Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: writer

  • Poem: Starry Eyed – 01/09/20

    Poem: Starry Eyed – 01/09/20

    They couldn’t help it,
they had stars in their eyes.
Bright burst of fireworks encapsulated in their sights,
little pin drops of explosions,
one by one they shine and shone,
filling their beings with life and fire,
delighting themselves,
fear, they had none.
 
What is it about confidence that oozes delectability?
And what is it about inner strength that speaks to not only them,
but me?
Because, I, as narrator of this tale,
I am also here to be affected,
lights and sounds within my view and ears,
can I share this, can I tell?
 
I am not the only one with stars in my eyes,
when I look at the those before me,
those who succeeded in their own style,
and the others who admire,
who view this situation for what it is,
entirely pleased be they,
it is involuntary.
 
Stars in our eyes,
this I’ll admit,
when I’m looking at us,
looking at it,
success is not an option,
success is the only way,
the ironic moment comes when I realise
I’ve been staring in the mirror with the others,
together,
the whole time, always.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Escape to a Land of Slumber – 31/08/20

    Poem: Escape to a Land of Slumber – 31/08/20

    I escape into a land of slumber,
where I softly achieve my goal,
to forget and feel nothing,
I am enveloped by reaching fingertips of
diamonds and solid gold.
 
They caress me with a richness
I’ve never known,
toy with me,
play with me,
these dancing hands I feel not,
though within them, I am at home.
 
I am deep in rest,
my back the fingers stroke,
and they play with my hair,
this escape is full of my hope,
because while I’m away in mind,
I am here and now,
though some would say my consciousness is not.
 
I relish these afternoon escapes,
the siestas which take me away
to a feeling of nothingness,
of wanted emptiness,
nothing here is awry,
nothing is astray.
 
And close to waking I experience
the most amazing thing,
I rouse slowly and recollect
remnants of a dream,
someone perhaps who I have missed
without realising?
Or perhaps I simply am recalling them fondly.
 
I rarely remember my dreams,
and when I do,
the fragment slips from memory,
perhaps the dream was a message,
or something else –
I nod knowingly –
maybe revelations will unfold naturally.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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  • Poem: Eclipsed – 30/08/20

    Poem: Eclipsed – 30/08/20

    You eclipsed yourself onto my heart,
etched yourself amongst Sun and stars,
a silhouette of burnished red and brown,
a luminescent glow of you all around.
 
Your pattern, your shape,
my mind recalls,
the beauty of your face,
your expression,
I’m in thrall,
and I remember the smiles we shared,
so many days and nights together,
I am basking in the memory of your glow,
ghostly light upon me thrown,
alabaster shine upon us both.
 
Hand in hand,
you took me into your view,
fingertips laced together,
we shone, reflections of youth,
and together we created an energy unseen
by the lower land,
eclipsing my heart as you
tightly grasped my hand.
 
What will happen, dear,
when we must part?
The irreconcilable moment when
hand leaves hand,
and hearts extract entwined valves
from each other,
for one must depart.
 
I know this time will come and to it,
I revolt, as I say,
I wish I could stay in your presence,
please don’t desert me,
please remain.
 
I cannot do this on my own,
I imagine myself sadly call,
I’ll gaze into your light,
continue to further fall, 
fall further, and fall into the night.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by JOSHUA COLEMAN on Unsplash

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  • Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    Poem: My Body is a River – 30/08/20

    My body is a river,
I rush over you,
soothing as a salve or balm,
running over your pebbles,
smoothing their jagged forms.
 
My delicate hands dance,
my currents rise and fall,
to you,
my body is a river,
with my flow
I can cure you of all.
 
Aching, yearning,
pain which must be departing,
despairing,
depression,
lonely,
to cleanse you of these is my calling.
 
So, my liquid licks and laps
against your shore,
the in-between where
hunger and pain are raw,
unknown, a certain calling,
your fingers reach for me,
I flush you with calm respite,
truthful news,
release from your gloom.
 
