Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poetry

  • Poem: Jacob’s Wings – 06/07/20

    Poem: Jacob’s Wings – 06/07/20

    Your wings were ready
but we were not,
we should have felt
prepared for this day,
 
for months we
insisted that you
remain with us,
were we so selfish
each time we decided
you should stay?
 
Those fateful, family discussions
which ended with:
Save Jacob!
With us, he must remain.
 
Your sad eyes quietly suffered,
your bloated, lethargic body
laid sprawled on the porch,
 
each morning and evening
your advanced Cushing’s disease
required invasive, pain-controlling shots.
 
We couldn’t let you go,
but you begged,
silently cried
for freedom,
 
to slip away
from this world,
far from your suffering,
 
we insisted a little longer in
our lives you must remain,
we loved you,
saying goodbye so soon?
There was no way.
 
Your elderly state,
your debilitating illness,
your immense pain,
the accompanying afflictions,
as a family pet you’d been
so good to us,
and now we
would not let you leave.
 
But for all your suffering,
there came the time
when we
realised and acknowledged
that with future wings
you must be
allowed to roam free,
 
your wings were
almost ready,
but our hearts
still ached for you
not to leave.
 
And as I stared
into your beautiful, deep brown,
understanding eyes,
I held your paw
as the green calming fluid
took hold of you,
 
my darling, 
my sweet, brave Jacob,
my loving companion before me,

who comforted me through
hell and heaven,
finally at peace,
 
our tears continued to well,
hysterical, guttural wails,
our world now bare,
lost without you,
 
my two younger brothers and I left alone
in this stark grey, private room:
utterly broken, crestfallen, despairing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Personal photos.

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  • Poem: To Make a Difference – 05/07/20

    Poem: To Make a Difference – 05/07/20

    Wanting to make a difference,
trying to be heard,
I've spoken at length
and, I fear I've pained some 
minds,
eyes 
and ears,
still, I insisted on 
sharing more, and more, and more.
 
I’d apologise for
being fixated,
but, I am compelled, 
I want to
share my truths,

will they, have they
made a difference?
Could you relate?
Were you moved?
 
I know I need to
pull back,
drag drawstrings on the
crazed kite that’s
whipped so free,
decrease the momentum,
I need to drag, drag,
drag,
my words straight back to me.
 
To corner them in
a box,
a private site for
me alone,
until I can assess
what should be shared,
not haphazardly at you thrown.
 
Sometimes I share so
I feel less alone,
knowing that others
are sharing my
experiences, too,
 
makes me feel like
my varied path with its mistakes
and pains
may have more of a learning curve to 
ride and view.
 
I cannot help that
I’ve overloaded,
but when I look back
on my words,
 
I’m pleased that I’ve
shared, 
that I've opened up,
perhaps to you,
and to others,
this has drawn us closer.
 
Understanding to be allowed,
interwoven,
ne’er to be undone,
these moments, experiences,
truths of mine,
recollected and digested
together.

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

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  • Poem: Heartbeat to Heartbeat – 5/07/20

    Poem: Heartbeat to Heartbeat – 5/07/20

    Like the sound of rolling thunder
on the distant hills,
my heartbeats clamber to be heard,
(to be heard),
received and acknowledged by you,
at your breezy window sill.
  
Your hand reaches out
to grab the distant beats,
the uniquely peculiar patterning
that pounds, and pounds
and pounds,
 
from my sill to yours,
a distant utterance
which begs to be translated:
what does it call for?

When transformed,
will my percussive pattern affect
your strong and courageous, 
masculine disposition,
into quietly affected, weeping eyes?
This vulnerable beating is all for you.
 
How harrowed I once was 
without you,
without this link,
how now when I look back
my life seemed utterly empty
and terrifying,

I was morose,
broken,
somewhat together but alone,
 
and now that we are here,
window sill to window sill,
glancing into the darkness
wondering at the other,

you’ve brought me back to life,
and I can send you my
heartfelt rhythmic dictations,
my life force 
representing my dreams,
my quietly built courage.
 
