Poem: Apparition in the Night – 04/10/19

 The apparition comes in the dead of night
One unblinking unnerving pupil
A ghastly flowing body
 
He enters my dreams soundlessly
Through the cavities of my broken mind he travels quite efficiently.
Never ceasing to amaze,
This apparition knows how to communicate entirely wordlessly.
 
How he emphasises his point
Drives into the ground his defiance
That his phantasmagoric appearance is required
For with the night he has made an alliance.
 
Tucked away within my mind is he
The corners and avenues where he travels does he
Knowing solely what he is looking for
That one key for opening that mighty blocking locked door.
 
Then my secrets will spill forth,
All, the lot of them
To be viewed,
To be sifted through by him.
 
He will never find that key
Never, not even in my weakened state of sleep
My dreams now provide a barrier
Impenetrable they are,
No gaps, the lock is heavy, wrought, and my intention for it complete.
 
Phantom, you may now take leave of this scene,
Your presence is unrequired here,
Your expulsion is as exactly as it seems.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poetry and Prose: A Lilt in My Rhyme, Thank You Very Much – 03/10/19

“A lilt in my rhyme, thank you very much,” I order, not ask.

“You’ve got it, lady,” the bartender says, and turns his back to me. He commences his current task.

Lady? Lady? I think to myself. I’ve never been called that in my life, at least not that I can recall. Sure, baby, honey, and so forth, but never a full-blown lady.

The bottles and glasses clink and the blender whirls, the cocktail shaker with its ice cubes makes a nice heavy thud all of their own, and I, smiling to myself rest my chin in my hand, looking as pleasant as could be for my first date with What’s-His-Name. These dates are always the same; same formula, same format, just different person, different name. I’d rather a lilt in my rhyme than an extended purr to my name, and by goodness was I going to achieve this wish, one and the same.

He shows in the doorway. My heart beats frantically. This one looks like a catch. My date approaches me with a great air of confidence.

“What are you drinking, my lady?” There’s that word again.

“A lilt in my rhyme, why do you ask?” I reply with a cheeky grin.

“I do like them feisty,” he says, a twinkle present in his eye. And how do you think the night will unwind?

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poetry and Prose: Lost – 01/10/19

She became lost in her daydreams, her thoughts while awakened, the sparkling moments during which her life was reassured and free. When a contemplative little smile was upon her lips, the dreary world outside could not come within. She was protected by her angels and passed love ones, they formed a circle, a colony around the areas where she was most weakened. Here within, they protected her crushed heart and soul, broken from her wanting dreams.

Her angels knew how to make her smile, they whispered words of teardrops from Heaven, laden with sweetness and reassurance that she would make it through the morning. How her heavy heart ached, but they massaged the thump-a-dumping organ into something more palatable, more wholesome, less heavy and cumbersome. Something that could be socially acceptable for the beings upon an often-judgemental Earth. But as she was had been enough; she was perfection for her place in Heaven.  

How there were many answers for her prying queries and questions, the posing thoughts that needed to be addressed by her pained mind each day, every second. Why was she this way, why was she perpetually made the victim, and why was she permitted to live through each distressing scene? It wasn’t difficult to view the situation; she was beautiful, inside and out, her very presence caused others a great commotion. But why didn’t they see her for herself, a unique being, different from everyone else, who required times of contemplation — she did not always need the hoorah happening.

She remained still, eyelids slightly flickering, like the wings of a tentative butterfly intent on tenaciously hovering just above that height of five point five feet, high enough to feel spectacular, yet dangerous enough to know no higher. She laid back in her mind, allowing her feelings to wash, to overcome, and realise that in essence, it does not matter who is judging, because who she is now is a great success because of her shortcomings and life errors she’d triumphed over, willingly overcome.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: The Creepy Crawly Paint Job – 29/09/19

 He creeps on prong-like legs,
looking for something upon which he can work his paint laden head
Because this contraption cross creepy crawly is here to transform
private rooms in dire straits
one feature wall at a time.
 
