Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: writing

  • Poem: Hoarder – 08/10/20

    Poem: Hoarder – 08/10/20

    He hoards not objects,
    not physical implements
    but emotions,
    he caresses them,
    they express their feelings
    heard and meant.

    He greedily
    takes these from others,
    swipe, snatch, grab,
    one hand carries the contents of
    another’s heavy heart,
    another carries pain and loathing
    in the other hand
    which seems it shan’t ever depart.

    Into a precious round
    glass bowl he places
    extracted stolen feelings
    watching them swirl;
    it gives him a mildly pleased feeling

    as though he’s appeased
    his internal sufferings
    by borrowing –
    that’s what he calls it –
    emotions which he will supervise
    until the morning.

    Because he only needs
    access to these
    for a night and a day,
    it is his means of survival,
    his nutritional content,
    shall we say?

    He feeds off other’s expressions
    because truly, he cannot
    forgive nor accept his own transgressions.

    He needs to heal himself
    with the emotions of others
    as though patchwork sewn,
    slapped on,
    to disguise the
    holes within his cloudy aura.

    He is tainted by prior actions,
    and he repairs himself
    temporarily with that
    which is stolen,
    it’s enough to please him
    until the coming of morning.

    And then he will
    hunt and hoard again,
    applying that to whichever part of himself
    is sadly and ostensibly broken.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Joseph Frank on Unsplash

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  • Poem: New Beginnings – 05/10/20

    Poem: New Beginnings – 05/10/20

    With new beginnings comes new struggles,
    everything seems somewhat unfamiliar and
    disconcerting because you’re away from normal calm,
    and closer to the potential for failure and sorrows.

    You don’t know how to proceed,
    how to process,
    who to turn to,
    it used to be the norm,
    now the situation is alien to you,
    and here you are,
    all you wanted was to do was learn.

    It’s been so many years,
    you don’t know how to navigate,
    but it is new,
    it is different,
    please be kind to yourself,

    you can take the time to retrain,
    to understand the system,
    it shouldn’t be so difficult,
    in the end
    others have performed these tasks
    themselves with their own forms of wisdom,
    and so can you, too.

    What is life without struggles,
    what is personal growth without
    a degree of discomfort,
    the initial stretch of yourself
    to be become a better person
    often begins with some form
    of duress.

    And what say you to running away
    from it all,
    hiding your head in the sand
    or under a rock,
    no, that is for people who give up
    on challenges,
    and you’re not one of these
    people,
    that trait is nowhere to be seen
    within you.

    So, strengthen yourself,
    understand that you must troupe on,
    begin the fight,
    begin the process of relearning and
    carrying on
    because you’ve committed to it,
    and this is the right thing to do,

    be proud of where you are now,
    at the beginning,
    where it will all restart,
    the journey,
    the journey,
    another one is commencing at last.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Lantern – 04/10/20

    Poem: Lantern – 04/10/20

    I try to light the way for myself,
    only me at the present,
    for myself I can only take responsibility,
    but maybe in the future
    I’ll brighten the paths of others,
    allowing them to feel illumination from
    my positive attitude and candour.

    I smile and I dance into my path
    of least resistance,
    of least duress,
    the lantern which dangles from my wrist
    is warming,
    and comforting,
    no less.

    It shines so brightly it sears my eyes,
    I have to be careful not to glance at it for too long,
    it provides me ample light to distinguish the darkness
    from the path ahead,
    and promising me relief at last.

    There is pride in following a path of truth,
    there is great merit in exploring one’s past
    as well as their humble heart and mind,
    within their corporal home,
    swimming spirituality imbues,

    and there is magic in progressing forward
    and in the knowing,
    that I will continue to create,
    to make,
    to attain,
    to not have to again hide myself from the world,
    having to refrain.

    Refraining from shining is old news,
    now is the time to explore the inner strength,
    fortitude,
    strident being that I am.

