Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poetry and prose

  • poem: magic – 23/03/22

    poem: magic – 23/03/22

    dowsing the crystals with illustrious mayhem
    the tainted air of dragon’s breath, poison,
    enlightening myself to the treasures of the planet,
    the powers deep within me,
    I need not lace melodies from counterparts,
    I need not stunt my heart with mimicry,
    hidden behind obscure masks,
    no, there is strength in being myself,
    knowing, learning, stronghold,
    resilience from waking hour to the magical twelfth.

    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Karen_Nadine on Pixabay,

  • 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.

  • Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Your eyes dart from left to right. Taking in the view, you know you appear confused. But, what does it matter? Appearances are nothing when you are alone, surrounded by no other living things. The forest appears to breathe though, with life it heaves and puffs, the life within these trees, this shrubbery, this undergrowth, is teaming with a sense of alertness that you are unable to wholly see. You can still feel it though, sense it, quivering beneath the surface, and you heave your breaths along with them, the forest you inhale and exhale with the lot of them.

    You know not to touch though, to seek further, to spread apart the flowering shrubbery or to part the bushes from the trees. There may lay something dangerous inside, and you are not wont to look, you prefer to carry on with your life path, strictly you are on the path of seeking another form of outlook. Each step reminds you that you have turned away from the shudders, the living creatures hidden, hiding well away, because each footstep you take, the vibrations grow smaller and of less frequency, and this pleases you, for you can move on with what you seek.

    What you seek is a place to lay, a place to rest your world-weary cheeks, to reside in a canopy of fronds that will tickle yet cause deep feelings of momentous pleasure-causing breaths, high then lower bounds and leaps. Where you can rest with quiet confidence that you will be uninterrupted, you’d even take an isolated gorge as a place of rest, if this solitude were presented. But now you discover a nook in the canopy, and further below what appears a gnawed-out area within some undergrowth, and here you are pressed for choice, which shall you select? With a firm conviction you crawl, hands and knees, into the tightly hollowed undergrowth perfect for someone of your stature and your stature alone, and you now breathe in the welcoming woody scent. You may have found yourself a warming and protective home.

    Huddled, you rest, knees to your chest, rocking back and forth to generate some extra heat, as well as an expulsion of additional nervous energy, for you feel something is forthcoming. On the horizon there is no proof, no inkling that there will be a change in the view, but you can sense it, and your heart quivers with this truth.  It is as though you possess an extrasensory perception for these kinds of things, and like the breathing of the forest which you also breathed with, you hone in on the sense of trepidation you have come to associate with this futuristic feeling.

    But there is nothing to fear, a brightness appears, heralding something close by, something becoming nearer. Your heart bounces and bounces; with each beat it creates for your life to continue onward, for your life to continue to be held lovingly dear. Then this light draws closer to you, seems to hone in on your presence, as though you are the heated target it seeks to reach its ill-fated doom. Instead of an explosion, the orb attaches itself to you, nestled through the occasionally-jagged undergrowth and now you feel yourself warming.

    Hotter and hotter you become, as if your face is awash with burning shame, and then you realise that you are actually positively glowing. Glowing with the sense of confidence that you had lost for years, a strength of personal abundance that will keep you going and knowing that you are something fierce and mighty to combat, not something helplessly wasting away. That you are strong, you are an almighty being who you can now completely believe in. A sense of personal mystery is no longer vibrating as your aura. You are now glowing perfectly.

    Feel the sense of freedom that comes with being your true self. At believing that you are talented, intelligent, on a path of truthful self-enlightenment. That you do not need to hide yourself away, ashamed at your apparent lacking of flowery traits and self-concepts, because you already possess the formula that life has projected within your mind and heart. You know these experiences better than any crowd who believes they knew the lot of them.

    Possess your self-worth and place freshly bloomed flowers within it as if it were a freshly blown glass vase, because you are now transparent and there is only true beauty to view. Understand there may be slight imperfections, perhaps cracks or internal bubbles, but know this: you are amazing, and you have finally found the right view. It was always sitting within you, your internal mirror, the true reflection of you.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    There was a river flowing from my heart at the point where we first met. Two streaming rushes converging into other, as we assessed and smiled and interacted with one another. I drew pictures on the back of your hand, little symbols here and there, you allowed me to be cutesy and my childish myself, and I so love that about you, that of my personality, you were immediately made aware and you didn’t back away, you didn’t seem to care.

