Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose
winding worlds, sharpened words, and vibrant art
I feel the beat within my veins, Vibrations, thrown off syncopation, They pull me from edge to edge, Paper thin and treacherous they betray the solid beats, An insistence of one-two-three-four, Heavy pounding, bass throbbing. Then, the lyrics, Divine, Singing of being unbreakable, Is that what we are? Are we made of such strength [...]
I am inspired by experience, because that’s the richness that I have, using my moments as potent fuel, a propellant, on the fire of dry bracken and chopped wood. Steady cracking ensues, and I can feel the force of heat throwing me back. Sometimes, some may feel burned by the stinging insults aimed toward [...]
Underneath a bridge is where we huddle during fine misted mornings that swell with particles of fresh oxygen and unlisted chemicals, the conglomerate joins in a state of irony, of helpful and harmful. They are united as one with drawbacks and expulsions, in and out, the clouded fog permeates and breathes, enveloping our heads [...]
It is easy enough to pass judgement over something as nonspecific as a cloud, Oh, there, can you see it? I hear you squeal so loud. It’s like a clock without a face, without an actual dial! You peal into giggles at the notion, delighted you are, so well. You smile widely to yourself, without [...]
Languid, my arm flops and hangs from the mattress, I am but a mere weakened being suffering my body’s wretched heat. My toes wriggle, it’s the most exercise I’m able to perform, I am exhausted, and I’ve barely woken up. What is this ill health surrounding my body? a yellowing at the edges [...]
Sometimes my mind is like a silent sea and I’m carefully wading, trespassing on little homes and crevasses, minute creatures existing, fearful that my bumbling toes may enter their havens and crush them unwittingly. I am not a murderer, I take heed of all that is around me, even the swimming thoughts that cloud [...]
I am outrageously emotional, perhaps it is the time of your menses, you suggest. Insensitive little man, you will not remain long with that attitude of rude assumption. You pride yourself on tinkering with words which speak dully, with a hollowness that persists, your xylophone of musicality is anything but lyrical or sweet. [...]
