Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: relationship

  • Poem: ‘Tween Hearts – 15/08/21

    Poem: ‘Tween Hearts – 15/08/21

    Wonder streams through gaps
    ‘tween trees,
    shrubbery welcomes gusty breeze,
    laughter twinkles above horizon seam,
    magic brightens eyes,
    I’ve no inclination to leave this scene.

    Hands entrust
    something precious ‘neath
    benevolent sun,
    heart pounds,
    mood ecstatic,
    forged bonds,
    yes! Cries of yes
    affirms tearful nods.

    It’s the beginning
    of something precious,
    glimmer in excess,
    gems cut a shine,
    refractions bold,
    I stress,

    dances of rainbow shimmer
    upon her delicate finger,
    his proud chest puffed forth
    in a glorious manner,
    as though a proud peacock,
    strutting about now
    with his love,
    eternal partner,
    fervent dove,
    his salvation,
    his lucky treasure,
    his precious love,
    now and forever.

    The breeze bears witness
    to this union,
    cemented, emphatic,
    bold and nuanced,
    there’s admiration within her eyes,
    his cast grateful passion
    as he glances nigh,
    for they are as one,
    wondrous breeze streams past their joy,
    circumstance is hearts quickened,
    such beauty before I.

    And now I retreat into
    the freshness of the forest,
    thinking I’ve viewed something
    so special,
    deep down, I know,
    I am aware, that
    his manner, so articulate,
    and her acceptance,
    thus glorious,
    is enough to decide
    that in my life,
    I’ll welcome every warm,
    heartfelt circumstance
    with enveloping acceptance.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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    Previous Post: Her Sorcery – 13/08/21

    Previous Post: ‘The Hot Room’ – 13/08/21

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  • Poem: A Loyal Sun, a Faithful Man – 19/01/20

    Poem: A Loyal Sun, a Faithful Man – 19/01/20

    Hey, let us not be so hasty,
let us not be so rash.
Instead, let us flow with the sun and the wind 
entwined as one,
woven with thrice strands,
a plaiting of joyous warmth, breeze, and cheer 
neatly entangled by a pair of deft, invisible hands.    
 
I admire the sun for the effort she makes each day,
no matter how low or despondent she may feel,
she always rises for us,
no matter anything, she won’t allow the world to weigh her down.
 
Nothing troublesome seems to cross her path,
or get in her way,
she is never dismayed, at least not visibly
but into confused darkness we may be thrust 
when considering what lies in the heart of another
when we don't know precisely what causes their pain, joy, ecstasy, or sorrow.
 
The sun always brings a burning intensity,
if we were to bring ourselves 
close enough to the fair maiden,
we too could experience her true potential of expression
though, she insists on brightening the way for her king,
she selects the path of righteousness; she promotes his healthy well-being.
 
Sun shines her cordiality onto the path which is set
for a man of great mystery, 
perhaps of deep melancholy
but someone definitely dusted with
the makings of luminescent mastery,
make way now, it is evening, it's time to introduce 
the Man of the Moon.
 
She and he share the same skies during the light of day, but at night,
his lost lover is nowhere to be seen, she has upped and away.
His misery at being permitted nary a moment with her,
only observing Sun during the clouded skies from afar,
a teasing of his heart which 
miserably plucks at guitar strings,
breaking the strums into dismayed delayed arpeggios 
rather than solid ringing chords.
 
Heartbroken, the Man of the Moon waits for her all night,
glowing hopefully, yearning, silently begging
for her to rise and turn her wondrous face his way,
but then the night winds to an end,
erasing any fervent hope, now an empty lull in his heart,
he will reposition himself where he now belongs,
and soon, Sun returns to the blue skies,
just out of reach from her admiring love.
 
Let us not be so hasty, I repeat in a whisper,
let us explore the beauty of this day and morning, 
again with wild abandon,
because while time now seems so slow
it is succinct in its fleeting moments and is amazingly precious,
don’t allow these days to pass us by,
I want to remember our times 
when our hearts were as broad
as Sun's grinning orange-quartered mouth,
filled with the tartness of freshly squeezed juice 
and the vitality of our youth.

