakes which were there to provide safety,
    protection,
    backboned projections.

    The orchids, they are careless, for they have
    left their safe havens,
    their ties have been cut,
    severed from the heaven they once
    grew towards,
    now wilted, lethargic.

    What a sorry sight for eyes,
    used to falling upon beauty,
    now dejection and misery,
    once-taut, now lacklustre under the
    oppressive heat’s fury,
    the split system churns out
    Celsius, five and twenty,
    degrees of measure too hot
    for the orchids,
    whom cannot stop wilting.

    Their heads, they can barely lift,
    too much of a trouble it is to subsist,
    rejection of the support
    because I cannot, will not,
    do not want to entertain that foggy breath
    of mist,
    morning time offers some solace
    when the fiery heater does its trick.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

    Previous Post: Interior – 11/08/21

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  • Poem: Interior – 11/08/21

    Poem: Interior – 11/08/21

    The fullness in my belly
    tells me how blessed
    I am to smile,
    to grin until cheeks ache,
    what madness,
    corners of lips will remain
    widow-peaked,

    I’m grateful for the satisfaction
    which comes from not being
    lonely and hollow,
    many yesterdays,
    potential tomorrows
    promised to be laden with
    such sorrow.

    But I have changed mindsets,
    it is nothing short of amazing,
    withholding health from myself, I had,
    now, pleasantries, luxuriating,
    I would not allow myself to
    experience any possible bliss,
    deprivation, for firm reasons,
    and now I’ve relaxed,
    relinquishing control,
    what personal power this is.

    It should matter not,
    should not be all about,
    what one looks like
    to the world,
    how one presents is only
    one sheen, lustre,
    shimmer of a pearl,

    what we are made up of,
    the interior,
    our strength,
    our power,
    our desires,
    truth of the matter,
    these are what really matter.

    Disgruntled nature within,
    cataclysmic, self-loathing,
    hatred growing,
    wanting, desiring, that physical
    changing,
    but it is with true consciousness
    that we should be engaging,
    not just with the world
    but ourselves,
    power-pressing up against
    closing-in walls,
    free yourself,
    it’s truly triumphant
    to be strong in this world.

    No longer aiming for tiny,
    but aiming for happy and healthy,
    already halfway there,
    won’t I growl a prized cacophony?

    I can be anything I want to be,
    and I choose to be me,
    the only authentic form,
    shape, person
    in this world
    that I can truly be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Johen Redman on Unsplash

    Previous Post: With Ease – A Swan Song – 09/08/21

    Previous Post: Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

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  • Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

    Poem: Refractions – 09/08/21

    The growling primal fear
    which rears its head
    dances its eyes over our
    circumstance,
    and in a plethora of
    understanding
    it wisely retreats into
    the distance,
    pillars surround us
    as petals, thrown,
    fall from invisible hands.

    The area we find ourselves in
    beckons to outsiders
    near and far,
    cajoling them,
    calling them in,
    to come join
    the party,
    if one could call
    it this,
    we are prisms within
    shafts of light,
    sensing deep within.

    And so, we carry on,
    dispel any negativity,
    growth is a factor,
    plurals multiply,
    lace-widths of sin
    and unroll do these errors from past, future and
    unknowns,
    our history determines
    how much we want  
    others to know.

    So, wary are we,
    these refractions dance so thin,
    like slicing daggers into
    unwanted entities,
    our lovers hear and own
    everything that shouldn’t
    be seen,
    as though thickets,
    deep brush,
    slash, gash, branches
    not so tough,
    do and say are different things,
    but results matter most,
    is what some might say.

    Thinning out,
    excavating memories of time,
    white-hot circumstance,
    disallowing swallows flighty times,
    drift away from that sea
    that calls and calls,
    deep swells for you,
    and for me – well,
    I’m tackle what I am given,
    arrivederchi.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Emma on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Shade – 07/08/21

    Previous Post: Rose – 07/08/21

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  • Poem: Shade – 07/08/21

    Poem: Shade – 07/08/21

    Light and shade,
    I sweep the curtains shut,
    keeping creeping moody blues
    in mind,
    seems they’ll never stop.

    Heaving and breathing,
    huffing and a-puffing,
    affected am I this night,
    heathens nesting in the room
    from dawn until morning light.

