Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: prose poetry

  • Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Prose: Imagining – 14/05/21

    Imagine there was something which could easily read the words of your heart. Your joys, your aching, your frustration, and the spaces you keep for precious, invaluable art. Those masterpieces of memories and experiences which you love to hold, turn them over in hands again and again, mesmerised, decisive, the experiences are able to be re-lived this way fruitfully, truth be told.

    You can inspect these cubes, forms, or spheres, or perhaps for you, they’re nondescript, simple constructs, in your mind they can exist, in an eye’s blink they can then disappear. Almost in a meditative state, overwhelming emotions draw near, enveloping you, reminding you that internally we are all stars. Filled with spark and brightness, our glowing memories can be seen – or at least felt – from afar, and if one extends to another, perhaps both will gain miraculous, shooting energy which never shall mar.

    Who can easily read your heart? Which methods will permit entry into your hidden compacts of art? Will you allow the mirror to open, to unclasp and reveal their reflection with yours, unbroken? Or will your memories remain purely yours, until you grow older, and they slowly grow forgotten?

    Only allow others in when the feeling encompasses your being with the meaning and understanding that your heart wants to be seen. Sharing is loving, until the stark morning, but sometimes we want ourselves to let it be.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Visit’ – 13/05/21

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  • Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    The sky is pink, grey and blue today, wisps of cotton candy and woollen clouds. I watch as First Light dawns upon me, the day awakens, and I cherish it, awaiting more. What is this fluffy entity which now travels towards my face? This countenance and structure so lovely, perfection, in a way?

    It morphs slightly as it travels, altering size, shape, and form, one moment it’s obscure and barely recognisable, then the next, clearer and pure.

    I won’t say what I suspect these clouds have become, I feel it’s not my place to share, but I will acknowledge its sacredness, of this I have become more and most aware. A benevolent entity travelled unto me, blessing and guiding with his presence, and now my being is vibrant, I am invigorated, then suddenly well-spent.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by LevaNevsky from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘A Trail of Winding Thoughts’ – 12/05/21

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  • Prose: A Trail of Winding Thoughts – 12/05/21

    Prose: A Trail of Winding Thoughts – 12/05/21

    On the proviso of keen awareness, some can promise the world. Vivid, glorious, blossoming flowers, and pretty passions laid in a row. Everything given has a reason, or so it seems, amazing these moments are, they’re encouraging, they certainly please. And here presents confusion of the times, wait, the headiness of scented fruits scattered all around takes a free-for-all, but they are sublime. This situation seems profoundly positive, satisfying and amazing, soar with the scents, ride upon spread white dove’s wings, heaven sent. And by the sea we will then find ourselves, the salt air tingling as I dart out my tongue from my mouth. Run to the water, rush to the foam, mermaids are beckoning, mermen are calling you home…

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

    Previous Post: ‘Stride’ – 12/05/21

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  • Prose: Stride – 12/05/21

    Prose: Stride – 12/05/21

    I’ll just get on with it. Moving forward, that’s the path for me. I can forget but I cannot forgive, hateful words slammed into my face, am I expected to smile and continue being me? To cast aside their hurtful nature with a flippant wave, because someone muttered a begrudging ‘sorry’?

    I’ll walk on. I’ll walk forward, stride by stride, with those who want to be by my side, no requirements or expectations weighing heavily, breathing down my neck any longer. I am not here to provide what I am uncomfortable to share. It is my life, my skin, my being, my spirit, the soul that I’m in. And I won’t give, give, give, unless I desire to do so. It’s not their right to receive.

    I reiterate my worth to myself, speaking in quiet tones, then in my mind, I roar, I so roar, that I am enough without needing to be reassured about my appearance, my presence, my usefulness, my assurance is that I will be okay. I know this, I have supports in my life, and being without someone who hurt me emotionally is right, so right. I don’t need someone who does that while walking alongside.

    I will not be cut down. I am unafraid to stride.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘Evolution’ – 11/05/21

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  • Prose Poetry: Illuminate – 19/04/21

    Prose Poetry: Illuminate – 19/04/21

    Sometimes, there’s something magical in the air. You can feel it permeating your skin, your muscles, the tendrils of your hair. That electrifying feeling that courses through your very veins, warming you and making you feel loved, and reassuring you that everything, everything will be okay. 

    There is a time in the future when you will feel this, too. Don’t worry your heart about whether it will come, or if it won’t, when, how, or where, how far away, or soon. There is something amazing out there waiting for you, if you desire to take it by the hand: allow it, her, him, whomever, to walk with you, into the Great Unknown, and begin to slowly and freely breathe again. 

