Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poetry

  • Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Poem: Drainage – 12/07/20

    Strangely exhausted,
an afternoon, heavily slept,
too much, too much,
ill memories draining,
they won’t rise delicately,
rather seep down below the mattress,
will not gently fly away.

A drainage system
below the surface
of a city, a being,
more than four times hastily gone mad,
residual pain wafting from
the wide walkway pipes,
potent,
uncleanly,
needing purification:
the sensations do not need resurfacing.

But a town mayor deems it so,
right and correct to flush this town of
mental muck
though the waterways will never
flow with pure, clean goodness,
it doesn’t hurt to try, though, does it.

Her drip,
drip draining like a cannula,
a personal IV,
feeding pain-controlling and cleansing
elements to this human city, this sleeping being,
in an instant there is a rush of 
blue then red dyed magic entering into her veins,
her memories become less aching,
less hounding,
can the system be cleansed,
and her self still remain saved?

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

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  • Poem: Writing to Escape – Spoken Word and Text – 12/07/20

    Poem: Writing to Escape – Spoken Word and Text – 12/07/20

    Audio: Writing to Escape
    As I sit down to write,
my muscles ease,
feet arrange neatly into place,
my fingers at the ready.
 
This is my time,
where I will shine with tendrils
of arrangements that are 
written not only for me,
but for others, too,
I don’t simply write for myself,
I have a sense of duty to them,
for from within me,
like a geyser I expel my truths.
 
Confessionals, confessionals,
my autobiographical poems,
they’re the one and the same to me,
I do not aim at whetting the appetite
however, I do wish to flood certain seas.
 
To share and to reveal is something 
deemed worthwhile,
perhaps I’ll reach many or a few,
maybe my words will resonate with them,
their circumstances conjoining with mine, also,
 
and as I sit down to write, I am focused,
I have great intention,
and I know that what I produce 
will be the best I can
arrange for myself this very night,
I need to be left alone,
quietly,
without any intervention.
 
Because interruptions,
these cause me great distress,
I’m sitting here recording,
on and on,
because at subtle turns I make verbal slips,
new recording!
I’m doing my best,

if an unsuspecting arrival were to 
rudely arrive at the door,
I’d be mortified,
I already fear being heard and
viewed as conceited,
for the words I record and record,
that speak only of me.
 
But this exploration of myself,
as I sit down to write,
no longer to edit and read,
to analyse the past, the present,
upon a platter, display the future,
and anything in between,
 
the haphazard nature of rabbit traps
and paw prints leading into them,
I guess the rabbit was not so wily,
she needed to be a little more observant.
 
This rabbit danced around those traps,
now look, she’s here, whole in whole,
to be seen.  

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

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  • Poem: Disordered Order – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Poem: Disordered Order – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Audio: Disordered Order
    Whom do I spy in the looking glass when I envelope myself?
I warmly wear the blanket of
my past reflection,
she’s sadly a proud yet broken identity
forcefully dragged from my past’s dusty shelf.
 
I understand the meaning of,
the truth behind visual fact,
my reflection possesses an ability
to control how I am perceived,
with her insistent dance of obsession and vanity,
their relationship needless, self-imposed suffering.
I’ve only tried her on for size,
to see how she looks.
 
Outwardly, my second skin flaunts her silhouette,
wears clothes of skin-hugging style,
she is thin, thin, in,
jagged, and angular,
all I used to be,
 
she is hollowed, beautiful,
she stuns me without words,
allows her image to speak for itself,
while her head is partway, swimming in the clouds.
 
I lived and breathed her sought perfection,
I almost perished for that emptiness being my truth,
the truth that I believed mattered the most,
that I could impress visually,
though many others could do so, too.
 
I scoured the forums,
learned many tricks,
I stubbornly pushed myself through
gruelling workouts,
despite being emaciated, dehydrated, and sick,
it just seemed courageous to me,
I was doing this; I was leading up to true living.
 
But, I couldn’t keep up my body’s distress,
the longer I went, the more I failed,
food shovelled, binges entered into my face,
then suddenly layers became layers became layers,
and their eyes began to show less want.
 
How fragile had I allowed myself to become
to permit my existence and worth to be
upon this earth spun
propelled by opinions and feelings of strangers,
passersby,
the looks, their slight hunger, or appalled reactions
within their eyes,
 
and I now shudder to myself,
how I believed being sick and hungry was strong
when so many unwillingly suffer
I turned my nose up at health and nutrition
because I believed eating was weak and completely wrong.
 
I’ve recovered, but as they say,
there’s always an unhealthy relationship,
between a ‘fixed’ eating disorder sufferer
and both their treasure and source of pain,

counting all the facts,
I could slim down again if I wanted to go back,
but the path itself I know is arduous
and it’s painstaking,
it’s not worth it,
to return to the disorder of ordered intent.