    Struggles to create
    in a manner bright and saved,
    annoyances in the gutter,
    when will my thoughts be tamed?
    For I am ailing, but to some,
    no matter, I’m the one
    who should troupe on regardless
    of what I’m lacking in
    my personal power.

    I loathe, I hate,
    this weakness in myself,
    the inability to say no,
    wanting to please,
    keep their flashy smiles
    in a row,
    whilst I, I sit here in pain,
    distended dreams,
    dreamt in vain,
    upon the moody windowpane,
    trickles of falsified tears,
    rain trails there to be admired,
    cleansed pathways reverse-inked
    in droves.

    Light and shade calls forth
    but all that seems present
    is shade and shadows thrown,
    there is no sunrise rising,
    no beauty in my morning,
    I mourn for things which I yearned for,
    calling,
    yowling presence causes progress
    to begin stalling.

    The bracken in this bonfire
    lit by a little match,
    how small a thought can then
    become an inferno,
    developing into disgust in myself
    as of late,

    what happened to living my
    best life,
    I’m exhausted to the point
    I cannot breathe…
    stifling this shallow breath,
    for recycled air,
    I begin to heave and heave.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Rafael Leão on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Distance – 06/08/21

    Previous Post: Open Arms – 05/08/21

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  • Poem: Rose – 07/08/21

    Poem: Rose – 07/08/21

    What we are and what we feel are
    two different concepts,
    notions I need to feel,
    I watch from within as thoughts build and layers
    harden then peel
    like ancient flakes of house paint decorating
    that life we accepted and treasured within,
    I know through deep understanding
    that each flake tells a story,
    it’s witnessed so much of life
    to be felt, heard, and seen.

    What I feel is a blossoming,
    a wafting rose developing,
    from a tiny elaborate bud into
    much,
    much more,
    complexities created,
    so much in store,

    her fragrance is intoxicating,
    I do not yearn for anything but her
    in the morning,
    a pin-pricking, her warning,
    to be gentle with her,
    patience never stalling.

    A petal drops –
    by goodness, what a shame,
    her story is unfolding,
    but losing beauty? –
    should the ache in my heart refrain?
    Because it is with dying that she is
    breathing life,
    to live is to expire,
    but to experience is proof of internal fire.

    And her flames are astounding,
    she’s alive, so vivid now,
    effervescent, glowing
    the flakes of paint fall into an inferno,
    fuelling her understanding
    that to live is to capture and incinerate
    what the world deems as beauty,
    there’s much more to her presence,
    behind there is more than a duty,
    it’s a requirement fulfilled morally.

    And it is with experience that she
    continues to grow,
    her form is not lopped,
    stunted growth,
    to entertain others with her vision,
    with her dangerous thorns
    as protection,
    for her wonder in the morning
    and beyond,
    we think, we feel,
    we consider what she does,
    what notions there are to accept,
    as necessary?

    Sometimes it’s required that our awareness
    is measured,
    and our hearts, oh, our hearts,
    must begin to beat harder,
    no option for slowing,
    no option for stalling,
    they should continue to beat fiercely,
    uncontrollably.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Meghan Schiereck on Unsplash


    Previous Post: Distance – 06/08/21

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  • Poem: Distance – 06/08/21

    Poem: Distance – 06/08/21

    the distance between myself and the south side
    of that road,
    the longest path I’m sure some have
    ever known,
    try to tiptoe along the lane,
    whisper under breath,
    assertions born tame,
    but they are still valid,
    present they be,
    a jolt, a justification seems questionable,
    but in the end, both visions and truth
    are vividly seen as the same.

    and now, as I wander down
    the evergreens which line
    the pavement, luscious trees,
    ever beautiful, ever seen,
    flourishing, blossoming,
    while I, I circumspect,
    within there is much to
    be seen.

    what to view? you might wonder,
    as I physically wander, whilst I myself wonder,
    there seems not much, but there is
    too much to ponder,
    I must make allowances,
    the membrane of my mind is
    calling for something more,
    to comprehend, from yonder,
    what’s awaiting me,
    what’s in store?

    let me see what there is to gain
    from dancing through rapid-cycling
    thought trains,
    take a ride on the great red caboose,
    the trajectory, its path,
    there is much to transport,
    have I the capacity, mental fuel?
    why, of course I do.