I want to receive your beats,
to capture your fervour,
perhaps one day we will
meet face-to-face,
and I’ll embrace you,
my surprisingly welcome saviour.

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

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  • Poem: A Regretful Birdie – 05/07/20

    Poem: A Regretful Birdie – 05/07/20

    I’ve been a little bit out of sorts,
my home here has been,
shall I say,
unsettled?
 
Like a bird fiercely destroying her
carefully-made nest,
I’ve been somewhat selfish,
and uncaring.
 
I’ve pecked and I’ve pecked
to force the hand of certain truths,
I’ve dragged apart a
consistent image,
 
to reveal holes,  
jagged self-awareness,
revelations which
refuse to soothe,
 
this birdie attacked
her woven home,
but repair is not
so far off.
 
Forgive me,
I beseech thee,  
I didn’t mean
to tear this apart.
 
My once-comforting realm is
now littered with
unwholesome,
harsh-trilled tunes,
 
this little birdie deeply
expresses her regret,
I shall set about repairing the damage
for me, for us, for them, for you,
 
so setting foot here is
less confronting,
enabling our ability to relax,
to easily breathe,
 
I just want to share
and interact,
present the freedom, not constriction,
of thoughtfully crafted poetry.

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

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  • Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    Poem: Expressions In My Painted Corner – 04/07/20

    I’ve painted myself into a corner,
with heavy shades
of red and black,
crimson for the
heartache,
darkness for the emptiness 
after the fact.
 
When I lost access to 
my chaotic world,
a paradise I shouldn't 
have cherished,
I felt broken, 
no recourse,
misunderstood, 
essentially alone:

Whom could I waltz through life with now?
Whom was left to cast my 
charming smiles upon, 
to share my lofty views 
in excited tones?

When he or she or another one left,
and those other important ones, too,
it seemed as if I’d lost 
my everything,
but now, at these
warped memories
I wonder: who on earth were you?
 
They had little lasting impact
on my life,
simply passers-by
who only meant
themselves well,
their sudden absences without alibis,
their silences spoke their truths,
I am now completely underwhelmed.
 
Selfish needs later attended to
after some uncomfortable, 
hastily arranged dates - 

their halfhearted, 
lackluster attention cast over
foamed four dollar coffees -
'wise investments':
I was viewed as a stock market who
should pay dividends later that day.

I proved so desperately hopeful 
for positive connections, 
genuine interactions, 
yet my lonely eagerness,
was perceived as a targeted weakness, 
I would later bend, shatter, 
and break.

Some chanced manipulation 
to slyly extract from me  
without my whole realisation or knowing,

because I was sitting there 
smiling,
consenting,
hopefully waiting,
my obvious yearning 
for acceptance
continually, perpetually growing,
like hungering, destructive flames,
they consumed me. 
 
Made pliable,
easily melded,
I allowed my 
resolve and will
to be bent,
to be repeatedly stung red-raw 
as though by a heated iron poker's end, 
to be tarnished,
and for what?

Absolutely nothing,
my efforts and emotions all ill spent.

Yet another 
redundant contact
to be eventually blocked or 
erased from view,
naivety and gullibility stole 
the best of my younger years, 
this is an essential, festering truth.

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

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  • Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    Micro Poem: Transfixed 04/07/20

    I am transfixed,
here is my ability
to stare down those eyes –
you take me near and far to
your paradise.
 
You have dragged me from the cold,
the frigid icy depths,
and set my heart beating freely,
I’m gasping life again.
 
Your selfless gift of air
I can barely comprehend,
the self-annihilation of emptiness;
I no longer need to fear nor dread.

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

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  • Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

    Where is the bite,
where is the snarl,
where is the slightly obnoxious
nature to my scrawl?
 
Why is – here –
softness shown
when all I wanted to portray was
bite, snarl, bite?
 
