I’ve decided to try something different with this post. I’d love if you could join me! When you first see this drawing of mine, what springs to mind?
Could you write a few words, sentences or a little paragraph of your own story to fit this hungry, hungry birdie?
I thought it might be fun to interact this way rather than me posting my thoughts relentlessly. I hope you can share with me the results of your creative minds! 🙂
Flowery, happy moments,
where our moods and our words
would bounce and leap around,
our eyes playfully locking with the other’s,
as we smiled and pranced,
our voices singing in unison,
such a joyous sound.
I remembered how happy we were,
where we would spend all
our spare time together;
you’d visit me in the various locations
in which I’d lived,
and my goodness, the fun and mischief
we’d always seem to find.
The days and nights which were
happily managed,
when the sun arose
it was too soon for the dawn.
We would explore the world in its
exciting realm of darkness,
the music thumping loudly in our ears,
and our eyes dancing this way and that
searching for other people
to approach and learn more of.
I’d always be too shy to get onto
the floor for a dance,
but you loved to move so fluidly,
your limbs shifting so freely.
But, we grew apart,
for each of us there were differing trends,
different paths we chose:
some to be proud of,
others not so much,
but in the end,
there were decisions and results
of great commendation.
Because we both succeeded
in our own ways,
and while we do not speak,
and perhaps we will never
see one another again,
at least I can hold the memories in my heart,
strong, proud and true,
that I had someone,
a former great friend in my life who had
stuck around longer than
most of the people
who were in my world had proven to.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known
as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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It seems we are all striving to be seen creatively
for our mastery at whatever our
hands, mouths, eyes can fashion, shape, produce.
To be acknowledged for our skillsets at these,
our desire to exercise the right to be
creative and wonderfully delve.
The foundations have already been laid,
there is no resistance anymore,
our work and statures are well respected,
everything is here available to us,
our talents can truthfully soar.
Edit not your words which have presently flowed,
tidy not that corner of your painting whose
colours appeared to have self-imploded,
rephrase not that section of vocals which
ascended and trembled so delicately that
your heart felt it too had risen.
Creatively speaking we are in a new age,
these are times where our artistry is embraced,
accepted,
looked upon with praise and as distinguished,
not shunned or having our practices
abhorred or dismissed.
Instead others look upon the creators with
wonder at our skills,
amazing imaginations,
imperfect yet perfect construction of our talents,
the ability to reproduce while avoiding direct replication —
this is an age that we cannot dismiss.
For, our artistry and ingenuity are those that make our work
wondrous, amazing creations to be venerated and
allow others to be
visually impressed or otherwise
placated and pleased.
We can impress with our skills with the greatest of
excellence and ease.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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Sometime he’s like a child,
he can sit there with device in hand,
smile across his face,
technology doing anything but going to waste.
I casually read to him my words,
of the former verse he approves,
not that I was hoping to continue,
but with this sporadic melody,
I will proceed, openly and vocally,
I will allow the awaiting audience an open view.
He sits now in contemplative silence,
touching the screen here and there,
searching for something to amuse him,
or educate him,
without a concern, without a sense of care.
Because he is like a thoughtful, learning child,
growing with his device he becomes brighter and wiser,
using today’s opportunities to progress, not falter,
and here is the sense of knowledge shown:
it will be used, inserted, among his
thoughtful, intellectual banter.
But, like a child,
sometimes his words will be cast aside,
by adults who feel they know more than him;
there is such a great divide.
Their understanding does not encompass
their understanding of him,
and where he lies in reference to his former knowledge
and where the new technology and understandings are taking him.
Perhaps someday soon he’ll release something of great use,
something accessible and necessary for a large majority
of the world to view,
an invention,
a contraption,
with his initials emblazoned on the back:-
congratulatory words all around,
these will be all the world will have to say at that.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Time’s ticking, my friend,
where are you required most?
Time’s ticking; let’s go,
down the rabbit hole,
and around the bend.
Into the dark deep labyrinth
where we will fall among objects that have
quite spontaneously reappeared,
in the darkness we will swim
as we twist and turn around
again and again.
Where will this cavity take us?
Will it lead us into truth
and wisdom:
a land of beautiful views?
Or a world of impunctuality,
anger and hierarchy,
where we are beneath every
visible and given sets of feet?
Precious two by twos.
Will we find a world of characters?
Amusing, learned, wise and tough?
Humorous and of Imagination’s making?
Or will we simply fall helplessly into a pile
of awaiting dust?
With this wise rabbit who always seems to be
quite behind
the time,
a pacifist but proactive also,
if we follow him we’ll end up at the right place,
at the right time,
in the correct frame of mind.
Because his watch is incorrectly set
and he has performed this deliberately
to make his appearance correct and just so,
into the rabbit hole we will fall and fall
and forever in imagination we will delve.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
With lungs as free as the movement of transformed butterfly wings, allow yourselves to soar. Having emerged from the cocoon, as beautiful as the opening scene of a night’s full moon, sing to the world, despite what you might feel, you are worthy of being heard. And if no one appears to be listening, ears and eyes scorning the truths you have to tell, continue your melodies, and your truthful lullabies, with lungs so clear and free; you have ideas and beliefs to uphold. Never stop creating, even if you know the presence of some are temporarily unseen.
