Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: writing

  • Prose: Shall I Stifle my Songs? – 01/06/21

    Prose: Shall I Stifle my Songs? – 01/06/21

    It would be wise, it would be prudent, to give up the nuisances, to cast away the cruel injustice, and travel elsewhere, where they know us. For now, my words bear less ‘zing’, overworked, overwrought, haphazard it is to over-sing, it seems. I can speak of experiences; growth, positivity, liveliness, but without a visible, solid base, how will my truths be known? How can they direct, morals and lessons intersect, when no one is here to witness what’s been asserted, what has been said?

    Trust me; I walked on the other side of life, what you see now, pretty petunias and roses, barren land before, they would never grow. Despair, anger, frustration, hatred, they were the currencies of life in which I coped, how I stagnated, the manners of living I breathed and for a long time, I remained without hope.

    No point detailing any further, little point into going into specifics, this is enough to know that I’ve made some great changes. These things never happen overnight – indeed, it’s like watching a hatchling every day, if there’s a break between each stage, it’s obvious to one’s eyes the vast developmental change.

    I sing a certain song now, I warble newer tunes, I’m much happier, I feel this in my being, to the full. Of course, occasionally, I yearn for some things, but Life’s not perfect, and distractions keep the mind busy. The scent of those luscious flowers, why, one might say, my life is pushing roses, so much more joy must be on its way.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Polina Kovaleva from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Journey to the Light; ‘ – 01/06/21
    Previous Post: ‘Seems as Though’ – 01/06/21
    Previous Post: ‘Losing Grip, Gaining Momentum’ – 30/05/21

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  • Prose: Losing Grip, Gaining Momentum – 30/05/21

    Prose: Losing Grip, Gaining Momentum – 30/05/21

    Stability, balance, breath; it’s all I need, in, out, announcing my presence, my cares rise like air, into the atmosphere they appear to swirl, yet in my mind, I am stagnant, there must be a woman within, not this impressionable young, little girl inside. That youngster awaits, with insolence, she does not want to see, that the path undertaken by some ill-fated decisions, their negativities and future judgements allowed are glaring to others, plain to see. Why cannot I understand that I’m losing grip on the reality of accountability, need I digress? Think of poor decisions like little stars, from here they feature and twinkle, but in reality, they explode, combust, from afar, a death already done, a death already begun. Fate has decided that this girl must learn or her progress, hard work, personal growth and path, will cease to be, unravel it may, completely come undone.

    But there is a positive way of knowing that steps can be made, forward, one foot in front of the other, balance, balance… break… It’s not a lapse in judgement, it’s just a broken moment; thought patterns causing pauses while I analyse future processes. For decisions cannot always come to us easily, and right and wrong may not simply extract themselves from emotion and feelings. I am yet to be angered to the point of no return, because my frustrations at poor treatment have been calmed, my quarrel with disrespect relaxed, coping mechanisms developed. To poor behaviour, it seems this girl is not so malleable, after all. I cannot control how others treat me, but I can accept and decide when from their presence I will turn and leave.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Susanne Jutzeler from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Freedom’ – 29/05/21

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  • Prose: Freedom – 29/05/21

    Prose: Freedom – 29/05/21

    I trust the magic will imbue, with my soul it will carry me through, into the Great Unknown, where hands and eyes await a certain prize, something to peruse, some agent to get high, to ride on euphoria – these days, it’s time, karmic balance, get paid.

    Their surrounding palms reach and reach; through a black hole, they rise forth, making some regret wanting to live, and those eyes, beady, uninterrupted, staring orbs, they could never placate disaster, never cause a broken heart to mend, to become less torn.

    They live to receive; to take from me, each piece of my puzzle which I had placed hesitantly, and then so deftly, will now be taken away from their family, their home, because of spiteful eyes and appendages of others, gone rogue and free.

    But, I am joyful, because unlike these hands, unlike these eyes, I can dance, away and aware, for I am coursing with power, I am alive. Escape is not an option, it is the only way, the only path, my decision, my freedom can never be taken or bought, only given away, or treasured and retained.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Luis Dalvan from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘Jewels of Thought’ – 29/05/21

    Previous Post: ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ – 28/05/21

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  • Prose: Jewels of Thought – 29/05/21

    Prose: Jewels of Thought – 29/05/21

    The jewels of thought glimmer as the trove presents its offering. Sparkling, lustrous, scintillating, these contemplations are part of more than bearings of either king or queen. These are not controlled by royalty: they are presently waiting, awaiting new processes, though their method of glimmering is surprisingly passive; they lay there, waiting to be selected by us.

