Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: writing

  • poem: daggers – 25/02/22

    poem: daggers – 25/02/22

    daggers in her eyes
    she is potent with her stare
    take a needle and thread and prick that evil eye
    with precise care
    the deepest blue you did ever see
    boring into her into me
    flight takin now
    irreverently
    disrespectful they’ve brought her, me,
    down to our knees

    bruises form
    it’s a part of our love
    delicate delicate pink gangly bird
    won’t you realise
    they don’t want you to go
    because it’s better off remaining
    in the syncing of our clarified minds
    the twins the twins
    what’s left of them
    decimated before they were even alive

    but this is the way it should be
    this is the way the
    countering of my feels
    I don’t have the right to procreate
    said she
    I don’t have the right to bring another
    into the world
    not with our lingering malignancy
    mental health disease

    I live in this haze of what’s right and
    what is wrong
    loaded bullet, baby,
    do not ever face that gun
    neither shine it on a spotlight
    you are not a martyr from kingdom come
    stop crying, what’s in your mouth,
    disgusting,
    let us come undone.
    (25/02/22).
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: lovers – 22/02/22

    poem: lovers – 22/02/22


    pathways and journeyman 
    women and lovers come along, stay by their sides
    they are stoic, they are calmers, 
    they wear quiet forms of armour, 
    protected by the ones they love, 
    their swords, their shields are made more potent, 
    because fighting evil and chasms and voids can be dark work
    all done in a night and days,
    without a form of talk. 

    Focus not upon the irreverent, 
    the naysayers, the belligerents, 
    and instead become entranced with beauty, 
    melody and love, 
    there is power within, if you see the beauty of a dove
    released from closed hands, with the most delicate of ease, 
    lovingly, lovingly, lives attended, 
    we, the couple will dream, 
    and now with our army of light and love, 
    we will make new pathways, 
    shining a light upon the cause. 

    there is nothing, Nothing, that can’t be stated for the truth, 
    I am there for this moment, I am here for the proof, 
    and I will become enchanted with the whistles, 
    the chirps among the trees. 
    O’ hark, a galah, oh hark, a kookaburra, 
    and hark, a morning magpie, and her lover, 
    and baby together. 

    The bent head of a dying rose that’s really just sleeping, 
    prune her not, 
    her scent so forbidden, only those worthy will sense her
    but never she censor her true remaining thoughts. 
    She has already done so by ivy wrapped around her base, 
    the shrapnel hidden tightly around her waist, 
    the armour tickling her jaw-defined face. 
    And a prince will lean in and breathe in the scent of her, 
    never forgotten, never to forget, that moment when these two
    had met. 

    © Copyright 2022. Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.  
    Image from Pixabay
  • Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Poem: dreamy – 07/02/14

    Work on myself

    I’ll show you how I work

    When I clean sweep wash the karma from me until its distilled and green

    I’ll talk it walks!

    Watch me as I work to cement myself as mint grey

    And the colours of the rainbow

    Visitation? Come what may.

    I’ll show you how I work,

    When my soul is spotless clean

    Everything in taciturn and emblematic as I’m seen

    Watch the bridges burning red as I terrorise the torrents

    vaporise the nonsense

    That’s ingrained within my addled mind

    Watch me as I work it work it

    Move it drop it fix it stick it

    Moving around as though I’m in it

    Watch me bloom from within my turret

    The pink and black and stars of the sky with bending upon knees to see me as I cry

    The wanton need to always be seen has crystallised

    I’m perfectly clean, can’t you see?

    And you, and you?

    How about me?

    I will sleep soundly as I dream.

    The first dream of this century

    Where I didn’t want or need for anything other than being

    Happy.

    Now is this ending so ultimately dreary?

    Anything but, I believe it’s rather dreamy.

    (C) copyright 2022 Lauren m. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • How to right the path of inhabitable processes?

    How to right the path of inhabitable processes

    Undo the damage during manic and psychotic catharsis

    Lay a shoulder on the gloom of my dear shoulder

    Which shoulders the weight of sharp words paranoia then inevitable inertia

    I can’t undo undo

    But I can address the well meant template

    Explain I am never usually, well, in this way

    I floss I floss in the river of gloom

    Now hiding in moments

    Adverbs of deep hushed blue

    Most mightn’t understand

    But I shouldn’t need to detail further processes

    Tektites and andromorohirs,

    good omens never ceased, no apparition.

    No apparitions indeed. Yet growing weary we remain steadfast

    This birthday suit we carry

    And in that moment my brain mind shifts

    Alchemy the lure permit the transformation to occur.

    (C) 2022 Lauren M Hancock. All rights reserved.

    .