You no longer suffer,
you are brave
for having survived your internal ravaging,
but because my body is a river,
you were permitted this vital saving.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Jessica Furtney on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Paradise – 21/07/20

    Poem: Paradise – 21/07/20

    Paradise, paradise,
it’s where seekers go to roam,
to find themselves away from the lost, the broken,
seeking something personal, true gold.
 
Paradise is where they visit,
to take turns riding in gondolas bobbing up and down,
upon canals of flowing freedom,
no longer lost, but found.
 
Paradise is where lurks the hopeful,
the tentatively shy, quiet, reserved,
the wallflower, the fly upon the wall,
watching, observing, knowing that to speak,
to spread his wings, would be dire,
it would be… unseemly.
 
Because, to reveal his true positioning,
in this land of paradise,
where hearts and minds are entwined, not separate,
not one ruling another, but working
in cohesion,
together,
 
this observer would do well to remember his
information-gathering is his ticket to personal understanding,
by realising how others work in relation to him,
he could most certainly gain a type of cohesive knowing.
 
Because paradise, paradise, while it may not be for everyone,
for every self,
it is here, it is present,
it is available to take, to be caressed,
to be held,
 
those who have travelled much of a journey to reach
this utopia of theirs, whichever form it may take,
they live, and they live, and they live
through it,
with it,
understanding,
growing because of it,
they'll emerge as pristine as a complex butterfly,
except they will live far longer.
 
But, there is no real necessity to show off such transformations,
why, to do so in this paradise may seem rude and immodest,
those present instead quietly exalt, and then go on
their own way,
while their subtle celebrations of personal growth and mental wealth
may mean the world to them,
they know they needn't advertise everything to the world, always.
 
So, in paradise,
we visit this land which sings,
lulls us into a land of security and pleasure,
and never haunts us of lost memories,
this place speaks to us,
speaks to us all,
and in our enthralled state,
we continue wishing, living,
longer and longer,
within this perfect world,
it’s what they all claimed it would be.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Frans Van Heerden from Pexels

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  • Poem: Exhale – Spoken Word and Text – 10/07/20

    Poem: Exhale – Spoken Word and Text – 10/07/20

    “Exhale” Audio
    Don’t hold your breath.
Exhale, allow it to be free.
Allow the endorphins to flow through
your very being.

Do not hold your breath,
there is no need;
wondering, wishing, waiting,
for something which may not be.

Live, my love, live,
please know that I have been,
in this formerly crowded world
now a stripped ghost town.

Your heart
and my heart are full,
we must breathe the freshest
air that I can drag from this
phantasmagorical land,

we may be apart and alone
and I may be without true air,
but understand,
please understand
that I will return,
I will reign triumphant,
soaring upon winged creatures’ spans.

I will exhale as I jump from the edge,
expiring as I see fit,
because sometimes, in life,
we must accept that leaving
this world is required,
I will return again,

and again,
I will be myself
in another form,
perhaps you’ll find me,
and when you do,
exhale loudly and clasp my hand
then I’ll know
we have returned.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Mystic Art Design from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Where Have You Been? – 17/04/20

    Poem: Where Have You Been? – 17/04/20

    Unknowing of where you’ve been,
where have you travelled?
Where has your mind taken you?
Is it to the edge of your despair?

Are you aching,
begging to be heard without any
actual words?
Misunderstood,
underappreciated?
Does this strike a chord?
 
Do you wish you could move on quicker
to achieve your goals
within your dreams?
Is there a hollow in you
needing to be filled?
Measurements two by two,
or maybe just a clearer view.
 
I hate to see you in distress,
you feel you hide it well,
and from the world you want to encase yourself,
a solid armour,
self-protection still,
where the wind and sound will
rush over your body and not even care,
you will find that anonymity there.
 
And huddled in the tunnel you’ll be,
against the thick of a storm which strangely frees you
from hefty concerns and worries
which drag, drag you down,
and now you’re just a molecule
or a large particle
against which beats the busy air.
 