    The jewels, jewels of thought have one true source – a master thinker, a genius, a contemplative-conjurer, who has fashioned these offerings for everybody from spicks and specks of this and that, everything, and blocks of thoughts are honoured before selection shall be made tentatively, then bravely, then freely.

    Can we not form our own thoughts? Let intuition speak to you and myself, that gut feeling, third-eye instinct? Though, sometimes it’s comfortable to have a guider, a leader, to see.

    The wonder we feel in the moment when we receive this gift, a single, procured gift-wrapped thought, suddenly deemed so precious you don’t even want to undo the ribbon’s bow now.

    So, you sit with it, hold onto it, cherish this gilded box with a single cherished thought. You know not what it is, whether ignition, calm or cataclysmic indeed, you accept your inner self is enough – the gifted thought is unnecessary, only novelty, its newness will not outlast.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ – 28/05/21

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  • Prose: A Foretelling Sense of Importance – 27/05/21

    Prose: A Foretelling Sense of Importance – 27/05/21

    I prioritise the things that are important, so too, the people in my life. I acknowledge every moment, but I magnify the truth behind what’s necessary or needed. What is unnecessary will fall by the wayside; I must work to the best of my ability to sort the endangered from the general herd. And to understand that people bless me with their presence, with a smile, a tilted upward nod, a wink and a half, knowing that they’re instilling their emotions and feeling, well, this is a sign of their efforts to form a second’s connection – their own sense of priority, a type of gentle dedication.

    I feel a sense of progress travel with me while everything paves the way for me. I watch as the invitingly tactile moss rises from the cracks in between the pavers, slowly, slowly, I know that it will become plentiful, these rows, with time. And softened like green clouds, upon them I could rest my head, sleeping in a state of fitful rest, that, with a heart so heavy, could carry nothing else but what is already inside of me.

    One who can foretell the future through their writing – is it what you would call an intuit, or something else? For when I prioritise with words, my messy cursive, my gentle, haphazard scrawl, I detail that which becomes strangely relevant into the future days: ideas, feelings, formulae. It’s oddly relevant, this is what I have to say. Perhaps my subconscious forewarns and foretells, and it is up to me to discern which way my truths should be taken – warnings or fate, these would, by then, have already been spelled, typed, and saved, hypotheticals and predictions become reality to be seen, shall I become yet amazed? No, but I will take heed of what has been written upon my page.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

    Previous Post: ‘A Decree to be Felt, Heard, and Seen’ – 26/05/21

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  • Prose: A Decree to be Felt, Heard, and Seen – 26/05/21

    Prose: A Decree to be Felt, Heard, and Seen – 26/05/21

    There’s a gentle humming surrounding my being, as though I’m reverberating from the inside-out. Something warm and prominent spreads out to my border, my aura, and there’s no ill feeling, nor any sign of doubt. Every inch of flesh breathes shudders with gentle flow, reminding me I’m living and breathing and, with connectedness to a higher source, my energy resonates and grows.

    Feeling at one with nature, with a higher power, with the Universe, enlivens this once world-weary being – growth, new life, refreshening, was a process. A method through madness, through lost will, through journeys untold, which dragged me down, and further still, until I made the decision to respect myself, my life, to be grateful and follow a process of knowing who I could become through determination, sheer power and will.

    I no longer meander; I can hold my head high, having direction feels glorious in this life. I chose, I made the decision to surround myself with those who will build themselves up, not tear myself down; I need to travel with those who want to help themselves or at least receive assistance to learn to care for and develop themselves.  My capabilities are used to live and improve, but if outstretching a hand temporarily to others means being a guiding support, I’ll offer it to be held, but I cannot promise to be a crutch, or the solution to something I’m not obliged to solve. With resolution, I will endeavour to be understanding and present, but sometimes Life calls for separation and dissolution, through power of common sense, dignity, and free will.

    Bury the hatchet, disguise concealed intents, this world requires us to co-exist with love, praise, and harmony, but I must retain the right to still be treated with respect. There is no space in my world for words of heightening degrees, heated blame to vent, not calmly speak, these will no longer constrict me, to the horizon’s beauty my eyes will focus, opportunity for continued happiness which I have chosen and undertaken as my decree.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo courtesy of Pexels.

