Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: recollection

  • Poem: Weeping Willow – 25/08/21

    Poem: Weeping Willow – 25/08/21

    Weeping willow reminds me
    of stormy challenges,
    of riotous heart poundings,
    of emotional damages.

    Weeping willow, fretting leaves,
    gives me a sense of hope,
    her bent back fingers
    laze,
    but within her, their pathway I know,

    like me, like you,
    as her,
    she represents such harmony
    within our souls
    there’s nothing raw nor taut
    if we’ve accepted that
    this world occasionally brings storms,
    and challenges and tribulations,
    crashing thunder, frightful thunder
    within our scope,
    within the pain, the suffering,
    the madness,
    we. are. able. to. cope.

    My weeping willow,
    garden feat’
    enlivens me,
    when she shows me that
    acceptance of turmoil is right,

    she’s there shrouding in the
    dead of night,
    even if I ask her if new, bold,
    resilience is right,
    I know, down to the last detail,
    every leaf, every length,
    what is mighty,
    being strong, fruitful,
    in this life.

    Fingers dragging
    but perception is
    calm, and the forecast
    is bright.

    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Fran on Unsplash

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  • Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Poem: An Historical Hourglass – 31/05/20

    Time spent,
time passed,
overlooking the trickling hourglass.
 
Many years have been told,
my stories of old,
projected through this object.
 
Each grain of sand
a moment,
an event, or emotion captured in time,
 
treasuring my history,
whether it be beautiful, depressive, 
riddled with angst, or shining exceptionally bright.
 
When I see these events 
or moments
slowly fall to the vessel’s section below,
 
I am reminded of
the feelings,
my recollections take hold.
 
And how I have grown
from a petulant being
to a wiser, more worldly woman,
 
I pride myself on being accepting,
compassionate,
playful, joyful, and loving.
 
Though the history
was filled with
great turmoil,
 
I can empathise with others more
because of my winding paths undertaken,
my twists and my twirls.
 
To be loving and forgiving in almost all respects,
it’s taken many years of learning –
I’m finally here,
 
I am more accepting of
what has been, what has passed,
and what might never be.
 
I possess the maturity
to no longer take umbrage
to slights or underhanded insults,
 
nor do I heavily and negatively
circumspect
or wallow in self-doubt.
 
I glance back at and into the hourglass,
though I know rumination
has its place,
 
let me allow the tales of old
to become simply historic,
in my mind, only saved.
 
There is no need to cling
to the grains of lost dunes,
I’m much happier now,
 
warbling, singing
my own tunes,
mischievous and loud.
 
Towards the future
I look forth,
the final sand grains fall,
 
into the lower portion
of the hourglass,
quietly, now settled.
 
And I guess that’s just it,
I must permit the past
to delicately drift away,
 
Lessons and strength
have been learned,
I’m fresh to face another day.

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

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  • Poem: Illegible – 19/04/20

    Poem: Illegible – 19/04/20

    Illegible,
illegible,
the handwriting lies sprawled upon the page,
not even smeared,
but simply, completely unreadable
and entirely,
legitimately,
incomprehensible.
 
How am I expected to return to these 
convoluted dreamy thoughts and emotions
when the opportunity for self-manipulation 
of my subconscious silently lingers?
 
For this text holds secrets,
expectations and extremities of the land of my curious,
befuddled dream state,
an entry into what may have been performed and experienced,
on and on,
perhaps in a flurry,
fingers and toes dance,
hearts meld,
and truth be told the taut ribbon of thought
could speak of so much here.
 
Purely out of curiosity do I wish to seek
and immerse myself into the opposite of
a doctor’s chicken-like scrawl,
my flamboyant, frantic loops which speak:

Connect with my words,
Relive my wholeness
 
And only then will everything apparent come to life,
microcosmic and magnetic,
an assessment of every early waking morning
worth detailing, speaking or somehow
reliving.
 
Will this illegible privacy be exploited?
My early morning words snatched from my fingers
before the page feels its tickles,
revealed to all?
 
Perhaps, no, sir, no,
none, maybe not even I,
will possess anything more
than the power within my bleary eyes,
my heart,
which know exactly what has
or has not been written,
to others,
the looped ink spots detail nothing more than 
obscure, primitive art.

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

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