Come find me on…

With the school holidays coming to an end I will finally (hopefully) now be able to start making teeny tiny bird size steps towards taking my writing and blog in my chosen direction. This starts by letting you guys know of the different places you can find and interact with me. So, come find me on….now, i’m told I should do this often. I should self promote and scream about the different places that you can discover and interact with me….i’m crap at this, so instead this post is created roughly every six months, so here it is, the different spaces on this amazing web of infinity to which you can find me. Wordpress is such a great place for blogging and I do love it. However it is completely pants as an interactive platform and for this reason me and my lovely writing can also be found on…google plus


I also have a facebook page just for my blog,



and you can also put up with my ramblings over on twitter.


🙂 Karen…

Controversies of a phallic belief

…and now you believe you know my story
the controversies of your phallus ideology
fearing the void of a blood soaked page,
etched markings of scars left to age,
tear-less, these eyes lay dry
haunting the clouds of a melancholy sky.
Choking life from collapsed veins,
memories of when the floods last came.
An empty vial, a constructed belief
an idiots guide to phallic relief.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and word

Missing speckles of need…

When she tells you she misses you,
she means to say she craves you,
she yearns to wrap herself in your essence
and slowly devour tender kisses
through the twilight.
She means that she desires the way
your voice curves across her skin,
and the rise and fall and rise again.
She means she wishes to kiss smiles onto your lips
and dimples into your cheeks
she means she realises her soul searches
for you, reaches out to you
when she tells you she misses you
she means to say,
“kiss me, kiss me long and deep and true
let me taste for just a moment,
the essence that is you”

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image via Pinterest

Asymmetric nylons…

I always know where to find you
tightly packed away in a dusty chest
at the far end of things that didn’t go to plan
I still recall the view late at night
and yet the room is a distant blur of nylons
crisp cider and munchies
our hunger was insatiable
nourished finally by the morning breakfast
and then, you fell beneath
the stampede of regret? Or panic perhaps?
And so the tide washed away the scent
and you shuttered down the doors,
absentmindedly hitting like from one
year to the next as you wander through
your days.

Karen Hayward ©2020 image and words


I close my eyes tight.

Abandoning my sight.

Hand pressed against my eye,

tears streaming, I try not to cry.

A small whimper escapes my lips,

As I move, and hop, and wiggle my hips.

The coldness soothes. No stinging now.

As I press the flannel against my brow.

The shampoo washes away,

Never in the eye again, I pray!

Karen Hayward ©2013 -Edited Image and words

Goodbye no Reason why.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies,
No goodbye, no reason why.

History once again,
prevails its weakened soul.
So much forgiveness,
but the end is nye.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies.
No goodbye, no reason why.

So undeserving of the truth
you offer silence instead.
When true words would
sooth a broken heart.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies.
No goodbye, no reason why.

No empty lies.
No questions of why.
Just honest truth
Is loves real proof.

Karen Hayward ©2013 – Edited 2020 Image and words

First Tutorial

A room full of people, all so unsure.

Apprehension and anxiety, burns right to the core.

Descriptions so perfect, characters surreal,

Stories in stories, some of them real.

A mans life worked with numbers, now he wants words,

Can he dig deep, and describe, the sound of the birds.

The lady who hides, from her closest her talent,

Will the world hear her words, can she be valiant?.

The man who’s seen horror, and all in-between,

Will his words describe anguish, and all that he‘s seen.

The honourable man, that for decades, did his duty,

Can he produce fiction, a thing of beauty?

In a room full of people, all of us unsure.

I hear magical words in at least ten score.

I saw souls come alive, eyes shining bright,

Creative writing is hard, but we’re ready for the fight.

To friends on my course, the people I met,

We have the Red Book, each other,

so lets not fret.

Lets all share our words, our rhymes and our plots,

From each other, we can learn what works.

And what, does not.

Karen Hayward ©2012 Edited 2020


Choices, they have to be made

the game of life, it has to be played.

Stagnated, soured water and death

avoid all choices, and its all you have left.

Heart breaking decisions beyond all reason,

a heart that never changes, unlike the seasons.

It soon turns to ice learns only to hate

until you are knocking at the devils gate.

Choices they have to be made,

the game of life, it has to be played.

So be brave, my dear life soldier,

or else your precious soul grow colder.

Fear not the repercussions, but regret,

it will follow you, never to forget.

Karen Hayward ©2012 Edited 2020 Image and words