    Previous Post: ‘Bouncing Back to Clarity’ – 25/05/21

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  • Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Poem: A Sprite’s Memories – 10/05/21

    Sprite-like eyes,
    rainbow glimmer,
    delighting,
    no need to try,

    the sunbeams stretch
    from there to evermore,
    a chest-full of memories stored,

    but I flitter them
    to the wind,
    like vagrant butterflies
    they linger
    and they gain height,
    they soar,

    on the breeze
    they carry,
    unwanted, lightening
    their loads,
    becoming less heavy,

    until light as burnt ash
    detailing what I don’t want,
    ignited beneath that full moon,
    under the delicate sky,

    and an internal sprite dances
    without an imp,
    mischievous was he,
    playfully devious,
    some might have seen or agreed.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘In Pieces, Yet Whole’ – 09/05/21

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  • Poem: In Pieces, Yet Whole – 09/05/21

    Poem: In Pieces, Yet Whole – 09/05/21

    I try to be at peace
    but in aching pieces I’ve become,
    my time is my leisure,
    but transient will I be,
    like the searing sun,

    so beautiful it was to
    romanticise cold, bare reality,
    actions speak as loud as words,
    can you hear certain needs calling?

    I watch the alliance come undone,
    each spoke of a black widow’s web
    detaches, rips, tears,
    and then hand over heart,

    lip to cheek kiss,
    now steer clear,
    this has ceased to be fun.

    I know that I could be
    sympathetic and overly understanding,
    but I won’t continue to
    accept bad behaviour and words
    when they’re provided knowingly.

    And so here I am,
    detailing in a nightly haze,
    almost 2am,

    I could reach out,
    heal what damage has been done,
    but why should I?
    This rubbish is happening again,
    and again.

    If I decided to,
    I could claim being victim of cruel, cruel,
    hapless words,

    this time I’ll wait it out,
    I have self-love,
    and firm respect for myself.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    Poem: Serendipity – 05/05/21

    My eyes digest the scene before me,
    taking in every minute detail.
    I cannot fathom what is greeting me,
    but my appreciation,
    it will never cease nor fail.

    The Universe has sent this beauty and perfection,
    I am delighted by the colours,
    so bright,
    surging are my emotions,
    I have all the time I need
    in this life,
    a moment of delightful contemplation.

    I am permitted the pleasure of
    eyes being treated to richness and truth,
    the glowing sun,
    the blossoming daffodils,
    the beds of other flowers
    spread through and through.

    I trail my dress as I lithely
    walk the paths
    of the quiet garden where
    flora becomes anew,
    these delights help the world through their abundance,
    I create with them,
    pluck, pick, and arrange,
    trailing thoughts on an off-white page.

    I say yes,
    I affirm my existence
    within this bubble of a world,
    the scent, while maybe overwhelming,
    wraps its arms around me,
    Serendipity, Serendipity,
    my presence has a requirement,
    a gentle, humble need to tell.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash

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  • Poem: A Rapid Black Cat – 04/05/21

    Poem: A Rapid Black Cat – 04/05/21

    A black cat streaks before my path,
    I shriek,
    I’m afraid to ask!
    What is Superstitious Kitty doing
    running, flitting,
    my heartbeat skips,
    then won’t stop rapidly beating.

    I’m shocked out of my skin,
    does his or her appearance mean
    future bad luck for me?

    Should I avoid walking on cracks,
    be careful around mirrors,
    or am I simply being sad
    for caring about a jet black cat
    that happened to rush,
    to hurtle on past?

    Or, should I carry on my day
    with great confidence and aplomb,
    wondering not to myself whether
    the events of my day will come undone?

    I decide I should hold my head up high,
    cast aside superstition to the sky,
    believe in logic and truth,
    well, now I know what to do!

    ‘Twas a silly moment of fear in my mind,
    too many campfire stories
    and cabin tales to delve into from memories
    that were rather easy to find,

    and now I must move forward,
    remembering that there is no bad luck
    from a cat just because of its shade,

    I will carry on, carry on,
    be brave in your day,
    as my aunt would reassuringly say.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Raquel Pedrotti on Unsplash

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