He wholly enjoys
no, correction,
he experiences much mirth,
from dipping and rolling upon the ugly outdated shades and hues
of olden times that were deemed as more than beautiful enough.
 
He feels and knows he is doing the world -
or at least the owners of the rooms a great service -
by creepy-crawly-rolling along their walls that were doing their owners an utter disservice.
 
He knows how to carefully navigate his pointy feet away from the fresh paint
on one occasion he’d stepped in the fresh trail
and after being screamed at?
Never again!
 
From then on, his feet were placed delicately outside of the paint trail,
he understood that to be useful he had to correct errors immediately
without any time for a thought to be preserved about it still;
it had to be automatic,
no mistakes, no fails.
 
His method of painting also had to be methodical
not of madness or franticness
painting feature walls might be boring but boy
wasn’t the enjoyment of viewing the pleased owner’s pleased eyes ultimately worth it?
 
This is what he lives for
to change the world of others
arduously labouring rolling here and there
day in and day out
without any care for himself:
personal time he has done without.
 
He wishes for others’ happiness
he knows that to attain this that his glorious paint jobs are the solutions,
and one-by-one he transforms the world of a couple, single, or family at a time,
While their smiles are collective,
Appreciative as one.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: Snorbert’s Deathly Device – 28/09/19

 Snorbert the Coiled Doggie possessed some terrible untoward thoughts
he was obsessed with making smoke tricks with his vape
he believed the special smoke gave him increased volume of thoughts
and physical energy to make him trimmer and taut.
 
While he was tripping on his words and slurring on his S’s and stumbling on his vowels
his mind felt restless, more aware, yet not at ease at all.

He imagined darkened thoughts of capturing ganders of geese
and frightening them into being tangled in masses of tall angry trees
and then
bucking with broncos and lassoing them with the most delectable of ease.
 
His favourite method of his state of being was of course, coiled, or rather
known as psychedelic.
He could be entertained for hours it seemed
when his lungs were pacified, but secretly drowning
their futures breaths to be shallow and frantic.
 
But there were moments when
the clouded sky of raw brutal thoughts was shifted aside,
away,
to reveal a clearer mindset and a satisfied ride,
where he could mentally feel the ease of calm trickling rain.
 
Where for a moment there was no idle feeling of him drowning with meandering sensation
a repulsing sense of mentally altered satisfaction
Snorbert now had a clearer agenda and it no longer involved becoming elevated
because of the vapour.

Realising in this moment it was responsible for his strange thoughts and lack of ardour
he tossed the device into a lake
watched it sink,
deeper, under, deeper still:
 
Soon enough it would never again be seen.  
 
There was no time in his world for potential future mental illness
and lung disease, or even death.
He was a smarter doggie now,
he had awakened, he now knew the facts.
 
That tempting temptress of a device could cause him the loss of his life
or at least the comfort of deep fresh breaths
his God-given ability to inhale and exhale freely.
 
There is a lesson to be learned
but he shall not righteously parade his tale before you all
Snorbert simply sits calm, still, clear-minded,
as I finish recalling his story to inform, not to enthral.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: The Smile – 25/09/19

 The Smile causes such greatness of cheer
wherever he happens to travel or whatever he happens to go near.
 
His charismatic image bears much bubbling mirth and joy
dispels any negativity or unwarranted misery
which others may know of
but for some reason cannot erase away -
helplessly they’d cry, "Why?"
 
One look upon his smiling face
his full beaming grin
would cause a person deep shivers of delight
a warmth of emotion growing from within.
 
For, The Smile was created and born with an intent
to make pain and sadness wiped away
away it would be sent
 
An encounter with The Smile could only result in a
permanent lift in mood
in one’s saddened state of affairs which would only leave
that individual’s mood rectified
it would be as though they were dancing pleased upon the moon.
 
The knowledge that such a being as The Smile exists
to cheer up our world often fraught with misery
makes me feel truly thankful and utterly blessed
that The Smile is here to rectify our occasional negative moods and process.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: The Clever Cornish Chicken – 21/09/19

 “Quit jivin’ turkey!” she said to me. 
I most assuredly was not joking in any manner, way, shape or form,
Because I had a certain need.
 
