The lions whisper.

Dear Teacher,

Today I trust you with my world,

so please, take care of my little girl.

She worked so hard to make it here

to fight back the terrible fear.

It’s hard for you to understand,

if you’ll only listen, I know you can.

Anxiety is no ones friend,

but most of all it’s not pretend.

Too scared to move,

you doubt it’s true,

if only for a moment, I wish you knew.

It’s not a coat or a badge of pride,

it’s a crippling fear, deep down inside.

It wears no face, it has no laugh,

it’s not tattooed there upon a scarf.

So hold her hand, take deep breaths,

she’s using up all that’s left.

That little whisper, is a lions roar,

don’t wait until, she can take no more.

Today I trust you with my world,

so please, take care of my brave, brave girl.

Orgasmic dreams of deep green.

A crystal glint that bathes in deep, green, seas.

A daring glance that brings me to my knees.

His eyes that lock me in his stare,

trailing my body and stopping just, there.

The curve of his lip in the hint of a smile,

the promise of touch in just a short while.

To mingle, to talk, to entertain guests,

these are the travesties of passions test.

Eyes upon eyes, lips that do miss

the aching feeling of that wild kiss.

Till there at my side, our fingers do touch

A spark hits me there, a bolt that’s too much.

Unruly black curls slip over your face

as you discover my knickers are lace.

Hands exploring the curves of my hips

and fingers discover the feel of my lips

as I slowly kiss your ivory chest

and your lips explore, my ample breasts.

The need is so strong, no moment to waste

each others bodies we really must taste.

With the sun on my back and the breeze on my skin

our bodies entwined, our spirits are cumming.

Together in bed with that glint in the green

I wake from my sleep, it was but a dream.

Karen Hayward (c) 2015.

To hear the earth talk.

I dream of a deep turquoise lake. Sunlight skipping from edge to edge

leaving a trail of sparkling gold dust. I dream of soft lush grass of

deep green, each blade tickling my bare feet. Daisies growing wild

as far as the eye can see in beautiful curving waves besides dandelion

clocks that sway in the warm summer breeze. The serene melody of

the song thrush calling to her mate as the blue tit sings a chorus of love

beneath a cloudless sky of powder blue as dragon flies dance in

soundless rhythm chasing one other without care. As lady bugs pause

upon my hands and I count the black dots that contrast so beautifully

against their scarlet red skin before they flutter away. Here is where

I wish to lay, to pass away my day, eyes closed I can hear the earth

feel its mirth, hear the soft lapping water and feel the warm burning sun.

It is here that I can finally feel at one.

Idream of you, in songs of perfect words.

I dream of days that are lived and gone,

bathed in hues of hind sights song,

times in life, when choices were wrong.

I sing of memories that fill my heart,

of forgotten people that played their part,

hidden now in eternal dark.

I hum of love that once was mine,

cherished thoughts, my mind does dine,

as I was hum the tune of that perfect find.

I talk of them in words and thoughts,

of promises made and truths I sought,

treasured gifts that I have brought.

Old Mothers Clock.

Tick tock, tick tock

the constant drum of

old mothers clock,

as morning dawns

and my sleep stops.

A yawn and a stretch,

then my old tattered frock,

A hop and a jump

and one blue sock.

There’s a tap, in the dark

then a hammer and a knock,

as I creep down the stairs,

praying it will stop.

My ears are drumming,

I fear they will pop.

I wonder for a moment,

if it’s finally a cop.

Good Morning mam,

my names Rob,

I look and stare

give a little nod.

At the kitchen door,

is the blood stained mop.

Been a call,

mutters old cop, Rob.

I half expected an angry mob,

a little concerned,

about the neighbours dog.

Dog? I laugh,

that beasts a sod.

I breath and sigh,

he don’t know about the bod.

He looks, he winks, he bids farewell,

I close the door and nudge the lock.

The house is dark,  the blood still drips,

tick tock, tick tock,

as the life drips down from

old mothers clock.

Spring, with each new petal.

Warm rays that wake my soul,
As morning dawns and darkness goes,
Blue skies of endless hope,
Birds sing the perfect notes.
Flowers, tired, drained of life,
Open their eyes, drink in the light,
Petals full of vibrant energy,
Nectar, for our dear, dear honey bee.
New life for the growing buds,
Pushing through the heavy mud.
Spring thaws the freezing earth,
A new energy filled with mirth,
The sky grows light,
petals take flight,
static air forms to excite
As we sit back and take in this glorious sight.

Karen Hayward © 2015.