Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: writing

  • Poem: Together – 27/11/20

    Poem: Together – 27/11/20

    Joyous moments, so precious becomes,
    the stars, the stars, fall as though little dying suns.

    I know, I know,
    it’s been troublesome to make it through,
    but goodness sakes I’ve done so with truth.

    Looking forward to the future but settling in,
    enjoying present moments
    with my dearest kin,
    we smile and chat,
    we’ve been apart for so long,
    we are loved by one another 
    and being together shows how much 
    we get along.

    I am mesmerised by our fluidity,
    how easily we meld together as a whole,
    a type of anonymity,
    and now, 
    oh now,
    we will celebrate our togetherness wholeheartedly,
    there are only smiles, no frowns.
    love eternally abounds.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Beauty of the Sun – 26/11/20

    Poem: Beauty of the Sun – 26/11/20

    We can never truly gaze
    into the beauty of the sun,
    we can only bask,
    feel the delight of her warmth,
    I can feel her reverberation,
    her heart song.

    Why, a little bird once told me
    that the measure of youth
    is to capture those memories,
    sift through them,
    and seal them tight with Truth.

    I used to gaze into the beauty of the sun,
    I felt myself burning within,
    there’s so much to fight for,
    but all I’ll do is relax, rest my chin on my hand
    and grin.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Nicole Y-C on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Butterfly – 19/11/20

    Poem: The Butterfly – 19/11/20

    The butterfly, with her wings so wide,
    carries no weight of the world upon her mind.
    She is here for but the blink of a moment,
    her beauty is there, she shows it,
    and within our hearts,
    we observe her growing love for her wandering times. 

    She does not know the shortness of her lifespan,
    maybe she does and does not show it to us,
    the common woman or man,
    she just flits here and there,
    carefree, without concern,
    she’s here, she’s there,
    with such grace and flair,
    love for her beautiful world,
    she careens about without a care.

    For her, things aren’t complicated,
    it’s all about the flight,
    the joy,
    upon the wind, the ride,
    and her amazement at seeing,
    feeling,
    something so freeing upon the horizon.

    She is delicate but so too is she strong,
    understand that first impressions aren’t 
    necessarily wholesome truth,
    within she is flamboyant,
    you dared assumed otherwise?
    You were entirely wrong. 

    She has blessed your world with her presence,
    danced about within your vision,
    brightened your world if but for a moment,
    my darlings,
    remember her,
    her heart and intentions are potent.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Alfred Schrock on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Spells – (The Last) – 17/11/20

    Poem: Spells – (The Last) – 17/11/20

    My words became spells again,
    my words they wove their magic,
    the images proved so sincere,
    yet tired they became,
    the end:
    so tragic.

    I sewed the moments one by one,
    delved in and out the topics,
    recreated potency handfuls by handfuls,
    the result:
    confusion of moments.

    The truth of the matter is
    perhaps the words were not right,
    misinterpretations outdoors
    flew high into the sky.

    Anomalies present from whatever one might
    want to know,
    lay your head upon that grass,
    rest there gently,
    I’ll watch the subtle growth.

    Time can tell certain things,
    many different things,
    nearby blossoms absorb the moments
    in which they breathe the sounds
    with ease.

    They take on the subtle intricacies,
    borne as silent witnesses,
    voices raised in dire frustration,
    won’t the scents calm them
    along the breeze?

    But will they be subdued,
    relax themselves?
    Unravel the tapestry,
    work it all out?
    I think those others eavesdropping can
    quite obviously tell.

    My words once were magic,
    to others they became spells again,
    I wove them,
    and I weave them,
    and I let others carefully attend to them.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Fields – 14/11/20

    Poem: The Fields – 14/11/20

    I wander,
    the fields are blooming with colour,
    they’re illustrious, I’ve heard of them from afar,
    they have been calling from yonder.

    Their brightness is healing,
    I feel their hues trickle into my soul,
    my spirit enlivens,
    there are some things I don’t need
    to tell.

    Let the quietness be permitted,
    the expressions be subdued,
    at least from a visual standpoint,
    between the winding hills and the
    babbling brook.

    I don’t know what is more potent,
    the past or the present,
    but I hope to know,
    I hope to learn of them.

    And so, I rise from the shallows
    that kept me in their midst,
    the liquid that was constricting,
    no matter how little there was of it,
    and allow me now to flow,
    in the river that breathes and goes,
    the flowers to the side,
    they know,
    they know.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Mester Ilona on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Poem: Toward – 12/11/20

    Another chapter,
    yet one and the same?
    Different rules, different circumstances,
    differing frames.