A gamey desire for bird’s meat,
I had quietly asked permission for a slice of thigh or another cut of leg,
But this little clever Cornish chicken knew how to mess with my stomach and head.
 
“Quit. Jivin’!” she repeated, glaring and skipping away as she said this to me.
I tried to give chase, but she was too nimble,
Far too quick for the likes of me.
 
“Oh, but how I only need one slice, one little piece!” I emphasised.
“This you will not miss! As a clever Cornish chicken you will regenerate,
The piece will be replaced and this process won’t be amiss.”
 
She angrily ruffled her feathers,
Shook her humanoid head,
And then some screeching from the depths of her,
I could not fathom how she simply would not share.
 
Because as a humanoid Cornish chicken,
Her flesh would return quickly,
This we should all be aware.
 
She was selfish,
Or, was I asking too much,
No. Not at all,
I grabbed at her thigh and felt her beating heart,
She scrambled desperately, for me to be overthrown.
 
But I realised I was not like other humans,
I would not, could not unfairly take,
I had to wait until she offered a slice,
Being courteous was awfully nice.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: The Creature in the Red Sneakers – 18/09/19

Aghast was he, an appalled creature was he,

because presently he could see,

he’d been fitted with horrid red sneakers during his waking dreams.

It seemed as though he’d barely zoned out of reality, temporarily,

and now here he was encumbered by tight cumbersome footwear upon his fine delicate feet.

Greatly unamused was he!

He tried to rid himself of them, kicking his tootsies this way, that,

But the laces were too tightened, and his hands were malformed,

What could this creature do to escape this undesired scene he abhorred?

How he wailed and how he shrieked, for attention to be brought his way,

It seemed like he needed one of those nasty self-serving humans, to help him with obtaining freedom and

Be on his way.

One happened upon him, saw his piteous state and hung about to diagnose his pain source,

“Silly human, cannot you understand my shrieks, my words?” he said in creature-language, a babbling talk.

Attempting to again kick his shoes off, it was seemingly hopeless,

A lost cause.

His rapid screeching frightened the human, she hastened away from him,

He ran after her, squealing for assistance, then,

Tripped on his laces, fell flat on his face.

To his joy and astonishment, one of the formerly secure ties was now loose,

Enough to be able to undo and slip off the cumbersome ugly red shoe;

he was now partially footloose.

He rose from the dirt, half flat-footed and sprinted to trip over the other,

He succeeded in his mission, now,

he was able to slip out of the unwanted other.

He hadn’t needed any assistance after all, he was resourceful enough to have escaped,

The only thing that meddling, unhelpful human had performed was

Walking away from him, without any provided assistance,

without a single word emitted.

That was why he kept mostly away from humans, they didn’t know how to assist correctly or well,

Because for this complex creature,

he didn’t appreciate his feet being dressed by some well-meaning human, while this creature was under a daydreaming spell.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem: The Comical Tragedy of the Dismayed Clown – 17/09/29

To some it might be ironic, to others who are cold-hearted and cruel,

The comical tragedy of the dismayed clown, will, once told, play on your mind for many moons.

He wanted to be a clown soldier, to fight for the continued freedom and rights of his fellow hilarious women and men,

Yet,

When it came to enlisting at the docks on those given days,

His entry was

strangely

unpermitted.

His grandfather had left behind a courageous legacy, dying many years before at the hands of the serious cut-throat businessmen of Shanty Shore,

It was his grandpapa that this clown wished to fight the bravest for, and his family he wished to show his allegiance for.

Yet,

One look at him, and the government officials

rudely slammed

their

doors.

Now red faced and highly embarrassed, the now-comical clown burned from within, such mortification and dismay,

He couldn’t face the other clowns, now successfully enlisted,

He wouldn’t dare

show them

his

face.

Once home, he bypassed his mother, flung himself face-first onto his bed,

Wept for hours,

At the dismay of his confused mother,

She hadn’t known what he had set out to achieve that day.