    Your water brings me sustenance and lifts the dehydrating fog; disallows my heart from becoming parched and dry, and nestles me into your hydrating, plumping love. At this rushing river where our hearts were made known of each other’s presence and traits, are where we meet daily, our emotions intertwining together, becoming vines wrapped alongside and with each other. Because that is how we are, our fates are now twisted, into tightly coiled shapes, and the thorns? Why, they’ve completely gone missing.

    Because there is no longer any room for personal barbed pain or undying senses of loneliness to be noticed, harped upon, and saved. Because together we are stronger, in charming and less charming circumstances we will remain with great ardour, and in saying this I will strongly ascertain that our love for one another will remain as long as our forevers.  

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    Poetry and Prose: The Merman

    I sail the seas, high and low, searching for someone to come save me. To hold me tightly, embrace me, and breathe in my scent. To accept me with my flaws as well as for what they might view as perfection sent their way. I ride the seas and find many sea creatures, in many shapes, forms and sizes. Some are kind, heavenly, nice, others, well, not so subtle in their devices. The crested waves they slam onto shore, throwing myself and the others with now-less strange faces onto the rocky peaks making us scream for no more, and it is here I realise I should be accustomed to weathering these waves by myself. It is time to assume there is no need for me to be saved.

    Now mermaids and mermen come out from beneath the deep, their glittering, glistening scales, tails and fins are so delightful for me, that I cannot speak. They guide me into the open shores, build a protection, a fort, with their arms and hands then once having assisted me, their presence is suddenly naught.

    The seas now calm, the water’s surface pristine and now the colour of a deep blue lagoon, and I wonder to myself have I imagined those former moments out of my reality? Have I imagined the sea creatures and merpeople with an imagination too excitable and prematurely ready? But thinking about it, I once again experience that forlorn feeling, that yearning, of needing another in my life, to whom I can make an offering, a promise to be the one in their life that they can always trust, love and rely upon.

    Then out in the corner of my eye, I spot an enormous spouting, a large body of water fountaining in the distance, and I take this as a kind of heralding, that something or someone important might possibly be arriving. It just seems so out of place, for I am used to the waves crashing around, not reaching straight up and down; I know I must remain to witness the arrival of the being worthy of wearing a certain crown. Because I have that feeling, that this is a sea creature whom I will be most blessed to be meeting. A creature whom I will hopefully have the pleasure of calling my own.

    I lie in wait, for the moment to arrive. I lie in wait and the nervous anticipation and the trembling takes over outside of me and inside. I lie in wait, and then I meet You, my merman of the deep. The one who could view me as I harness my energy, and not be intimidated when I show all facets of me. The anger, the joyous, the contemplative, my sadness, my irritatingly frustrating habit of being focused on details, details, details. But you are the one who can and will promise to cherish my love, and love me in return, wholly, with your precious heart. My sea creature of the deep, my merman of the sea, understand that you are here to play beside me, to walk through life with openness, laughter and brightness, and to shine, shine, shine, all day and every night together, so freely.  

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Queen and King – 11/10/19

    There was that special moment, when you first reached for and clasped my hand. Do you remember, darling, as we sat outside on my back porch, in those “King and Queen” deck chairs? You hesitantly, tentatively asked me if this was okay, I smiled and beamed inwardly to myself – of course it was fine! I wished that you could stay.

    Worried that others would return to find you here, an unknown, holding onto my hand, I calmed myself, told myself it would be alright, that we still had some precious time. And side by side we sat, smiling to ourselves, the silence comfortable, not awkward at all, with the overwhelming feeling that you might be the right one for me, after all.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Routines – 10/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Routines – 10/10/19

    We have little routines. You have little routines. Routines as far as the eyes can see routines. Some are tiny, insey little habits, others are irritating to oneself, grating on our sense of selves if we do not perform them. Some may say a certain amount of these ingrained habits are obsessions, our preferential predilections. That if we don’t follow through with what our minds and bodies intend, we will feel catastrophic inside, a lack of feeling and control to be had. But why do we need to do these tasks? It’s not as though skipping them here and there will hurt ourselves, make of us pariahs, make us social outcasts. In fact, these routines, these niggling habits, are simply just there to control our minds, in a manner which calms them, a substitute we’d better hurriedly find.

    Because being calmed by performing strange habits can deter one from living in the commonplace world, a sanity to find within it. There is no point living in a land of delusions and grand thoughts, when no one essentially understands what you’re going on about. Those movements, those thoughts, those inherent tics, those ordered movements, verbal spouting, your jagged sense of speech. The over-cleaning of your environment, the rapid words and speech, control yourself – forgive the pun – allow the moments to be.

