Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: prose

  • 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

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  • Prose Poetry: Dancers from my Dreamscape – 27/04/21

    Prose Poetry: Dancers from my Dreamscape – 27/04/21

    Perhaps there’s a waltz in the room while I’m stuck in my head. I imagine the costumes, the dresses, so pretty. The lightness of step, but winding of intents, I wish I could join them. But here I am, a quiet observer instead. 

    The pairs of beautiful dancers, they twirl and slide, their feet lilting gently, heads and eyes held high. They are sure to be admired; the sum of their grace is a strong total. They are a sight to behold, in my mind, in my mind, in my mind. Their fluidity is whole.

    Some things need to be detailed without much plight. There is no angst, upsets, or strife, simply brightness of life, amazing days. We create what we want, we accept, we receive, we look down upon a gracious heart on their bended knee, what is this, what are these images speaking to me? 

    Sometimes, I struggle to create. But then I look into my mind’s eye and reach from deep within what I cannot initially see. There are important moments, memories, images, emotions and feelings to be gleaned, and for the sake of the process, allow me to display these waltzing kings, princesses, princesses and kings. 

    Finally, the swishing of rich dress fabric ceases to become audible. The dancers’ faces become sombre as they line up one by one facing their other. A curtsey or a bow, and up and away the women and men become on their own segregated way, perhaps they’ll meet one another again very soon to rekindle their love upon a poignant day. 

    I smile, I smile to myself. What a wondrous sight was brought forth from my mind. And I shall not analyse what it might mean, how it made me feel, or what it could speak of ahead of time, no, no, no, I will simply admire and gently, meditatively breathe. 

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by alevision.co on Unsplash

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  • Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Male crickets chirp, signalling their romantic calamity. They know what they are seeking, whom they are aiming to have come into their world. But crickets; crickets, crickets, don’t we downplay their communication, assigning a meaning of humorous silence following a moment intended to be poignant, profound, or carry some other feeling?

    I used to love crickets as a child. I would hunt them for hours on end, following the sounds until hopefully, in the brush, I would pounce with jar in hand and happen upon one, to keep all of my own. I fancied having a cricket as a pet would be a grand affair. Sadly, I only ever succeeded at once catching one. They were often far too perceptive at hearing my lumbering human body’s approach and would suddenly hush with their song, thereby quashing my ability to reign victorious as a Cricket-Owning Queen.

    It makes me wonder, who else decides to silence themselves in order to avoid any unwanted behaviour or conflict? Who backs down, seemingly cowardly initially, but inherently wise in the end? For the world, with its youth and ignorance, with its body of fiery enemies and desires and wants and needs, can be dangerous for any little crickets to exist in, this is truth from my mouth which begs to be heard, all well as vowels formed to be seen.

    I used to want to capture bees as well. They were so beautiful and busy and perfect, that I wanted my own, even if for an hour, then I would return it to the safety of its pollen-filled world. Capturing a busy, occupied bee proved far easier than locating and capturing a garden cricket. Still, sadness then washed over me as I realised what I was doing, what had I done? I had captured something so wonderful which was meant to remain free in its own way. With a smile and a few comforting words, I gently released my unintentional prey, my beautiful companion if only for a few minutes of that day.

    And I hear them calling me again, I hear the buzzing of their fervent collections, I hear the shrill calling of the dances I took with crickets who surely smiled in wonder at my persistence, and I smile to myself at my childhood curiosity, and at knowing that nothing that calm, serene Nature created should be altered, should be changed, should be taken away from the comfort of their own damn home – how would I like it if I were plucked from the comforts of my very own abode?

    But crickets chirping in my memory tell me there’s no finer point to be made, nor a softer point to be emphasised, just to live life in harmony with the world, and we will get along perfectly fine.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Krzysztof Niewolny on Unsplash

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  • 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: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    Poem: First and Foremost – Spoken Word and Text – 25/06/20

    https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/first-and-foremost-spoken-word-poetry-1 
    Jovial and content,
happy, playful, sweet,
a way of living has evolved
from haphazard,
crazed dreams.
 
Where I tumbled
from one scene
to another,
trying to find where I belonged,
 
acceptance, love,
were what I was seeking,
the line thrown to reach them
rigid and taut.
 
