Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: subconscious

  • Spoken Word and Poem: delving night-words – 07/12/21

    Spoken Word and Poem: delving night-words – 07/12/21

    the night-time is for writing
    with her deep thick languid ease
    fingers padding gentle surfaces
    tap-stroking certain keys

    the favoured vowels the yearning syllables
    my mind speaks with slick sensing
    sifting through the marionettes floating
    at the mind-stage surfaces
    the dolls how they dance
    they speak in time, rhythm and rhyme
    dangling before me

    tap-tap-dancing my mind takes them in
    behind them a quiet notion
    becoming bolder
    a night-time commotion
    singing to the surface
    is black ink spilled…
    dramatics.

    bold is the process and wild is the prowess
    of yielding certain belligerence
    into moulded written continuance
    the shade on the axis
    beckons,
    to me it is out of duress speaking
    this is not nonsense,
    I conjure all the sense in the world
    when I delve into my own subconscious.

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

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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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  • Poem: The Thundering Waves – Spoken Word and Text – 22/06/20

    Poem: The Thundering Waves – Spoken Word and Text – 22/06/20

    The quiet solitude
as waves roll in,
their silent crescendos,
thundering vibrations
only I can feel within.
 
The rumbling of
their presence
marks tremulous
tumultuous moments,
fear impending,
a sense of doom
all around.
 
When did I
sign up for
this battlefield?
 
One in which
only I
can sense and
anticipate,
but with not a
shred of volume
to warn
as my heavy breaths
heave and leave.
 
The desperate notion
of reaching forth
for something
that’s invisible,
only sensed,
not heard or
or even seen.
 
The waves,
their raucous fights,
go frightfully
in my night
as I toss and turn
inherent confusion: –
impeded sight.
 
I grasp ahead,
feeling for safety,
though the nothingness
meets me,
my desire for freedom
is far too hasty.
 
I spin and spin,
vertigo in my head,
a woman in distress,
instead of feeling
calm,
well-rested,
blessed.
 
These thunderous
waves of consciousness
roll on and on,
and on,
may I please
escape from them?
 
Or be hailed by
heavy reliving of
a personal, solitary hell.
 
The vibrations chase me
in my dreams,
as yonder, yonder,
I fervently reach,
 
Will I live to tell my tales?
Will the waves crash on opposing shores?
I can only hope they’ll recede,
if not,
I’ll fend them off with
primal roars.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay
Recording: Myself

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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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