Isn’t it odd that
revealing vulnerability
can make me feel
so empowered then
sickly weak inside?
 
Like reaching to touch
the underside of a
floaty blue bottle jellyfish,
it is enticing, appears so tender,
yet danger silently lurks,
its mesmerising imposition,
the impending poison
speaks of
my scrawled pains, too.
 
I can rediscover my spikes,
my ability to cause chaos,
the alliteration,
the harsh 
ck ck ck,
no wide mouthed assonance,
no openly assessing audience tasked with
observing my aching abnormalities,
 
I’ll sink my teeth in,
create a toxic pair of punctures
for my poison to glide its way through.
 
Then the venom
can flood,
overwhelm this
Surviving Victim –
am I truly such a thing?
 
My latent negativity can
overwhelm them, you,
last night you subtly alerted me to this.
 
I have sadly travelled
throughout recent years
on a path of personal
bitterness which repels,
 
and negative swimming thoughts
toward myself,
they’re not purposeful,
but they are well practiced,
this bite has become well-worn.
 
Am I truly an overly grumbling entity
who should simply
brighten her mindset,
because that is
easier to see?
 
It’s not so simple,
I’ve lived with
snark and bitter tones
the last few years of my adult life,
 
I shall try, however,
to allow the kindness
to rise from beneath,
penetrate my being,
and speak such kinds words
to myself
because, maybe I am deserving of these.
 
Then, my acerbic tone may dissolve,
the cuts upon my paining tongue,
healed or removed,
whichever self-imposed punishments
I practice thrown away,
 
I can hopefully again be labelled as free,
having shed this layer,
this skin,
this disease,
of coldness, sadness, and dismay.
 
One can still retain the bite
without making the world feel uncomfortable.

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

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  • Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Poem: Reflection – 03/07/20

    Sometimes you can tell
what is lingering beneath
the surface,
the shining reflection
stares back at you,

and you understand
you’re that person
who wants and needs 
to express her existence,
through illness, 
through wellness,
which status, 
it does not matter,

your arranged words
determine the
careful revelations of 
your circumstances.

You then wipe the
reflection aside,
slap the surface away,
dig desperately
through the lake where 
memories lurk,
until you discover

bones and meat
and elbows and toes
and further down
your treasures:

your sparkles,
your fizz,
your fairy wings
which helped you rise
and fly lightly around the globe,

that light which had dragged
many unfortunate moths, 
toward their ending flame.

Yet you are far more intelligent,
you won’t allow yourself to burn,
with your wings and sparkles,
you sprinkle your 
considered phrases and words,

and then fly up and away, 
your tales are no longer unheard,
laden with surprises,
won't you continue to sparkle and shine?

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

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  • Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    Poem: Paralysed Thoughts – 03/07/20

    I wonder:
Is there such a thing
as paralysis
of creativity?
The centre of
my thoughts that hold
intrinsic meaning,
 
where fireflies dance
and darkness looms
and fervent flames
of passion can
fill this room.
 
This room,
which houses techniques
and methods of madness,
has been disabled,
of smooth movements
it simply cannot
slide nor speak.
 
This is not a lacking
of inspiration
but rather a
hostile sense of
forced contemplation.
 
And I can sit here
patiently waiting for this
centre to regain fluidity
its natural flow which takes
 
my left foot, right foot
gently forward
until I reach,
closer you,
 
but this quiet solitude is disturbing,
so, I shriek,
paralysis now shocked,
returning to life,
 
stale tastes and thoughts
flow, unwelcome,
ridden of,
from this now-chaotic scene.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay

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  • Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Micro Poem: Along the Dotted Line – 03/07/20

    Could you condense yourself
into a single line?
You, every fibre of your being,
exposed, viewable, entwined.
 
Who’s that knocking at the door?
Pounding,
“I’m here”, your intrepid war cry,
single line, single file
your name scrawled with mine.

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

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