Yet,

After the violent battalions,

Where bloodied clowns and bloodied men were found lying, injured or deathly ill on the fields,

A formerly dismayed clown was living,

Positively thriving,

He was thankful for his near miss, his rejection from the troops.

And didn’t he learn that whatever had turned the officials off had likely saved his life,

The irony of the situation would remain with him

Until

his

dying day.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Story: The Hot Air Balloon – 16/09/19

See this giant hot air balloon? my darling asked of me. It’s all yours for the morning, he smiled.

Me? What about us? I queried. He wanted me to enjoy myself wholly and without distraction.

But darling, you are not by any means a distraction, why, you are my star attraction.

He blushed deep crimson now, rarely was he used to receiving compliments, mainly playful little cute insults which he knew were full of love and meant nothing of which others would use them as.

Run along now, he urged me, run along and have some fun, enjoy yourself. I’d never been in a hot air balloon before. I had always come up with some excuse: too expensive, I would have to awaken too early, it would be too cold, what if the weather turned dreary? And other some such, or whatnot, excuses which masked the true reason: a fear of flying.

I’ll be right here, he reassured me, pointing to the grassy knoll by the evergreen trees. I’ll be reading and researching, it’s important I do so, but I’ll be watching out for you.” He reached forth, pulled me into his grasp, placed his lips full upon mine, passionately. Surprised at his action, I withdrew slightly, then warmed to his embrace. I melted into him because it was rare we expressed ourselves physically.

Thank you, my love, for thinking of me, I said and reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp.

The hot air balloon operator was incredibly kind. He could see I was tremble profusely, that my hands could barely hold onto the edge of the basket which held us as we ascended into the perfectly blue sky, tinged with coloured clouds that twinkled with differing shades in our eyes.

It’s okay, he said reassuringly. First trip in the air? he inquired with a warm smile.

First trip in the air in anything, I replied, I’ve not even been in a plane. What got me the most was the noise as we rose, I was frightened but I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Balloon accidents were very rare, and this operator seemed to know his methods and flying to a tee. I glanced down at my love, he was reading on his phone, making notes in a pad to his right, his mind set upon certain equations and problematic formulas all of his own. I called to him, waving and attempting a false smile. He looked up, delighted that I was enjoying myself and fervently waved back.

Then, something seemed wrong, there was more strength from the flames which allowed us to rise, we were on an errant path, rocking from side to side. With horror I looked up and realised that the lower flames from the burner had extended far past where they were meant to be and were situated up near the exit hole of the balloon, exposing the likely flammable material to excessive heat, now what could I do? I was too high in the air to jump, but above it showed that we were going to fall anyway, what could I do but scream for my love, to tell him how I felt once more, before I might become gone, gone, gone, away my life would go, crushed or flown away.

I shrieked for him to hear above the burners that scolded the air for listening on its firm intent on destruction, I stared at his bowed head and willed him to raise it, to captured my attentions, but I could smell the acrid scent now, a certain plastic-like melting odour in the air, then a rapid whoosh, and away we dropped, into a group of sharp, gnarled bushes.

I heard him scream my name in the background of the silence which was the result of our inevitable, heard him breaking through the bracken of the bushes, clawing to see if I was alive, for himself. The operator and I were shocked beyond belief, he now was shaking, his hands trembling, telling me over and over,

This has never happened before, this has never happened under my attentions, it has never happened before.

My love finally reached us, I was not damaged, but I was frightened beyond repair.

Oh, my sweet, how did this happen on my watch, my choice, I’m so glad you are here, alive, I will never leave you again, remain by my side. I am so sorry, for this stupid, idiotic choice, in leaving you in there without me. I am glad this operator was there to guide the balloon down somewhat safely.

After helping out myself and the man from the wreckage, my love and I walked away from the scene which never would cease to amaze me. So thankful I am that he was there keeping watch, but never again shall I ride into the air, no matter within what contraption, not even under another expert’s watch.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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