    and as I hop aboard this vehicular entity,
    parading around the south side with
    ridiculous ease,
    I no longer wonder,
    and damned will I be to wander,
    when I can take the heights of self-indulgence
    to an nth degree,
    carry it around with me

    with great honour.

    and prismatic will that be,
    rainbow glow, hues,
    spectacularly,
    I’m not afraid to show a glimmer,
    a glittering
    fantastically,
    ride those streams of consciousness,
    bare the nudity that comes with
    baring one’s soul freely.

    there’s no ego,
    no arrogance,
    when all I wanted
    was to share a window within.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Caleb Jones on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘Open Arms’ – 05/08/21

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  • Poem: Open Arms – 05/08/21

    Poem: Open Arms – 05/08/21

    Offering who I am,
    affirming when I can,
    positivity leads me into open arms,
    genuine, willing hands,

    they welcome me with hearts assured,
    love and circumstance, visions focussed,
    never blurred,
    shared life purposes,
    becoming more,
    a world of truth,
    so bright and pure.

    I feel the rhythm of our pulse,
    we wanderlust,
    travel in minds most,
    we stretch our desires,
    make our thoughts wise,
    ponder the true meanings of life.

    And then I’ll sit with all
    and we can say,
    that we are doing this our
    very own way,
    there are no trials, tribulations,
    only challenges and explorations,
    what does it mean to truly be human,
    a light-seeker,
    what’s my mission in this world,
    my fate to be unfurled?

    I will have to study my flight path,
    my purposes can be many,
    intuitive,
    unlimited,
    I simply have to select some
    and grow,
    my destiny is mine to behold —
    all I know is that it is vivid, sumptuous, and sunny.  

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘Vast Mind Dreaming’ – 03/08/21

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  • Poem: Vast Mind Dreaming – 03/08/21

    Poem: Vast Mind Dreaming – 03/08/21

    Calm and tranquil,
    peaceful and still,
    allow your mind to relax,
    impregnate itself with
    freedom and richness,
    we are filled,

    feel the vast mind-space multiply into
    pockets of light where we can
    project thoughts and generosities;
    our souls sing and ring with verbosity
    into the silky night.

    Amazing as it is, we seem complex usually,
    though in this moment, stripped away,
    barren of damage,
    we’ve healed in the silence,
    allowed ourselves to fade
    into pastel dreaming,
    the softness of approaching day,
    the excitement of what might come,
    what may.

    Relaxed and refreshed,
    because we are here and now,
    subtle intricacies in a world once unknown,
    the single point of consciousness
    which we have drawn upon,
    second to none, darling,
    referenced,
    vibrant as one.   

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Adrian RA on Unsplash

    Previous Post: ‘Elusive Sleep – 03/08/21

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  • Prose Poetry: Elusive Sleep – 03/08/21

    Prose Poetry: Elusive Sleep – 03/08/21

    Sleep. How it escapes, evades my very fingertips. When I reach out, fingernails scrabbling, hoping for a hint of rest, my aching heavy lids are calling. I am in a state of unrest, my mind is anything but heightened, I need the numbness to wash over me, repair the intensity from the day prior. I need to rest, but, I cannot, I cannot will myself into a state of slumber. Sometimes I am stubborn and don’t wish for the darkened cover, for haven in darkness, dangling from consciousness’ precipice until the web is severed, and I’m beneath, in the lake of swimming nightmares with the rest of them.

    I do not need sleep, or does sleep need me? Preposterous, this claim, it does seem. The very fabric of my mind is wearing ragged and thin, existing in a state of stunned surprise when I force my eyes wide and brighten them to take my surroundings in. Taking in their fill. But unappreciative, as a slight, because I was told sight was not urgent, improvements were required but not yet, and so, I exist on a diet of blurred visions and occasionally barked words.  

    But Sleep, my antisocial friend, who only wants to attend for four hours or five, then sweep himself away, without a word to say, leaving me groggy, thirsty, and ill at ease in the dead of night, wishing for even an extra hour that he had stayed. Quality sleep never comes, in fact, so rarely does he attend that some cruel puppet master might as will be silently phasing out the timbre. Yellow, yellow, what a beautiful colour. Yellow conjures up such a cheery disposition, a shining timbre.

    Oh, how I need sleep, before I launch into emotions, feelings, about colour association, so replete!

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Megan te Boekhorst on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Living my Best Life – 01/08/21

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