    I tried to light the way for myself,
    but now I feel strong enough to take on the
    responsibility of assisting and guiding others,
    perhaps I can be their mentor,
    perhaps they can in turn mentor me,
    and in a circle of knowledge we will dance
    and feel joyous,
    so happy,
    inextricably.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Sylwia Bartyzel on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Rolling Waves and Green Pastures – 02/10/20

    Poem: Rolling Waves and Green Pastures – 02/10/20

    Rolling waves in my mind pass by,
    sumptuous, decadent,
    tidal, in their own time,
    I smile to myself as I feel the ebb and the flow
    of my thoughts travel singularly
    then as one,
    a conglomeration of multitudes,
    my will,
    coming along so beautifully,
    they could temporarily stun.

    This is my time,
    my springtime of my middle youth,
    where I have now grown and prematurely gone to pasture
    and I am taking in all I can,
    this is truth.

    I am relaxing in my moments,
    I am sinking in the hay,
    I am enjoying the fresh wind,
    the air,
    the breeze,
    it softens me,
    I smile to myself,
    and I wish that I could stay.

    I am at one with this world,
    I am becoming the strength I’ve long searched for,
    what I’ve needed,
    what I’ve come to depend upon others for,
    but now I am powerful,
    and I can ride those waves as though upon a creature
    battling the crests,
    with magical chimes and
    announcements sounding all around
    that I have arrived.

    I am profound,
    or at least, I believe I am,
    I hear these sounds,
    I take in the smiles,
    the welcoming body language and calls
    of my family,
    from the land, the water,
    the pastures,
    oh, such wanted sounds.

    I am accepted,
    but more importantly,
    I am accepting myself finally,
    I am here,
    in mind, body and spirit,
    finally,
    as one, not separate entities,

    and off the cuff,
    I compose gentle words in my mind
    as I watch the waves
    rise and fall,

    my heart,
    my mind,
    my presence,
    I will accept myself,
    flaws and all.

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

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  • Poem: Coming Home – 01/10/20

    Poem: Coming Home – 01/10/20

    Coming home,
    returning to that comfort,
    grasping onto something that will make
    her feel some level of homeliness.

    Away for a time,
    in a foreign place,
    alone, mostly,
    far from loved ones.

    Recovering, recovering,
    she’s been so strong thus far,
    we’re so proud of her,
    I wish she’d know this.

    Coming home, shall she return to our arms,
    our welcoming this day?
    An outpouring of comfort,
    of care, concern,
    our desire to attend to all her needs,
    come what may.

    She has provided for us all,
    she has lived her life in willing servitude
    to ensure we have been given the
    best possible upbringing,
    and now is time to return the loving kindness,
    we are always here for you, Mother,
    please know this.

    Beckon and call as much as you please,
    we will be here to listen, give,
    whatever you need,
    if you request hours of rest,
    we’ll allow you that, too,
    even if we want to be close to you.

    To hear your wise words,
    your perspective on the world,
    your advice,
    your experiences,
    your frustrations, fears,
    pains,
    future dreams,

    I am all ears,
    I am here, willing to be,
    here for you,
    listening,
    in whole, not part,
    in all,
    everything.

    Let us roll away the painful headaches,
    the sorrows,
    the calamities within our minds,
    let us deal with the blow upon blow
    because progress is on the horizon,
    future brightness is what we like.

    Allow us to understand that we are on
    this journey together,
    that we will make it through with each other,
    there’s not much to understand further,
    we will fight this battle together.

    Thank you for everything,
    I hope strong Father returns home today
    accompanied by my brave, courageous mother.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Irina Iriser on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Suggestions – 30/09/20

    Poem: Suggestions – 30/09/20

    I can attempt to suggest,
    not forcefully,
    but subtly,
    allowing another to view
    from a different perspective.

    To take into account
    other angles of a problem
    and what can be
    done to cure what is
    ailing them.