I can sense your freedom now
in the darkness,
in the shadows of that tunnel,
some may find such a situation
claustrophobic, atrocious,
but you, dear,
are released by the air,
being pounded by winds is no trouble,
each gust dispels care upon care.

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

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  • Poem: A Gentle Reminder – 16/04/20

    Poem: A Gentle Reminder – 16/04/20

    Bulging eyes like those of a mute man’s persuasion,
an idiomatic world wreaking destruction
with its occupants not any worse or well off than the land they stand upon,
Ingot! Ingot!
Who told me you’re the one?
 
I never put on the shield of makeup without
first assessing the importance,
painting, changing,
it’s all required,
the heart is still at large.
 
The loathing,
self-loathing,
more insignificant
yet still there as a slight,
it stings,
its pain it will seemingly never repair.
 
And there is the sharp spike,
a prick in my heart
the poison,
fuel injection,
electric explosion,
my eyes they take in all
that swimmingly the pain receptors cannot.

A gelatinous feeling now overwhelms my flesh,
the unformed nature jiggles and sighs,
the athleticism is gone from those
once fit, toned calves and thighs,
my muscles ache almost as much as my heart,
of the present they quietly speak.

A butterfly comes to visit the tip of my nose
and suddenly in a flash 
I’m reminded to exist in the present,
to create my own formulation of self-acceptance and hope,
and nothing less or more in between,
nothing else withstanding.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by David Englund from Pixabay 
Image by Larisa Koshkina from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Cotton Wool – 15/04/20

    Poem: Cotton Wool – 15/04/20

    They cotton woolled me,
padded me safe,
to ensure if I fell,
I wouldn’t crash,
bang, break.
 
To make sure that I was
protected by the softened cloud,
like a growing cumulus
I would travel here, there, about.
 
But always did I feel this
protection surrounding me,
a knowledge that when I’d fall
I could tangle among
branches of kind gum trees,
who would soothe me with their eucalyptus scent, 
calming, warming,
my panic flew –
it went.
 
And I am suspended,
here between heaven and earth,
it’s not so bad, I realise,
I’m surrounded by the now-dripping cotton wool
pungent with oil.
 
I appreciate those who thought it prudent to
wrap me like a child in a
tight woollen blanket,
because of this, 
the next stage of
my life I can be assured.
 
In fact, I’m more like a caterpillar
in my woven silk threads,
to my original protective layer
I’ve added to this,
 
Now I am layered, softly cushioned,
nothing can penetrate even if I allowed it in
because, quite frankly,
this is my time for healing.
 
As time passes, I feel my body grow strong,
none of this limp wrists and arms,
fragile ankles and weakened shins,
no, I am becoming something,
something more,
and suddenly the cotton wool and thread?
I have no need for these anymore.
 
I emerge heroically from my encasing,
an uproarious cry of triumph escapes my lips,
the trials and tribulations of long past
which the wool had patched
are strangely flung from my memory.
 
And here I stand,
stronger than ever before,
plights and disasters all untoward,
I will recall nothing of them
for I have moved forth,
a body no longer in a woollen cavity.

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

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  • Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    Poem: The Others – 28/02/20

    The others watch me lazily,
yet with intent,
from their quiet area of silent judgement,
it is as though I am being assessed for living
and breathing,
such a scoundrel I am,
I must turn the tables,
to impress!
 
Yet why bother
when these individuals are perpetually displeased?
There seems little point in exacerbating the situation
with a further moment that would actually come across as amazing,
divide the divide!
 
Indifferently though, they blink,
what is the generational gap between us three?
nay I bother now for assessment and
tidings which are built upon comeuppance,
because I’ll sell you this: --
the image is quite diseased,
and its feelings explore me from within,
it wants to attack with ease.
 
The virus enters my system,
wreaking, ravaging,
I am now one of them,
how I wish to breathe freely
without a chest full of bricks,
and now I understand the truest meaning
of a vice-like grasp and grip,
I’ll tell you this:
my spirit will go on,
despite the others’ who belligerently sit there,
stroke their chins,
and sip special tea with posh leafed airs.  
 
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

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