The sun smiles down upon us and gives me 
a mischievous wink as though she wholeheartedly agrees.    
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

Image by Tarishart from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Reach and Repair Us – 23/12/19

    Poem: Reach and Repair Us – 23/12/19

     I reach into the depths of myself
 and pluck that certain something which makes me Me,
 beneath the surface I am swimming,
 searching for something that signifies, 
 which best expresses my essence.
  
 Is it that particular pitch of 
 laughter which resonates within you?
 That characteristic flick of 
 hair out of my eyes
 because I needed that haircut months prior?

 Or my grasping onto your arm,
 oh, how I needed the support from you,
 when crumbling and falling apart
 you were there. 
  
 Darling, we have patched ourselves so hastily,
 from broken and battered to healed with wefts
 and super human glue –
 Tarzan would be proud –
  
 Of our issues we seem to have 
 tentatively repaired,
 it’s no longer you and I 
 but us together, 
 an entwined pair again at last. 
  
 In pulling myself apart,
 in making myself experience discomfort,
 in making me try to bring forth that 
 which had become hidden,
 I knew I must draw myself forth,
 melt away the layers of my hesitant heart,
 for the good of ourselves,
 to fix what had come undone.

 But, the rusty handle of the gate 
 had been squeaking,
 begging to be oiled.  
  
 I attend to it lovingly, 
 with my brightened laughter and smiles, 
 you observe my work while you 
 attended to the rusted hinges.
 
 Then, perfection: 
 the gate is salvaged, 
 it no longer sings,
 though, it glides,
 view the beauty and smoothness it casts
 upon new memories now created 
 by the hearthside. 
  
 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: The Roast – 23/12/19

    Poem: The Roast – 23/12/19

     The roast looks magnificent, 
 I can almost taste the glistening juice, 
 dripping down the sides as though 
 there is no other place for it 
 but before our hungering eyes. 
  
 I see you practically 
 salivating opposite me,
 between us the roast is 
 perched quite perfectly,
 
 a distraction,
 a piece of meat to catch your eyes,
 instead of falling upon me. 
  
 A wave of jealously: 
 how ridiculous! 
 How can I be upset that you’re 
 adoring a piece of cooked flesh?
  
 But it’s the intent behind 
 that stare that makes me
 pale behind the way you 
 usually look at me and assess.

 Perhaps I’ve grown too old a view —
 overfamiliarity can cause a rubbery chew.  
  
 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
 also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem: Swing High, Sweetheart – 06/12/19

    Poem: Swing High, Sweetheart – 06/12/19


     We swing high and swing low,
     exhilarating heights, devastating falls.
     Because what occurs where we 
     play nice and then with fire? 
     Our hearts are entwined, 
     we are lost in rapture. 
      
     Our love may seem innocent and sweet
     like child’s play,
     rising high and dipping low,
     smiling adoration. 
      
     Yet painfully we part from one another,
     the very next day in each other’s company.
     There is little to see but dedication
     from our severed scene.
      
     Rising high then bop,
     falling down and thump,
     it’s like a never-ending cycle 
     where we can’t decide
     who is the propellant and who is the flame? 
      
     I surmise I would be the antagonist,
     it’s just how I am,
     the flame, 
     the one to catch the stirring propellant
     is you, 
     one and the same. 
      
     We can fall apart as many times as we like,
     But in the end, we always conjoin. 

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

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  • Prose Poetry: Shedding Intolerance – 29/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Shedding Intolerance – 29/10/19

    I’m like a brightly blazing deciduous tree except I will not weep for you. Because while my colours alternate from light greens to crisp fawns and crunchy dryness as the seasons go from bright to dark, days longer to short, at this moment I’m far less tolerant, adaptive I am not.

    Release not the inner emotions, the angst which we both feel. The grinding of stone upon pavement, the scratchy itching frustration I feel. The knowledge that I am absorbing a melody that I do not wish to be performed through me, and the strangeness and wearing down of my barely-present tolerance is surprisingly unyielding. I feel rather affected, and most certainly quite ill at ease. 