    If not, altered alleviation
    can be key
    to disallowing inner frustrations,
    potential travesty,
    but only if the other
    is open –
    I only wish to promote
    self-healing.

    Unlocking those doors,
    breaking down those walls,
    allowing assistance in,
    I’m more than willing to listen,
    but hark,
    let me explain another position,
    there’s more than one way
    to describe Life’s unwanted conditions.

    I can extend my care,
    I wish to be supportive
    and understand
    the stressors,
    have them heard,
    felt, shared,

    but in the end
    I hope we can find
    a positive direction,
    not end up with us
    travelling in an argumentative direction.

    It’s important,
    I hope it’s known,
    that I do want,
    wish to be here
    and attend,

    but together let’s
    work at solving
    the problem
    with positivity,
    we can make a change of that
    poorly dealt hand.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Everton Vila on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Doubt – 29/09/20

    Poem: Doubt – 29/09/20

    Doubt niggles at me,
    pokes and gently prods as though irritating me to
    look at it.
    To understand my imperfections,
    my soul’s tiredness at having to point out
    these flaws,
    why do I feel unworthy for the Universe?

    But it’s nothing to do with that,
    it has everything to do with my perception,
    the way I look up to appreciate the heavens,
    within my heart I can grasp its acceptance,
    so why can’t I apply the same small principles to myself?

    Doubt is an insipid disease which weaves its way
    not only through your bloodstream
    but inside your marrow.
    It can become a part of you.
    It can become lively within you,
    thriving on the seeds of self-doubt you’ve
    cast within you.

    Seeds down, spread for the next harvest,
    they promise wealth, abundance, safety, security,
    but what does my crop promise me when fruitful?
    The doubt, the doubt, the doubt,
    it encompasses me whole.

    I must learn to be more accepting of myself,
    turning what I view as negatives into positivity,
    healing,
    protagonist of my life am I,
    I need not remain at home lamenting,
    ultimate melancholy
    simply because every time I realise what
    my earthly home, my corporeal form has become,
    all I feel is quiet shame
    and then I need to be alone.

    I have allowed my growth to rise forth
    and to affect me
    in a negative manner,
    but isn’t the doubt what’s calling me to
    behave so unappreciative?
    I don’t mean it to be this way,
    won’t it rain, it rain, it rain?
    Under the cleansing clouds,
    I will exist,
    to feel their wondrous power.

    Physicality, it’s merely our lent forms
    which we occupy each day,
    best take advantage my time here of Earth
    because those passed seconds and minutes
    will never return again,
    they will never have the chance to be recovered.

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

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  • Poem: Neither High Nor Low – 27/09/20

    Poem: Neither High Nor Low – 27/09/20

    Plateaued.
    Neither high nor low this time.
    Simply existing as I lie here,
    my mind blank,
    strangely it is not a feeling that perturbs
    or is out of place.

    It’s just that the noise has stopped,
    the odd chatter that weaved in and out,
    through my mind as though as a slithering snake
    has calmed itself
    and I am here,
    at one,
    with the quietness,
    the peace,
    the solitude.

    Even intruding noise pales in comparison
    to the stillness,
    I seem so far away from it,
    it’s as though there’s no link from my auditory
    path to it.

    Like I have wiped away that connection,
    I am dumbfounded in mind and soul,
    and it’s not something that needs deflecting from,
    for I am welcoming these sensations
    which lack in their own.

    Neither high nor low is my mood.
    I am not raging, I am not frustrated,
    I am not elated.
    No, no.

    I am presently a blank canvas,
    waiting for an artist like myself
    to splatter me with my own colours,
    my own schema,
    my own shades from my palette,
    and why, there are many,
    wouldn’t you know it?

    Though, there’s no need for any bright tones,
    there is beauty in the unfinished,
    the white rectangle I am present as
    is surprisingly perfect,
    a wanted moment,
    a feast for the eyes,
    for if I imagine my own scene,
    my own painting,
    I can alter myself,
    in a way of doing so,
    everything,
    I appreciate the freedom
    of the mental creation I can see and breathe.

