Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poet

  • Prose Poetry: It’s Your Birthday! – 07/04/20

    Prose Poetry: It’s Your Birthday! – 07/04/20

    Oh, a time for celebration! Your birthday while in isolation. There can only be us three, but that’s enough for you to see, that you are appreciated still, and you are deserving of the love you need. You are often quiet, you do not seek attention much, indeed, you are a hard worker of the household, our family, and you go about your tasks with a sense of careful meticulous duty.

But today you will allow me to hug you, to repeatedly kiss you upon the top of your head, when all other times I reach to embrace you, I am kept at arm’s length. There is something about affection that must make you squirm inside, but perhaps the fact I counted down the hours to midnight, to your birthday, showed that I care, it made you realise. Of course we love you, and of course we will always care, you are the masculine figure we always have to observe, to follow directives, to feel your care and quiet concern when it is required, when danger is near, you are the one to help pick up the pieces, you are always near.

And today is your day, let us celebrate it with a bang! Your presents gleefully given, one artistically made with a careful hand. And the others are so sweet that they could make your stomach curl, you delight in these gifts, for you rarely consume them at will. And now I spend extra time with you, when usually you are permitted your own space. I thought you liked it like this, but now, I realise, that sometimes you might enjoy my company, to have a quiet observer nearby to watch television with, perhaps here I am accepted as another.

And now it is time for cake, and we three celebrate, Mother’s been at work all day, and you are delighting in posing before the cake playfully, cheekily, unlike how you would act normally. I smile to myself, even those you are being so silly, because I know that you are enjoying yourself, this moment is one of today’s many. So, my precious Father, I hope you enjoyed your day, allow us to share in our love and appreciation for you each and every other day, always.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by ikon from Pixabay

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  • My First Poem on Ephemeral Elegies: ‘The Former Famines’

    My First Poem on Ephemeral Elegies: ‘The Former Famines’

    My first poem titled ‘The Former Famines’ has been published on Ephemeral Elegies, which details some difficult periods I experienced throughout my early adulthood and beyond.

    Here is an excerpt:

     There were times when I ate nothing but
 plumes of poisoned smog for days on end.
 I’d avoid anything heavy or even meagrely there,
 to place a mere morsel in my mouth was something
 too tempting and somehow undignified,
 something forbidden,
  
 leading to:
 a loss of control,
 frenzied ingestion,
 then disgust with myself —
 reaching for a dose so potent it equated to poison.

Continue reading at Ephemeral Elegies...

    Image by lisa870 from Pixabay

  • Poem: Panic – 16/03/20

    Poem: Panic – 16/03/20

    Panic mode,
the shelves stripped bare,
triumphant shoppers walk with their prized packets of eighteen toilet paper rolls,
the luxurious purple Quilton brand.
 
We have already rushed from your home,
with few moments to spare,
the opening time has already occurred,
there are barely any essential products there.
 
Hastily, you grab the items from the shelf,
long-life, of course,
why would we deal with anything else?

For we have been encouraged to purchase ahead for two weeks,
the panic,
the panic ensues,
ensures that we here in the supermarket,
at this usually sleepy hour.
 
Seven in the morning is now its busiest,
when the visitors will arrive,
the peak of scanning,
the competitive nature rises within shoppers,
perhaps all shelves of essential items will be stripped in time.
 
We are even more fearful of handling money,
of being within another’s close proximity,
we purchase hand sanitiser,
believing it will purge the virus from our skin,
we wash and wash,
but on occasions, the virus will be silently welcomed in.
 
Our systems were not made for this,
this is a pandemic,
do you hear me?
 
We need to take precautions,
self-isolate when required,
only leave the house when needed,
avoid close quarters with others.
 
And the ideal situation has commenced,
the virus is winning at this fact,
we are together, yet away from one another,
fearful of something which we cannot see
but which, if caught,
could cause saddening fatalities,
need we stay away from all others?

The question remains: 
how will we combat this insidious virus, 
this society-killing disease?
    
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

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  • Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Poem: I Await – 11/03/20

    Awaiting that irrevocable touch
Upon my hair-raised skin,
I know it will be magnificent, the time for reflection,
To make myself chaste, from within.
 