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

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  • Poem: A Magic Trick – 11/07/20

    Poem: A Magic Trick – 11/07/20

    Magic trick,
you’re a magic trick,
you make my face brighten, warm, and shine,
 
Magic trick,
you're a magic trick,
you cause me endless joy,
wry head shakes, claps, and smiles.
 
Like a magic trick,
you suddenly appeared in my life,
I may have chased down your existence
but truly, you were worth it,
 
Because, Magic Trick,
my Magic Trick,
you brighten each facet of my life.
 
I am your diamond,
or so you say,
with my playfully haughty self-esteem,
I shouldn’t believe those words any day,
 
but maybe I was a different gem under pressure
from millions of years ago
whom you have rescued from this
occasionally cruel and cold-hearted world.
 
I sparkle, you mesmerise,
we each have our power,
our ability to impress without words,
 
my dearest, you bring comfort
when I won’t express what’s ailing me,
and those other magic tricks who were
intent upon disappearing,

I’m so glad they vanished,
let me sparkle and shine
because I am the one who you cherish.
 
Place your cloak over both of us
and we’ll travel away from this world,
into a land of anonymity and 
soft, mesmerising twirled details,

we’ll live by the mountains, 
by the forest, 
or the sea,
anywhere where our presences live
for each other,
purely you and I to be seen.   

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
Image by Kranich17 from Pixabay

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  • Poem: The Confrontation – Fiction – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Poem: The Confrontation – Fiction – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Audio: The Confrontation 
    A/N: This is inspired by a poetry prompt from Cynthia Schwartzberg Edlow to describe my angriest moment (with someone whom I cherish, which I chose to reverse and fictionalise) using the words 'squall' and 'hush', and without using 'love, like, heart, mad or cry'. I ended up using some of the banned words, though. 

I squall at him,
he glares and points, and orders me to hush.
I laugh incredulously, thinking,
hush little baby, don’t you cry,
I planned on doing anything but sobbing
any lullaby.
 
I rise to the challenge,
eyes intent on staring him down,
I can emit anything I liked,
but manipulating me would the power of his crown.
 
I have known beings like him before.
those whom wrap me around,
hand and foot,
little finger to finger,
and this distaste of our connections linger
in my body;
I don’t want to generalise but how can I not?
All their faces together into his I am seeing.
 
What has stopped me from leaving?
What has caused my scorn to die down
and crush my self-worth into nothing?
I used to be this strong, amazing woman
and now:
under his dancing thumbs and fingers, I am living.
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
Image by ArtTower from Pixabay

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  • Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Poem: What To Feel. – Spoken Word and Text – 11/07/20

    Audio: What to Feel.
    Can I feel the moment?
This fateful occasion heralding?
When I realise that
things have been growing
and stirring,
how this is not
how the interior
was once mapped,
the scanning reveals a foreboding view.
 
I am astounded,
into fearfulness I’ve
been slapped,
 
my duty of care to myself
is incredibly important,
because, what I am pre-empting,
the consequences, the conclusion,
may all be my fault;
the past is a regrettable fact.
 
I’ve been told not to worry,
to please, return in two years,
I will return sooner, because,
what was discovered
causes my inherent fear to drive
its nail nearer,
its harsh end forces me to
dread and shudder.
 
Literature also informs
me to not necessarily worry,
but how can I not?
I am stuck, stuck, stuck,
in that moment,
during that phone call,
test results later numbly held in hand,
the fact that
growths are present
sends me into a firm, well-stated panic.
 
And sadly, I begin
to contemplate those who are important,
because how would they
feel if I were to leave
prematurely, if you will,
 
these are certain lives
I’m interwoven with,
fiercely, with love,
and who would wish for what I fear?
For what I’m envisaging,
the future truth will be but my curse.  
 
Am I overly paranoid or concerned?
Worrying for nothing?
I think not,
though,
why whine?
The results were benign,
 
I am aware of this reality,
but those occupying space within my body,
their unwelcome appearance,
I know they can easily alter their composition,
subtly morph into evil and became further invasive.
 
All I can do is wait and take care of myself,
and become calm,
anything but nervous, panicked, or agitated.

A/N: I wrote this piece to settle myself, and to centre my sense of internal gravity again. I wasn't sure whether to post this as it's very personal, but I thought maybe it may help someone out there, or allow them to relate to my emotions.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  

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  • Poem: Exhale – Spoken Word and Text – 10/07/20

    Poem: Exhale – Spoken Word and Text – 10/07/20

    “Exhale” Audio
    Don’t hold your breath.
Exhale, allow it to be free.
Allow the endorphins to flow through
your very being.

Do not hold your breath,
there is no need;
wondering, wishing, waiting,
for something which may not be.

Live, my love, live,
please know that I have been,
in this formerly crowded world
now a stripped ghost town.

Your heart
and my heart are full,
we must breathe the freshest
air that I can drag from this
phantasmagorical land,

we may be apart and alone
and I may be without true air,
but understand,
please understand
that I will return,
I will reign triumphant,
soaring upon winged creatures’ spans.