No more slapdash or faux pas moments,
lacking of personal respect or dignity,
when trying to be cool,
outgoing,
effervescently fun,
 
doesn’t the truth sometimes prove itself
so sad, that tale to read?
The invisible ink in my journal runs,
of catharsis, I’ve no longer
any need.
 
The party girl,
while wild and popular,
only appeals
in that moment,
out of context,
her vivaciousness
can overwhelm,
 
I’d rather sit quietly,
penning a soliloquy,
read a beautiful sonnet,
or appreciate a heartfelt song.

Darker tales there are to tell,
crawling amongst
soot, filth,
and grime,
 
an underlining of
their facts,
they are acknowledged,
here recognised,
if I were more civilised,
I’d toast them away
with you
with hearty glasses of rich, health-coloured wine.
 
No real compatibility determined,
so many met,
yet my personality,
heart, looks, or mind,
did not seem to fit,
 
finally, I realised
I needed to be
happy, accepting,
and loving to myself,
first and foremost,
only me.
 
With true acceptance
came an
overwhelming sense
of realisation,
 
an understanding
of how much I’d
lost myself in
the naivety,  
the flighty dreaming
of youth,
 
the one true love
I first needed was myself,
and only then
could l reach out for
the hand
of another,
this is truth,
 
to have,
to hold,
to care,
to acknowledge as a
warming, doting other,
someone who will always be there.

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

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  • Poem: Stood Up – 24/06/20

    Poem: Stood Up – 24/06/20

    I sit in the bar quietly
where I am docile,
where I often softly wept
nomadic tears of loneliness,

I long to be held,
to feel loved and alive,
not empty, bereft, and alone.
 
Desperately, I sought matches out,
for a connection that was perfect,
meant for them and I alone,
an exhilarating circumstance,
where two pairs of eyes would lock,
they'd meet,
and both our hearts would begin to fervently pound.
 
But, in this bar,
I have been expecting,
I have been awaiting your arrival,

your welcomed beeps became a cessation,
fifteen minutes after you were
meant to sidle in with a smile.
 
You promised you’d be here,
you’d been waiting so long
to meet me,

our discourse has been
passionate and intellectual,
potent and electric,

lightning stimulated my heart
each time I heard that tone,
the sound to reassure me
your interest was still there

whether by the shining sunlight
or the calming moon
upon which I would 
dream and stare.
 
I felt you may have been made for me,
at least that’s what I hoped for,
suspected,
but now you’ve disappeared off
the radar,
I text my friends -
one cruelly tells me
your absence is expected.
 
I feel lost,
I feel used,
I feel stupid,
I feel dumb,

if only you hadn’t gotten my hopes up,
these tears wouldn’t have appeared,
why did you run?
Which actions of mine were so untoward,
what about me is inherently wrong?

Like you made yourself into a magic trick,
I, too, will make these stinging tears vanish,
I'll walk away,
feigned pride in my stride,

and if you'll call,
I'll have nothing left to say,
a man like you
has no place in my life.  

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

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  • Poem: They Can Try – 23/06/20

    Poem: They Can Try – 23/06/20

    Sometimes in this life,
you’ll come across
people who want to
bring you down.
 
To place you lower
than themselves,
denigrate,
control your voice,
mute your sound.
 
They may be able
to control within
a certain realm,
where cavalry
and royalty
exist where they live,
 
but they cannot
snatch the fight from you,
your opportunity
to present your facts,
to fervently express,
to succinctly speak.
 
Perhaps you’re unaccepted in
their built-up kingdom,
but the fact of the
matter is, 
I’m not sinking,
I don’t need saving.
 
Am I a pesky person
for sharing on and on
at length,
confessions in the form of
poetry,
blunt or flowery,
sometimes thicker than timber,
facts to be saved, learned or relived?
 
Is this a crime or sin?
 
I shan’t allow
the silencing to have
any ill effect,
 
if I’m not welcome,
I’m unwelcome,
an ironic fact this is.
 
I shall carry on,
carry on,
I don’t need to
share when words
are halted by others,
I’ll accept the apparent ruse,
 
and right the wrongs
by continuing to
share as I see fit,
I have my own space
for poetic compositions and tunes.