Butter me up, darling,
I know the emotions too well,
Of diving, sinking,
And finding no treasure,
The tides know my desires all too well.
 
But I will leap from the depths,
I will soar with grace and humanity,
The beauty of the softened mammal,
Splashes, re-entry.
 
And gyrations of the bluest truth,
Which, occasionally could not –
Cannot –
Be handled,
Herein lies the beauty of
the wondrous world of self-reliance.
 
And although most live and yearn to find a mate,
A twin flame, a soul matching ours,
The blueprints complex, though matching in many ways,
 
The phoenixes from their burning pasts,
Rise and soar,
Reaching their own old effigies,
Amazing and looming that they are.
 
We can live as one,
Or two,
A little of both,
That soft, generous touch I long for,
Why, it seems to come from the grasp of
A myriad of stars,
A bank of overwhelming hope.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Pexels from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Holding Charge – 05/03/20

    Poem: Holding Charge – 05/03/20

    Will I hold charge? I wonder. 
Will electricity pass through me and back out to them?
I contemplate how my mind will handle the surging volts,
Will it crumble or will it take the brunt?
 
Perhaps they do not know precisely what they are doing,
How to discover whether the procedure is a success?
A general turn around in mood, I’m expected to about-face,

I’d like to thwack someone out cold, 
he or she who approved this cruelest decision,
But hey,
Doing so would warrant more charging,
And the thoughts of this hardens my face.
 
I’m out of control,
My moods have escalated,
Neither the nurses nor doctors can control me,
Plan A for me: out cold,
Electrocute,
See how she is later that morning.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by 024-657-834 from Pixabay

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  • Prose Poetry: A Land of the Free – 02/03/20

    Prose Poetry: A Land of the Free – 02/03/20

    I fly off, toward a land of the free, where I can soar with my wingspan so wide not even dragons could watch without envy. Their narrowed eyes and aching hearts would speak of something so paining and green that neither head nor heart could be altered, though to be seen with these beasts would be a dream.
 
I am a spectacular bird of the skies, my feathers six feet long, yay high, and of a particular, peculiar colour, tan dipped with white and rose, I am seen throughout the skies daily, my presence is always known.
 
I am on a journey to the land of the free where I will land and find myself among other birds of prey who do not want to capture any more, to kill life. Where we are all equal, soaring, travelling across the craggy and green ground, where we meld with one another, sociable, never disastrously cruel or unkind.
 
The dragons pass me overhead, their keen red beady eyes are searching the ground for me, but instead I rise above them, flourish by flourish of my wings the wind around me grows, and I smile unto them, caw-cawing, as my species is known to express, in a manner so bold.
 
The dragons realise I am not a threat, in fact, I am here to escape their prosperous land, where animals such as rats and mice – my favourite – were available ongoing. There was no competition to capture such meals and it was never left to chance. They simply scurried before me, as though begging to be taken, but now, I am in the land of the free, where no lives will be taken.
 
This includes mine. I wave off the dragons, and smiling, they rise into the sky, leaving myself and my others to decide what to do with our now guilt-free lives.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Parker_West from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Everyone May Be Busy – 28/02/20

    Poem: Everyone May Be Busy – 28/02/20

    Sometimes I enjoy being on my own,
Meditating on my thoughts,
Or lack thereof.
The feeling of openness which can be brought forth by
Simple introversion,
Viewing what is within.
 
While I could be content with such a mode,
Often I yearn for the compatibility of others,
My close friends,
My living champions,
Those who were always there to hold my hand
During illness,
During pain,
During loss and strife.
 
The meaningless banter is not so meaningless at all,
For through the eyes of an outsider,
My bond with others may seem thin,
Weak,
Something which can underwhelm,
 
But they don’t see beyond the front of our projected image
In fact, they see nothing at all,
Because what is occurring beneath the surface
Is like duck’s feet whirring –
From the surface,
The effort you cannot tell. 
 