I will exhale as I jump from the edge,
expiring as I see fit,
because sometimes, in life,
we must accept that leaving
this world is required,
I will return again,

and again,
I will be myself
in another form,
perhaps you’ll find me,
and when you do,
exhale loudly and clasp my hand
then I’ll know
we have returned.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Mystic Art Design from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Audio: Beautiful or Ugly
    Your anger.
It starts, hissing,
a face contorting uncontrollably,
a tic here,
you’re growing stronger and far more beautiful
as your emotions arise,
of your internal nature I become aware,
each decision you decide.

Most people view your state
as ugly,
as something appalling,
but your anger, darling,
it shows me your turmoil is 
well and alive;
you’re amazing with how much you feel,
I’m being honest.

Your stomach twists you
into knots,
the grinding of teeth makes you
remember, remember,
the taste of frustrated tears
squeezed from the corners of
eyelids that will never
Forget-Us-Not,

Your ability to avoid the truce,
the agreement,
to live and let go,
your stubborn nature is wondrous,
it is sheer beauty to me
because it displays your
dedication to how we once were,
to how our lives used to be.

Thus, allow these tears to stream,
lava-like,
vulnerable,
they burn troughs deep
in your puffy, irritated cheeks,

and remember that though I’ll
not always be here
I will always be there
if in your heart
you’ll cherish me.

Your anger,
such beauty,
to some, it’s pure ugly.

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

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  • Poem: The Colours – Audio and Text – 09/07/20

    Poem: The Colours – Audio and Text – 09/07/20

    Audio: The Colours 
    Jealousy,
for some it’s serpent green,
coils around the heart,
constricting breath,
lungfuls into parts.

But, Hope,
for me it’s amber,
she’s millions of years old,
and so much she has captured
she’s not a gem
but like royalty she’s treated as such.

Hate,
for me, deep red,
blood-like,
thickened,
coagulating,
too thick to even be dripping.

Sunshine yellow Joy,
brightened, bold
she screams daisies
and wattles
and pollen
and bees bees bees
who hunt all on their own.

Panic,
sheer panic
a crimson mixed with mauve and deep purple,
they clash,
no jiving,
but oh,
they make me feel so riled.

Anxiety is blue,
a strange colour,
I’d usually assign it
to melancholy,
depressive hues,
but this blue is muddy
it’s unpleasant,
makes me squirm,
uncomfortable,
I want to kick away the
irksome gloom,
wish for another
less patent leathery day.

And Mania,
she's all shades of fluro,
all colours of the rainbow glaring and
glowing,
she stings my irises
constrict my pupils
her presence is a hindrance
but she's utterly tempting;
I stare and stare…

But Jealousy, he wants to lead the pack,
Why?
His neck coils around mine
decorating me like a
Medusa after the fact
I hiss him away
I don’t need us to conjoin or
with my innocent heart forcefully entwine.

I want my moods and colours,
to remain with me in compartmentalised ways,
each mood and hue have its own place,
I lay my head down to rest,
I’ll experience the colours another day.

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

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  • Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    Poem: Anything But — An Ode – 09/07/20

    I'll express everything to you, dear, 
I am anything but silent.

My thoughts growl, 
grumble, then shine,
like a cross curmudgeon
who's been taken aback 
by something 
strangely pleasant,
something he'd been 
wholly unaware of.

Then, I transform into a 
rising, flowing,
ecologically-friendly bag
blustering in the breeze,

useful and able to be 
disintegrated,
but in the wind 
I unwind, 
like a kite, 
I am carefree.

I am this soaring, 
colourful plastic kite,
I was that ill-tempered now
brightened woman,

and occasionally I’ll 
surprise both you and I
with exclamations of 
unhindered laughter; 
our heaven,

the joyful giggling  
in your apartment complex 
with its walls 
so paper-thin:

at the neighbours’
tired, thumping reactions,
we spared no flowered damns
for our carefree, 
witty, raucous din.

A free form that flows,
where I will travel?
No one quite knows,

I’ll settle my roots,
a modern day view,
no longer grumbling,
nor full of air,
words wheezing out,
gassy, heated ill-views;

Is it worth constantly listening,
aloud, you once pondered,
the attention mostly
focused on you?

And you winked and
smiled cheekily, 
your heart was unprotected,
you meant no true offense,
with me you need no armour.

But, you do listen,
I am ever so pleased you do.
Your apartment sings with the
songs of my drafts,
over and o’er I reiterate them,
sharing the changes with you.

I know you
sometimes suffer,
at the hands of my
oppressively
repetitive work,

but you do this
not as your duty,
but to please this
once-airborne being 

who sought you out 
not because 
she was simply lonely,
not because of 
any selfish need,

but because she truly  
admired you 
and desires
your continued, 
charming company.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by danoliver2 from Pixabay

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