    It feels odd to walk a path
    in an alternate manner,
    I’m here and now,
    watch me flower.

    The sadness is gone,
    but confusion can reign,
    I will not allow it,
    I hear someone cautiously call my name.

    Because there are set parameters,
    at least they exist in my mind,
    I must be careful to let them
    remain in place,
    lest they fuel like petrol on flame in time.

    I’m walking forward,
    I can develop on my own,
    I must continue this growth because
    it’s important to set in stone.

    I am finding a path again,
    I am moving, moving onward,
    and if those in my life would like
    to join me,
    then onward,
    onward,
    closer,
    to the goals,
    toward.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Bright Stars – 07/11/20

    Poem: Bright Stars – 07/11/20

    Bright stars shine in my eyes,
    I soak them in like they’re available to take for all mine,
    to pluck at them and stow away into my hidden spaces,
    into the cracks and tears that have been left by the decisions
    that I thought wouldn’t result in this,
    where time is the only cure.

    I’ve never been here before,
    beneath this sea of sparkle that
    encompasses and revolutionises
    my mind and memories,
    I wonder what to do with them,
    should I be without them all?
    So used to company by my side and now,
    replaced by ghostly air because of my doing,
    truth in truth,
    all in all,
    an undoing.

    At least I have the stars to sparkle and shine for me,
    at least I have their light to guide me,
    perhaps I can shine brighter than them,
    after all,
    they are dying or already dead.

    I still have my glisten. It’s just hidden beneath my layers.
    Photo by Ryan Hutton on Unsplash

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 

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  • Poem: It Enlivens Me – 05/11/20

    Poem: It Enlivens Me – 05/11/20

    The colours brighten me,
    they take over my soul,
    they enliven,
    they heighten,
    they create a somewhat free-for-all.

    In my heart, which I’ll tame one day,
    when it is the time to blatantly shine,
    I caress memories and emotions borne of
    still-bated breath,
    I know they’ll surface soon,
    and that’s completely fine.

    The colour of the day is my favourite,
    it emboldens me,
    brings a spring to my step,

    wearing it, I feel girlish,
    and bright and bubbly,
    there are no more signs of outward duress.

    I cloak myself in my protective garb,
    because this is what makes me feel stronger,
    less saddened, emboldened,
    at large,

    my heart, still untamed,
    is presently screaming,
    multiple voices all
    one and the same,
    let us talk without hurtful candour,
    let us be kind at heart.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Valerie Elash on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Confusion – 04/11/20

    Poem: Confusion – 04/11/20

    There’s no confusion in the motions,
    they’re deft and sure and clean,
    but there’s confusion in the aftermath,
    I don’t want to be seen as someone
    I shouldn’t be.

    There’s power in the words,
    the murmured tones from up above,
    there’s something lingering there, you know,
    and it’ll come forth one day,
    when push comes to shove.

    The answers will press themselves
    into my face,
    no need to fight away from the crowd,
    I won’t need to ignore their presence,
    I can sense them already now.

    I cannot help but wonder:
    am I doing the wrong thing?
    Times that felt right in the moment
    project a sense of followed guilty feeling.

    It is true that I should withhold
    when something inside propels me to
    sing and dance?

    I wonder to myself,
    I wonder:
    should this time be the last?
    (30/10/20)

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Emily Morter on Unsplash

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  • Poem: The Stage – 03/11/20

    Poem: The Stage – 03/11/20

    There’s no need to rant and rave,
    to set fire to the stage,
    the show’s come knocking
    it’s time to perform,
    ill feelings really should be tamed.

    There’s misinterpretation in the scenes,
    misunderstandings,
    certain explanations seemingly misheard or unseen,
    and the power in the moments is not
    the spat venom nor poison,
    but the future mellowing,
    the quiet contemplation.

    Will I ever reach that path where I am not
    in a situation of needs,
    in a situation where things feel incorrect,
    perhaps time apart is due,
    it’s calling,
    I feel.

    I thought it was possible,
    to not completely sever ties,
    to retain a friendship
    but it seems the truth is not this,
    I surmise.

    So, fly on high I will,
    let the sinking in my stomach be perpetuated nil,
    I will rise above the argumentative moments,
    we will clear the stage of such scenes,

    perhaps, maybe,
    there won’t be much left to view,
    it may have been all just a breathy dream,
    let the angst dissipate from the theatre still,
    allow the audience to softly clear the room.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Rob Laughter on Unsplash

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