    Allow yourself to not be encumbered by the pains of yesterdays. Lift your head higher, let your heart pound with hope, dispel the dismay. And understand that there is a light at the end of everything dark, if we only allow ourselves to open up. There is a choice to be made, to bring forth illumination and joy, or remain in the shadows, though I know, sometimes, this isn’t a choice. In such cases, let others help and hold you up, take their embraces, their kind words, loving and such, because with support, we can make it through the pain and distress, life is for living, not suffering, and I’d hate for anyone to lose sight of what could begin again. Peace, light, love to you, and in your heart, begin in hope to trust.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

  • Prose Poetry: Divulging This – 21/07/20

    Prose Poetry: Divulging This – 21/07/20

    I don’t think it’s pertinent to share all. I don’t believe it is wise to give everything away; this is something I need to inherently grasp and know. Because throwing precious hurt and gnarled knots of hardened truth, for revelation’s sake, for honesty, for letting go, and giving it all away, it no longer always seems the right thing to do. But, I am who I am, and I will continue providing my hopes, my pain, my anguish, my joys to the wind, in the hopes that when these whisper, the conjoining of their pitches and hisses, perhaps I’ll truly understand how I was meant to be, to have lived a life free of err and sin, without selfish exploration and untidy needs. And try to understand: who would I have been if I had achieved these?

I will tell you this, I’ll continue to share, and these moments and opportunities seem always there; they will stoically sit, before me, before us all, because I’ve already jigged a jig, flamboyantly swept my form, sung my ballads, cast my hurt in the direction of the audience’s rows. The shrill, the unseemly, the affected, the melodies, strewn before you painfully, sometimes pitifully, I bare myself to you, my soul is on show. I’ve given and I’ve shared, and though I felt better for it, perhaps it’s not actually wise, is it, to divulge every single piece of it…

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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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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  • Prose Poetry: The Deep Azure – 18/05/20

    Prose Poetry: The Deep Azure – 18/05/20

    The bright blue twinkles before me, the waves curl and roll with such pristine splendour. I prepare myself for the swell: my tiptoes dangle above the lapping at the shore, and I smile, I smile so widely that I want more, so much more, of the cooling caress which grips my extremities like refreshing, watered diamonds. The sprinkles, the splashes, my heart it stills, it grows.
 
What did I do to deserve this amazing experience, these rocking, hilly blues? A reflection of skyward azure, wandering below, across the crystalline views. I tiptoe, step by step, into the creeping shallows, as smoothly as it breathes across the damp sand which I imprint with impressions of me, my footprints, my imprints, which disappear beneath the wetness. Sandy signs that I’ve been here are only visible for seconds, seemingly emulsified, or eaten away, into the surrounding and temporary moulds. The water trails higher, higher above my ankles, midway up my calves, then my thighs – I can feel the chill of the robust crests grabbing at them, then I dive in, head-first – the rush of coldness makes me breathless.
 
I feel at one with the shimmer, although I cannot see it, I feel the ebb and the flow, and with legs seemingly now melded together as though the tail of a mermaid, I dive deeper, exploring far below. I dare myself to open my eyes; such wonder there is down here so low: sparkling, whimsical, fantastical, a living world before my eyes unfolds. How could I have spent so much of my life on land? I ask myself, feeling numb from what is visible in this underwater world. I shake myself, take away this odd, unfamiliar feeling, and decide to explore everything, or at least as much as I can see.

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

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  • 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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  • Prose Poetry: A Tune For the Bird Who Brightens my Day – 05/04/20

    Prose Poetry: A Tune For the Bird Who Brightens my Day – 05/04/20

    Precious and sweet, in a method of glistening blue, she rises to me, she flies to my open hand, and whispers, “How are you?” My melodious being, my little birdy in special cobalt feathers, she understands what I need during my lonely waking hours. A touch of do re mi and as happy as can be, she presents some well-formed notes to me, not tentatively or wavering but with strong confidence that ensues. She wishes to ensure that my brightness returns, and shall remain, with her tuneful songs, more notes arrive and they shall grow and soften, as sweet as the scent of fresh rain.

My little, little birdy, where did you come from, and where do you go? After the moments in which you cheer my mindset so? You disappear into the wilderness, away toward the horizon, and sometimes I feel guilty when I stop for a spot of contemplation. For, what would occur, what could I do, to capture my free little bluebird all for myself, so I could have her joyous songs forever within my ears? There would be no need for her to sing to anyone else. Although, I understand that these thoughts are selfish of me, and I must reconsider how I deal with my bird in my dreams, because she surely has important tasks elsewhere of cheering others up.  

I must be kind, I must be generous, to allow my birdy to share her love and song with others in the world during their moments of distress, for there is no need to be greedy, as I know she’ll return and sing to me, even when I feel inclined to dance, side step, step, and twirl, ever so freely.

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

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