  • poem: the matter be – 02/02/22

    poem: the matter be – 02/02/22


    astounding though the matter be,
    at least I can still think, breathe, sigh and see
    not many people can say this
    and not many can attend
    to this tiresome irksome being stuck inside
    my head

    she is me a part of me
    the opportunistic thoughts of me
    when I’m scrambling for power then I need to
    convalesce
    become redundant there
    that side of the world, I I lost my drive

    but in terms of general threaded consciousness

    I know I am able I know I am true
    I can pick the stitches as well as sew them
    even out the ripped turret
    surrounded by green eggs and Sam I Ams.

    Protection here from the finest I will survive this
    arduous path
    these words I struggle for sleep
    enough is enough
    life can be tiresome
    but for all the healing happiness in the world
    it’s worth it.
    (02/02/20)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image from Pixabay

  • poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    poem: pebble – 30/01/22

    Holiday

    This stone
    this innocuous pebble breaks me breaks you, breaks us, apart
    tearing rolling down the barrel of a shotgun heart
    I may not know true heartache now but in the past that thing broke me
    pieces of an imperfect mosaic flew
    these shards of myself not smokable but certainly shattered and vein-like-blue

    fatigue of life overtakes
    all the same shade of off-white
    low stimuli but intensity building, built
    like a road of rubber tyres on fire
    a gigantic witch’s pyre
    though 21st century

    how I wish the mania hadn’t left me
    and this constant need to sleep
    because of the medication and gorged carbs

    plus lowest stimulation among irritating boy-like antagonism
    so that we become nothing much more than slugs of tired redemption
    or those on a happy carefree holiday
    I came in far worse than I currently have become now – a moth pathetically flapping now – luxurious slug style seemingly assumed now somehow.
    (30/01/22)
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.  
    Pixabay image credit 
    This post first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • poem: twine – 28/01/22

    poem: twine – 28/01/22

    I send love and joy to the earthly forms
    soaring beings and ‘neath brewing storms,
    sending love to many many,
    and the sisters of three,
    who love to tug and twist and cut twine ‘neath the sea

    where I lived for many many years under the rotundas of mental health
    amongst dry retching desires and lengthy spells
    searching for love and so much more
    wrong place wrong time,
    I decide to soar.
    © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.

  • The rise : today – 12/01/22

    my heart, oh my heart,

    it fills my mouth spills onto my chest

    a plethora of liquid love well blessed

    because I expelled those demons

    those pains those sufferings

    those feeling of inadequacy

    of needing to be noticed

    and appreciated by

    the lot of them

    I don’t need to be understood any longer

    I don’t need to be wise enough to be taken with

    another’s flow

    I can co-exist and breathe for god knows how long, alone,

    and one day perhaps true love I’ll know

    but I don’t yearn for it call for it

    beg for it every second every hour

    back then

    time was cheap

    worth but a dime

    and sailing through those wretched hours I did not

    enjoy myself,

    oh how I pined,

    my rejected being often soured.

    but now, now dear one listen to my strong deep

    pulsating sentiment

    grasp my pounding heart in your palms

    feel the heavenly treasure within

    I can see you catch your breath

    at acknowledging now

    not visually me but how strong I can permanently internally

    be

    I am useful I am present

    I am here and now

    reality is spilling forth

    I feel the correct rightful temperament.

    love will come in many forms

    it always has, always will,

    and I, here I take that swill

    a fill of luscious liquid

    here’s the drill

    I am satiating myself not with food

    but with cool calming water of wise knowledge and

    wonderment

    life is perfection

    but with another?

    perhaps there’s the time I will know soon enough,

    vibrancy with theirs, is what may be experienced,

    a piece of heaven truly sent..

    (04/12/21)

    Copyright © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: friends forever? – 08/01/21

    Poem: friends forever? – 08/01/21

    Crazed night full of backstabs and bites
    and false sugar sweetness relax into this dream
    there is understanding there are laughs there is fight
    there is wit pomp and circumstance to cease this inner fight

    she shrieks about the hell beneath her world in which she lives
    she attempts to share her knowledge and more but
    the bunny rabbit only questions and sings

    annoying character is she but shields the devils face
    with deep, deep chagrin upon him

    Wonder not the times of treason of incorrect submission “
    or that Libra you are for searching
    you will find her deep within me.
    For I am your saviour within this life, within our dream.
    Friends together, if you’ll let it be
    so mote it be so mote it be.

    Copyright © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Fluidity is Mine – Published at Spillwords

    Fluidity is Mine – Published at Spillwords

    I am most honoured and delighted to share that I have been published at Spillwords as a featured poet. My sincerest gratitude to Dagmara K. and rest of the other editing department of Spillwords for this wonderful acceptance of my poem ‘Fluidity is Mine’.

    Please visit to read Spillwords here to read my poem. I hope you enjoy!

    Thank you kindly for reading.