    Neither high nor low
    is how I am,
    not rushing toward the finishing line,
    neither despairing because
    I have not reached it in time.

    I will create if I feel like it,
    but for now,
    a sudden newfound static in my head is
    utterly welcoming.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash

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  • Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Prose: Chirping Crickets – 26/09/20

    Male crickets chirp, signalling their romantic calamity. They know what they are seeking, whom they are aiming to have come into their world. But crickets; crickets, crickets, don’t we downplay their communication, assigning a meaning of humorous silence following a moment intended to be poignant, profound, or carry some other feeling?

    I used to love crickets as a child. I would hunt them for hours on end, following the sounds until hopefully, in the brush, I would pounce with jar in hand and happen upon one, to keep all of my own. I fancied having a cricket as a pet would be a grand affair. Sadly, I only ever succeeded at once catching one. They were often far too perceptive at hearing my lumbering human body’s approach and would suddenly hush with their song, thereby quashing my ability to reign victorious as a Cricket-Owning Queen.

    It makes me wonder, who else decides to silence themselves in order to avoid any unwanted behaviour or conflict? Who backs down, seemingly cowardly initially, but inherently wise in the end? For the world, with its youth and ignorance, with its body of fiery enemies and desires and wants and needs, can be dangerous for any little crickets to exist in, this is truth from my mouth which begs to be heard, all well as vowels formed to be seen.

    I used to want to capture bees as well. They were so beautiful and busy and perfect, that I wanted my own, even if for an hour, then I would return it to the safety of its pollen-filled world. Capturing a busy, occupied bee proved far easier than locating and capturing a garden cricket. Still, sadness then washed over me as I realised what I was doing, what had I done? I had captured something so wonderful which was meant to remain free in its own way. With a smile and a few comforting words, I gently released my unintentional prey, my beautiful companion if only for a few minutes of that day.

    And I hear them calling me again, I hear the buzzing of their fervent collections, I hear the shrill calling of the dances I took with crickets who surely smiled in wonder at my persistence, and I smile to myself at my childhood curiosity, and at knowing that nothing that calm, serene Nature created should be altered, should be changed, should be taken away from the comfort of their own damn home – how would I like it if I were plucked from the comforts of my very own abode?

    But crickets chirping in my memory tell me there’s no finer point to be made, nor a softer point to be emphasised, just to live life in harmony with the world, and we will get along perfectly fine.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Krzysztof Niewolny on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Better – 25/09/20

    Poem: Better – 25/09/20

    The rain pitter-patters against the window
    reminding me of the melancholy I used to feel,
    but now I am developing myself,
    I am fusing myself together,
    redetermining self-worth.

    I need not chase the opinions high nor low
    of yonder words to come,
    need not seek the approval of critical strangers,
    or unkind people who I’m not close with,
    why, shouldn’t they matter little to none?

    I seek your approval, because I care for your thoughts,
    I seek the justice of your moments with me
    because I am true with you,
    together we become,
    but I shan’t allow my life to hinge
    on your thoughts of me anymore,
    because I am stronger,
    I believe in myself,
    more and more and more.

    It’s taken a while to reach this stage,
    I’m merely dipping my big toe in the water,
    who knows what there is to come,
    who knows what’s happily living under,
    what I will experience,
    who will I meet,
    on my journey,
    this life path indeed.

    I sit on the riverbank and wonder,
    why was I so needy,
    why was I so temperamental,
    why was I so melancholy,
    why was I so angry?

    Needing others’ affirmation, day in and day out,
    it was sickening,
    I look back on those years,
    no wonder I was not blooming.

    But now, my heart is open,
    at least its slowly opening up the shutters,
    letting in the smell of that beautiful rain
    pelting down,
    and I know,
    I know,
    that things will be better from now on,
    trust me,
    I tell myself.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

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