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

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  • Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    Prose: Perseverance, a Reflection – 22/01/20

    I urge myself to persevere. It is the only possible route to take. Of course, wallowing and huddling in bed is an option, but it’s not one I would readily like to select. One can only indulge in so much melancholy and shutting oneself off from the world until enough is enough. It’s time to get up, get out, speak loudly, with sumptuous sounds and absorb all that life is offering. And once out of bed, dressed and ready to exit my home – alone, mind you, I am rarely alone – and I take the first step outside that I’ve made in days. I’ve been holed up inside the house writing poem upon frustrated poem, with vicious words and synergies, and little positive to say.
 
But now, outside, the wind rushes around my face and my body, whipping my shoulder length hair that’s been begging for a cut for weeks, perhaps even months. I take in the sumptuous feeling, it’s as though I’m in the eye of the storm and I am the axis around which everything of this wind’s rich tone colours are centring. I throw my arms outward with abandon — who knew such a feeling was awaiting me? The power of Nature’s amazing force, right here before, behind, all around me. And I feel as though I’m being cleansed, vacuumed away of the negativity, the solid space that wreaked my interior for the last durations, times which I cannot take back. Only can I learn from them.

Playful now becomes the mood, and I laughingly pronounce an rrr, rrr, rrr, to try my voice again. My imagination presents me a playful slick seal begging to be rubbed on his belly or his back, his whiskers tickling my cheeks as, in my mind, I give him a big kiss upon his face. He does not turn away, he pokes out his tongue instead, and joins in with the Rrrrrrr’s of being pleased in the moment, and finally I realise I’ve done it, with this wind, with this amazingly fresh gusting breeze, with my odd imagination, I am cleansed and revitalised once more, no need for aggressive expressions, no need, anymore.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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  • Prose Poetry: Your Rainbow Warrior – 01/12/19

    Prose Poetry: Your Rainbow Warrior – 01/12/19

    As a rainbow warrior, I take it upon myself to bring light into the world. I bear my brightness against the darkness within ongoing roads and winding fields. I take on the enemies within darkened dreams that tiptoe lovingly into darkly hued painterly scenes. I shine a kaleidoscope of colours into avenues and alleyways that promise naught but destruction and demise, and allow the travellers to wind down these paths with beauty and stars in their eyes.

    No longer are they in hues of grayscale – black and white, a parched under-colouring of darkness and barely-pure light, instead they are bathed in pinks and blues, and greens and yellows, oranges, purples. Oh, what delight! Suddenly they feel alive, the lethargy which dripped and dragged from their souls now slides cleanly away, allowing them to breathe. And as their rainbow warrior who has taken it upon myself to save their lives from inaction, I know that even though they cannot see me, they are grateful for my intervention.

    Because who wants to live in greyscale, a wishy-washy world of white and grey and black? Some might find this studious, perfect, but for myself I would ache if the colours were away. They brighten my mind, cause my smile, lift my spirit always, as I am the colourful child of this party, please allow me to be with you, and aid your brightening souls each day.    

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

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  • Prose Poetry: Hope – 01/11/19

    Prose Poetry: Hope – 01/11/19

    Hope is the feeling of a singing soul, the uprising of a perfectly white dove against the pristine blue sky, tickling its feathers in the tapestry of life. It is when our emotions run free, accepting of openness, love, and crystalline positivity. The promise of something only pure and of sincere goodness, that an individual cannot pull their eyes away from: the vision causes their heart to fill only with gladness and goodness. It is the sound of trickling water splashing quietly from a pond’s waterfall, the gentle and quiet understanding that of one’s future, you will be promised a special kind of scope, a reasoning in the mind and a strength within your soul, because the knowledge that arises is filled with hope for not you alone, but really for us all.

    Reach within and draw forth the seeds and encumbering ropes of a fortune told with supreme justice and knowledge that you will succeed, that lives will always hold some form of glistening and gleams; a perfection that the dove flying overhead can provide for us, yourself, myself, whomever, those who we can encounter in the land of Inbetween. Because isn’t that the point of it all? — to be hopeful even when events present as darkened, depressing, dismal, hopeless even? Allow your light to shine from the dark, and illuminate all that you are. Hope is but a state of mind, a sense of emotion away, embrace the understanding that what is felt will ultimately compel goodness and sincere positivity to flow your way.

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


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