    I’d much rather be alone in these moments, and cast off my unwanted and unfeeling leaves in silence. They are not necessary. And neither is this irritation which is featuring heavily in this ongoing dramatic story.

    There’s a brief pause now, an interlude, to allow anger and the stifling feeling of unrest to build into an explosive level of intent and mistrust. Because, neither of us seems to want to admit wrongdoing, or take responsibility, or be willing to say we’re sorry. We’d rather war with our displeased silences than allow ourselves to become defeated and at a loss.

    But instead we’ll confide in one another, especially with you sharing how you truly feel. Your frustrations, your sufferings, your immense irritation; your desire for me to wholeheartedly acknowledge your communications about how you feel. It is not all about me, it is due to the surrounding world which surrounds your considered yet busy, ever-changing bubble; you voice, you vent, you scream, then you’re seemingly spent. We now link hands, and forehead to pressed forehead we gaze into one another, our eyes calming the other, the viewing of our aching souls entwined together. 

    You wrap your arms around your now-caring and almost-barren tree, as the last leaves from my limbs fall with gentle ease. Winter is upon us, allow each to warm the other with a manner of understanding and openness to be felt and seen. For, our hearts are fiery in the heat in which they deliver and the clipped words and admonishments are lost in the airy but biting winter’s breath — this argument seems like the end of an unwanted era. Allow us to communicate more effectively, to prove true calming consideration at its best.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

    Prose Poetry: Wrapped Like a Burrito – 25/10/19

     I love it when you make your bed around me, 
     as though I’m a mini human burrito.
     
     I adore being so silly in the kitchen for you 
     as I wriggle and wiggle, 

     showing my happy dance, 
     a humorous movement, slight grooves, 

     more laughter, if you please, 
     just a little, if you will.
     
     I appreciate when you bring me cups of coffee and tea 
     and become slightly angered when you 
     forget about me and don’t,

     But all’s fair in our little tiffs and wars,
     Our hearts meld, that’s what matters most.
      
     Allow us to go from strength to strength,
     Taking on the challenges of the world.

     Us two against whom? 
     None, there are none standing in our way,

     Because we control our life’s climate, 
     Our weather,
     Our potentials, we decide them.
      
     We are but two constellations in the 
     sky known as the fabric
     Of human life,

     We burn brightly together and 
     linked in arms we are forever,
     Our names will be written in our 
     version of the skies.
      
     Our adoration for one another, while playful, 
     Raucous,
     Can be seen in the quiet moments 
     where we say nothing at all,
     There is no need to talk or touch. 
      
     A simple understanding that you are there for me,
     And I for you,

    And even in the most trying of times,
     We will remain as tightly linked 
     Firmly held together with permanent glue.

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


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  • Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    Prose Poetry: The Flowing River Meeting Place – 14/10/19

    There was a river flowing from my heart at the point where we first met. Two streaming rushes converging into other, as we assessed and smiled and interacted with one another. I drew pictures on the back of your hand, little symbols here and there, you allowed me to be cutesy and my childish myself, and I so love that about you, that of my personality, you were immediately made aware and you didn’t back away, you didn’t seem to care.

    Your water brings me sustenance and lifts the dehydrating fog; disallows my heart from becoming parched and dry, and nestles me into your hydrating, plumping love. At this rushing river where our hearts were made known of each other’s presence and traits, are where we meet daily, our emotions intertwining together, becoming vines wrapped alongside and with each other. Because that is how we are, our fates are now twisted, into tightly coiled shapes, and the thorns? Why, they’ve completely gone missing.

    Because there is no longer any room for personal barbed pain or undying senses of loneliness to be noticed, harped upon, and saved. Because together we are stronger, in charming and less charming circumstances we will remain with great ardour, and in saying this I will strongly ascertain that our love for one another will remain as long as our forevers.  

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


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  • Poem: Crashing Waves – 03/10/19

    Poem: Crashing Waves – 03/10/19

     The waves hurl themselves onto the rocky shore
     As though on a suicide mission
     I wonder what it would be like to feel those jagged edges biting me
     Protruding through the breaking waves
     Their strangled sounds strangely comfort me.
      
     I dare to reach forth
     One step at a time
     A momentous awakening has come about this healing time.
      
