Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: psychology

  • Poem: clear to see – 10/12/21

    Poem: clear to see – 10/12/21

    the metamorphosis is clear to see
    vials of perfume softly springing to mind, see?
    I remember you saying my name
    over and over,
    muttering in your sleep
    or was this just part of my former fervent dream
    wanting to be needed
    what a permanent picture;
    so dreary, so dreary,
    terrible need.

    many years spent travelling those
    desperately craggy mountains
    like that gypsy family
    seeking solace
    reverence within their country
    protection, sweet notions,
    extending their planning
    with ease,
    what does this mean to me? —

    to see, be heard, be seen,
    but not felt, no, not yet…
    the only tactile response will be what is calling
    to my mindset, leave pawing, clawing in the dust;
    there’ll be absolutely none of that.

    outrageously wise and perfectly contrite
    I siiiing with my presence by yours, theirs,
    myself by many a-side,
    and warranted yet are the prismatic rays of light
    bounding, bouncing forth, assign this nonsense,
    what a fantastical blur,
    this humdrum of renewed life.

    but I cannot be, I will not be without reference,
    I will dance in my seat without any form of sufferance,
    I will gather the cause and realise
    it’s enough, enough, to be wound, bound together
    do not cut the cord
    sever myself from the aspect that’s calling calling
    upon my bare feet like leech-covered lilies and
    vulnerable sticky pearls strung with the most
    delicate of ease.

    the world is yet to know my capabilities, my cause-and-effects,
    lustrous be thy truest form of genuine connection,
    soulful, calming and transparent temperament.
    (10/12/21)
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
     
    Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

    Previous Post: no more thieves – 08/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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  • Poem: A Herd of Human Water Buffalo – 26/01/20

    Poem: A Herd of Human Water Buffalo – 26/01/20

    I watch a herd of human water buffalo go by,
within my vision, their grunting asides and laboured movements sway and swing
one way, and to the other.
The leader is coolly cautious;
he does not need to show any fear,
he is the preferred leader of the pack,
he wants to project a pretence,
that being gruff and strong are characteristics to savour,
these traits are none to fear.
They propel the herd forward,
ahead is the direction they belong.  
 
Then in the back, a hissing,
some whispering from lips of babes,
Why are we here
Why is he so arrogant,
Why are we made to be upon his haughty page?
 
He cannot believe this backstabbing;
he immediately knows what to say.
 
Off with you,
begone,
find your own protection at night where your heads lay.
If you can find a leader with half the courage and care of myself
you’d be very satisfied girls,
but my being is deemed unworthy of your wishes to stay.
Now succumb to the unnatural emptiness,
the lonesomeness
the futility
because of your betrayal of he who holds himself with required pride to lead many.
 
Wailing from the adolescents,
who believed they would be perpetually protected
for their days ongoing
but really, their future suffering is merely karmic retribution,
for speaking poorly about a loyal male who’s been
present for the entirety of their lives,
though, his true intention is not to banish,
not to abandon,
but to teach a lesson,
before their permitted return to their rightful stations.
 
Human buffalo are like any other herd,
there’s bickering and discussion,
sniping, but love also,
adoration, acceptance,
emotions warm and not untoward.
 
Perhaps they even secretly embrace and snuggle,
it wouldn’t surprise me, buffalo are fuzzy enough,
to want to share their struggles and heartfelt forgiveness,
a human buffalo in its own urban wilderness.
 
And after some nights and days alone,
the teens are welcomed back into the herd,
soft weeping into hair of fine gold,
spinning tales of how being alone was so trying and difficult.  
 
Their tears turn them into wise women,
they became learned through the experience,
sheer fright from being in a pair,
no warmth,
no safety,
only belligerently spat words of suffering and plain blank stares,
they learned, they learned,
to adhere and accept.
 
They lead the pack with him,
a wise male buffalo lead by two young women,
with an understanding that strength is required to contend with  
unseen issues, problems, and incorrect suggestions.  
 
© 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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  • Poetry and Prose: The Self: Concern, Love and Care – 08/09/19

    Poetry and Prose: The Self: Concern, Love and Care – 08/09/19

    When was the last time you focused on yourself? I mean truly, deeply, contemplatively connected with yourself? Have you dwelled upon what you deserve, about your likes and dislikes, your aspirations and hopes? About how you allow yourself to link with others, of how you graciously love, how you treat your close others? How do you feel when that stranger on the street gives you a quick smile, and a cheery “Good morning”? Does your mood and spirit lift and spring, at being worthy of being acknowledged? What does your Self say to the mornings where you don’t want to roll out of bed? Your aching head screams to stay in, please, connect with yourself instead.

    There is a timely connection between us, our soul and spirit, and we need to accept that holistically treating ourselves with gentleness and care has ultimate worth and merit. Because if we cannot look after ourselves, cherish our beautiful selves, who will look after us better? But sometimes there are times where we come undone, where we cannot look after ourselves, no matter how hard we try. Even lifting our heavy, dreary eyelids becomes too much of an action, and this is when we cry out for another human connection. Someone who is there to now look after us, with duty of care and concern, and a loving level of personal trust.

    We know these people in the world, they mean more to us than ever could be spoken of or expelled, and quietly they go about their duties as though there is nothing to them. Because that is how they are, our loved ones, they tidy the mess that everyday life or inherent suffering has brought to us. Cataclysmic whirls and hurricanes blustering and blowing in the minds of ourselves when we are sadly, not so complete. But the trying times will pass by, we will rise higher and higher until we avoid that dangling fall into the abyss, and with a joyous ringing of trumpets, we have arrived home.

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


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