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…

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Graphite 

She was graphite, rough and raw.
She’d erase rough lines of guidance,
use the indents as a reminder of where not to walk,
how not to cry,
when not to break.
She’ll sit up into the wee twilight
Hours curving letters across
nipples pert bud,
gently caressing sensuality,
as the sharpened pencil defines
contours of need,
black lines of repression smeared by charcoal nips and probing tips.
Blurred definitions
tainted revelations
deceitful realisations
Graphite creations… how she pondered
now the way we draw our lines
in pencil, temporary markings
leaving a gentle trail
of destruction across
naked bodies beneath Lunar glows
Wild oats, taken, made and sown
Pick ups and throws…
The allure of graphite, need
erased, redrawn… Redrawn.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

Sinful fun promised on twilights wish… 

Encompassing need 

spilling from pores 

of desolate darkness 

pinning me down. 

Crimson silk, 

leather strapping 

bare skin tease 

from me my deepest sin. 

Fingers commanding 

pleasures, 

lips tasting the abandoned 

hush of serenity tainted 

metallic across tongues.

The twilight promises

Of sinful fun…
Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

Flames, burning, need, desire. 

Not

angel… 

No not me

Fallen perhaps

wings battered, torn, now

black, tarnished wisps past scars.  

A succubus, fires calling me

Come closer let me taste your soul.

Devoured essence, swallowing seed

Fingers calling pleasure satisfyed need.

Flames igniting desire burns spirit

Ashes of lust, kiss me, taste me

Command me among seen eyes

Look deeper, depraved sense

Boundaries, without walls

Lustrous energy

Succubus, 

Angel

Both. 
Karen Hayward ©2017 

A pause in the eternal beating of time.

Photo

If I wielded sand grains,
in a broken hour glass,
tore kinetic energy
from the fabric of time,
Ripped a hole in the linear vortex,
for a moment I’d make you mine.

Beneath star filled skies and a distant moon,
damp air clinging to my skin,
owls hooting a chorus of ancient wisdom,
the silent echo of twilight.
A lover’s blanket of need
wrapped about my body’s bloom.

Each breath filling my lungs
with your essence
I’d drink in the dark pools of your eyes,
trace the heart of your lips with my mouth
searching for your taste
beneath celestial skies.

Our horizon lost in endless fog
muted reality,
my body falling into yours,
the melding of our existence,
the paused shadow hovering
above life’s forgotten arrow,
sundial engulfed in past darkness
illuminated by lunar crystalline
beads of ever beating life.

I would hold those grains of
sand in my hands,
count the blessings of their moments,
ensnare them,
bind them to my fantasy,
mold them to my reality,
forget them in the black
hole of desire.

Our lips devouring the soul,
our tongues tracing a faded
constellation of our love
searching for home and finding
each other,
between the paused beats of
times ticking
hands traversing the infinite
skies of dreams.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words

Whispering wisps.

IMG_20170727_193140The trees murmured of our love
long before the leaves whispered
our ancient names. On births
creation a constellation of
speckled veins traversing,
passing, rushing, yearning…
passion stirring, paths crashing.
Entwining energies, stoic
thread of silver calm, stitched
perhaps by Zeno in days before.
Are we the calm or the storm?

Karen Hayward ©2017