     And like how I come to the sand for serenity and to show respect,
     myself, I blossom inside
     feeling and breathing good health.

     the racing thoughts in my mind
     the strange understandings still in place
     will eventually be wiped away
     replaced with thoughts more socially acceptable and commonplace.
      
     But I will not lose my vigour nor my ardour 
     Learning more of discovery, healing and self-respect
     The waves continue to crash
     My eyes divert from the scene as they capture human movement
     Ah, there he is: 
     I almost thought he wouldn’t make it.

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


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  • Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

    See this giant hot air balloon? my darling asked of me. It’s all yours for the morning, he smiled.

    Me? What about us? I queried. He wanted me to enjoy myself wholly and without distraction.

    But darling, you are not by any means a distraction, why, you are my star attraction.

    He blushed deep crimson now, rarely was he used to receiving compliments, mainly playful little cute insults which he knew were full of love and meant nothing of which others would use them as.

    Run along now, he urged me, run along and have some fun, enjoy yourself. I’d never been in a hot air balloon before. I had always come up with some excuse: too expensive, I would have to awaken too early, it would be too cold, what if the weather turned dreary? And other some such, or whatnot, excuses which masked the true reason: a fear of flying.

    I’ll be right here, he reassured me, pointing to the grassy knoll by the evergreen trees. I’ll be reading and researching, it’s important I do so, but I’ll be watching out for you.” He reached forth, pulled me into his grasp, placed his lips full upon mine, passionately. Surprised at his action, I withdrew slightly, then warmed to his embrace. I melted into him because it was rare we expressed ourselves physically.

    Thank you, my love, for thinking of me, I said and reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp.

    The hot air balloon operator was incredibly kind. He could see I was tremble profusely, that my hands could barely hold onto the edge of the basket which held us as we ascended into the perfectly blue sky, tinged with coloured clouds that twinkled with differing shades in our eyes.

    It’s okay, he said reassuringly. First trip in the air? he inquired with a warm smile.

    First trip in the air in anything, I replied, I’ve not even been in a plane. What got me the most was the noise as we rose, I was frightened but I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Balloon accidents were very rare, and this operator seemed to know his methods and flying to a tee. I glanced down at my love, he was reading on his phone, making notes in a pad to his right, his mind set upon certain equations and problematic formulas all of his own. I called to him, waving and attempting a false smile. He looked up, delighted that I was enjoying myself and fervently waved back.

    Then, something seemed wrong, there was more strength from the flames which allowed us to rise, we were on an errant path, rocking from side to side. With horror I looked up and realised that the lower flames from the burner had extended far past where they were meant to be and were situated up near the exit hole of the balloon, exposing the likely flammable material to excessive heat, now what could I do? I was too high in the air to jump, but above it showed that we were going to fall anyway, what could I do but scream for my love, to tell him how I felt once more, before I might become gone, gone, gone, away my life would go, crushed or flown away.

    I shrieked for him to hear above the burners that scolded the air for listening on its firm intent on destruction, I stared at his bowed head and willed him to raise it, to captured my attentions, but I could smell the acrid scent now, a certain plastic-like melting odour in the air, then a rapid whoosh, and away we dropped, into a group of sharp, gnarled bushes.

    I heard him scream my name in the background of the silence which was the result of our inevitable, heard him breaking through the bracken of the bushes, clawing to see if I was alive, for himself. The operator and I were shocked beyond belief, he now was shaking, his hands trembling, telling me over and over,

    This has never happened before, this has never happened under my attentions, it has never happened before.

    My love finally reached us, I was not damaged, but I was frightened beyond repair.

    Oh, my sweet, how did this happen on my watch, my choice, I’m so glad you are here, alive, I will never leave you again, remain by my side. I am so sorry, for this stupid, idiotic choice, in leaving you in there without me. I am glad this operator was there to guide the balloon down somewhat safely.

    After helping out myself and the man from the wreckage, my love and I walked away from the scene which never would cease to amaze me. So thankful I am that he was there keeping watch, but never again shall I ride into the air, no matter within what contraption, not even under another expert’s watch.

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


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