Everyone may be busy,
And I’ll be bereft with my intent,
That understanding I must cope by myself,
To allow these hours to pass by,
Tick, tock, slowly spent,

But when I’m in the glory of the light of my loved ones,
We shine, shine, shine,
No one is busy anymore,
Except with one another,
We’ll grow and laugh
And shine some more,
This is our time.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by fancycrave1 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    The others watch me lazily,
yet with intent,
from their quiet area of silent judgement,
it is as though I am being assessed for living
and breathing,
such a scoundrel I am,
I must turn the tables,
to impress!
 
Yet why bother
when these individuals are perpetually displeased?
There seems little point in exacerbating the situation
with a further moment that would actually come across as amazing,
divide the divide!
 
Indifferently though, they blink,
what is the generational gap between us three?
nay I bother now for assessment and
tidings which are built upon comeuppance,
because I’ll sell you this: --
the image is quite diseased,
and its feelings explore me from within,
it wants to attack with ease.
 
The virus enters my system,
wreaking, ravaging,
I am now one of them,
how I wish to breathe freely
without a chest full of bricks,
and now I understand the truest meaning
of a vice-like grasp and grip,
I’ll tell you this:
my spirit will go on,
despite the others’ who belligerently sit there,
stroke their chins,
and sip special tea with posh leafed airs.  
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Purple Girl – 27/02/20

    Poem: Purple Girl – 27/02/20

    He tells me he has seen a girl,
with vivid purple hair shining in the sun,
according to him she walked with great presence
away from him,
her face was hidden,
yet her aura shone,
with flecks of blue,
and green and gold,
if I cared to know I would look these up,
the energy, the auric balance of this being,
who captured his heart this very day.
 
He brings her up in conversation,
several times, likely unintentionally
but because he is compelled,
I remind him of the girl in rainbow garb
who I saw around my house many years prior,
like her, he would never lay eyes upon this purple haired girl again.
 
No, these are the people we view once in a lifetime,
for some reason they bless our day and our minds,
filling us with their memories,
that there is something spiritually inclined,
that far off in the distance their presence really
isn’t as far away as the colours may seem,
near us,
holding us,
are the thoughts we have,
of our desired, wholesome dreams.
 
One may state I should have been affected by
the idea she mesmerised him,
completely took his breath away,
although he did wax lyrical about this vision,
I knew that she meant something to his day.
 
I cannot permit a sense of jealously,
a sense of misery because she captured his heart,
for in the mere seconds he watched her
leave the station and head north-east,
his heart enlivened,
and she can be thanked for this,
she managed it in her departure.

In fact, I am pleased
he has had this beauty to lay his eyes upon,
not in the sense that he appreciates her wantonly,
but accepted her presence wholly and for what it is,
something exceptional,
something worthy of speaking and sharing.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

Image by SilviaP_Design from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Gateway – 27/02/20

    Poem: Gateway – 27/02/20

    I’ve come to a stark white marble gateway
where I have the choice,
presented with left or right,
which path is moral,
which path is exploratory,
which will help reach a state of divinity?
 
I pause at the crossroads,
unsure of which road to take,
because the truth of the matter is
I’m barely guided
I’m doing this on my own, it seems.
 
Each path is covered with a looming arch,
veins of tiny grey riddle the white, I discover,
and they remind me of varicose veins,
little interfering modules that stain the perfection
of the set stage.
 
I wonder to myself what would occur if I chose no path at all,
would I reach my desired goal
on my own?
Would I attain that which I seek
without the standard paths of known?
 
I decide to stray from what is before me,
I have always been known to explore,
to test the waters,
the rivers so deep,
I do not need to follow many others,
I’m already here on my own.
 
I instead backtrack,
it may look like failure,
that I have given up,
but the irony here is I’m redoing the procedures,
I am here,
I am there,
I am gone,
into the air.
 
It is now my choice where I shall place my feet
or spread my wings,
seek forth,
seek right,
seek left,
I am but a frugal queen.
 
I shall seek my king and my kind
because I know they are waiting for me,
I’ll reach them in time,
resurrect the past,
I’ll no longer become lost,
and I’ll traverse until I become wiser than I’ve ever known.
 
Then I will know the true meaning of what I seek,
what is it?
The answer is within me.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay

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