    Your little routines may do some good, but others, why, others in themselves are better off out of our mental neighbourhood. Because if overt sense of control calms us, what does that say about our spiritual and mental health, when we cannot allow ourselves to be free, even for a moment, just a special and quiet sense of self? There is positivity in the posterity of all when it comes to becoming calmer and relaxed, to loosening up our minds and souls, at realising that these habits do not do us justice at all.  In fact, they merely impinge and take away from our sense of self, by their wanting desire to control us and our behaviour, wherever we might go.

    Loosen the noose, and open the hatch, come down from that attic in which you were hiding yourselves in, and cast aside the antiquities of errant thoughts at that. Be pure, be wise, be true, and live for yourselves, be yourselves, don’t allow strange behaviours to continue to control you.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    What can I say? I’m a chameleon — I can shape shift at will. With the right applicators, the right clothing, the right hair colour, I can alter my appearance and seemingly become someone else, a new someone. My ability to change is inherent, a desire to change who I am, to become something more, but why can’t I be completely content with who I am?

    There is no need to continually change anymore. I am accepted for who I am and how I appear, and for those who decide to speak otherwise, I’ll dismiss their words without a care. For, I have gone through so much internal suffering and physical upheaval, my alterations took a great toll on my tired body and heavy mind.

    A chameleon may be desirable to those who prefer their others as showy and changeable, but I am now an almost-contented being; only a few complaints have I, and I can work on altering these, quietly, without the flash of colours in the brimming sky in others’ perceptive eyes, their flashing, thoughtful eyes.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: Fractured – 09/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: Fractured – 09/10/19

    Just because you’re fractured does not mean you’re falling apart. The pieces cracked, aged and suffering may in actual fact be a sign that you are needing to rearrange your heart, your mind, to replace into your hollows your startled, staring eyes. It doesn’t hurt to begin. There is no better moment than now to start.

    Pick the pieces up from the floor, scattered there, left to right, abstract in motion, lying there, uncaring, when in reality they are waiting for you to pick them, to hear their whispers so softly spoken. Begging you to place them back into the right spots, to recomplete the image that is softening and full of love, yet vibrant and striking also, because you, you are the truest individual. You broke at a time when your name was being called the most. The pressure smashed you into tiny pieces on the floor, but you are still here, grappling, grasping at the pieces, while you are desperately on your knees. Don’t forget that completion and contentment can come from a harrowing experience, murmuring velveteen words at your ears as you cajole the irresponsible pieces back into place.

    Fractured you might feel, fractured you may even be, but knowing that breakage is commonplace is the first step in retracing where each fragment should have been; each crack to shoulder or interlace one another until you once more regain your sense of self, and become that quiet but proud king or queen.

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


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Self: Concern, Love and Care – 08/09/19

    Poetry and Prose: The Self: Concern, Love and Care – 08/09/19

    When was the last time you focused on yourself? I mean truly, deeply, contemplatively connected with yourself? Have you dwelled upon what you deserve, about your likes and dislikes, your aspirations and hopes? About how you allow yourself to link with others, of how you graciously love, how you treat your close others? How do you feel when that stranger on the street gives you a quick smile, and a cheery “Good morning”? Does your mood and spirit lift and spring, at being worthy of being acknowledged? What does your Self say to the mornings where you don’t want to roll out of bed? Your aching head screams to stay in, please, connect with yourself instead.

    There is a timely connection between us, our soul and spirit, and we need to accept that holistically treating ourselves with gentleness and care has ultimate worth and merit. Because if we cannot look after ourselves, cherish our beautiful selves, who will look after us better? But sometimes there are times where we come undone, where we cannot look after ourselves, no matter how hard we try. Even lifting our heavy, dreary eyelids becomes too much of an action, and this is when we cry out for another human connection. Someone who is there to now look after us, with duty of care and concern, and a loving level of personal trust.

    We know these people in the world, they mean more to us than ever could be spoken of or expelled, and quietly they go about their duties as though there is nothing to them. Because that is how they are, our loved ones, they tidy the mess that everyday life or inherent suffering has brought to us. Cataclysmic whirls and hurricanes blustering and blowing in the minds of ourselves when we are sadly, not so complete. But the trying times will pass by, we will rise higher and higher until we avoid that dangling fall into the abyss, and with a joyous ringing of trumpets, we have arrived home.

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


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