You are doing this for you; your expression, your world, your passion, tell yourself: “This is for me,” – even though it’d be nice if some of the world could also experience it and see. But how wonderful it would be for them to join you on a journey as you explore the interior and exterior of your world. Together you and they could sing together, your melodies meshing with all manners of ease.
Their attentions are most appreciated, for really, in the end, all most of the world wishes to be is heard. And in true song, evocative thoughts and feelings can shared with each other. There’s no need to become saddened or undone.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Hope is the feeling of a singing soul, the uprising of a perfectly white dove against the pristine blue sky, tickling its feathers in the tapestry of life. It is when our emotions run free, accepting of openness, love, and crystalline positivity. The promise of something only pure and of sincere goodness, that an individual cannot pull their eyes away from: the vision causes their heart to fill only with gladness and goodness. It is the sound of trickling water splashing quietly from a pond’s waterfall, the gentle and quiet understanding that of one’s future, you will be promised a special kind of scope, a reasoning in the mind and a strength within your soul, because the knowledge that arises is filled with hope for not you alone, but really for us all.
Reach within and draw forth the seeds and encumbering ropes of a fortune told with supreme justice and knowledge that you will succeed, that lives will always hold some form of glistening and gleams; a perfection that the dove flying overhead can provide for us, yourself, myself, whomever, those who we can encounter in the land of Inbetween. Because isn’t that the point of it all? — to be hopeful even when events present as darkened, depressing, dismal, hopeless even? Allow your light to shine from the dark, and illuminate all that you are. Hope is but a state of mind, a sense of emotion away, embrace the understanding that what is felt will ultimately compel goodness and sincere positivity to flow your way.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
He peacocks here, he peacocks there, he struts and struts as people stare.
His showiness is all-too-easily-seen, and it reflects where he is going and where he has been.
This bright bird with eyes that stare into your soul, they delve inside without concern for you nor care as they take hold.
They intensify, enveloping you,
Making certain to assess and formulate a plan or two for you.
There is nothing these eyes do not see,
For they view me, they wholly see me.
For, this bird is rather sneaky, he wishes to play a game that is not so pretty,
A game in which he can manipulate you,
Into believing there is more than the two of him and you.
For, his eyes, those eyes, upon his feathers they deceive,
Wonder not whether they are in reality or falsified as can possibly be seen,
Because as he resumes strutting and mesmerising all that can see him,
I wonder to myself where this illusory bird has come from,
And when from my life he will leave.
I do not need the deception in my life,
Of a strutting male as I try to once again make sense of the inner chasms and strife,
As I will know from the past, there’s no reason to feel as though I’m an outcast,
Simply because I am different from this showy, eccentric male.
One day I’ll shine my feathers, the true colours showing through the brown.
It’s not easy sometimes, being overshadowed by another leading the crowd.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
I’m like a brightly blazing deciduous tree except I will not weep for you. Because while my colours alternate from light greens to crisp fawns and crunchy dryness as the seasons go from bright to dark, days longer to short, at this moment I’m far less tolerant, adaptive I am not.
Release not the inner emotions, the angst which we both feel. The grinding of stone upon pavement, the scratchy itching frustration I feel. The knowledge that I am absorbing a melody that I do not wish to be performed through me, and the strangeness and wearing down of my barely-present tolerance is surprisingly unyielding. I feel rather affected, and most certainly quite ill at ease.
I’d much rather be alone in these moments, and cast off my unwanted and unfeeling leaves in silence. They are not necessary. And neither is this irritation which is featuring heavily in this ongoing dramatic story.
There’s a brief pause now, an interlude, to allow anger and the stifling feeling of unrest to build into an explosive level of intent and mistrust. Because, neither of us seems to want to admit wrongdoing, or take responsibility, or be willing to say we’re sorry. We’d rather war with our displeased silences than allow ourselves to become defeated and at a loss.
But instead we’ll confide in one another, especially with you sharing how you truly feel. Your frustrations, your sufferings, your immense irritation; your desire for me to wholeheartedly acknowledge your communications about how you feel. It is not all about me, it is due to the surrounding world which surrounds your considered yet busy, ever-changing bubble; you voice, you vent, you scream, then you’re seemingly spent. We now link hands, and forehead to pressed forehead we gaze into one another, our eyes calming the other, the viewing of our aching souls entwined together.
You wrap your arms around your now-caring and almost-barren tree, as the last leaves from my limbs fall with gentle ease. Winter is upon us, allow each to warm the other with a manner of understanding and openness to be felt and seen. For, our hearts are fiery in the heat in which they deliver and the clipped words and admonishments are lost in the airy but biting winter’s breath — this argument seems like the end of an unwanted era. Allow us to communicate more effectively, to prove true calming consideration at its best.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Good afternoon, all! I’m pleased to be able to present to you Our Whimsical World: Illustrated Stories, my debut collection of illustrated short stories. I had so much fun illustrating and writing these! Each story has a lesson or moral to be learned, with the collection being divided into three separate sections according to younger, slightly older, and older readers.
Our Whimsical World: Illustrated Stories is available as a paperback from Gumroad, and as an e-book, and audiobook, from various retailers listed below.
I sincerely hope you enjoy the whimsical journey.
Lauren xo
Gumroad and various Amazon sites
Amazon Kindle | Apple Books | Barnes & Noble Nook | Kobo | Scribd | !ngido | Angus & Robertson | Mondadori
[ https://books2read.com/oww ]
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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