If I could bottle this
screw the lid tight,
I would, perhaps.
If I could completely
switch it off
think of it never.
I would, perhaps.
If I could suppress nature,
my very muse,
I would, perhaps.
Or perhaps not.
I like the feel of you
beneath my skin,
simmering,
occasionally rising to the surface.
Karen Hayward ©2016
Pure beauty
delicate petals
that she’ll
shed, releasing
onto an unknown
breeze, without
direction,
without purpose.
Karen Hayward ©2016
Some days I suppress the darkest of sins,
knuckles cracking I hold my tainted breath
and count to ten and ten again as I am consumed
with hatred. For I hate the way you breathe.
All in and out in that constant rhythm.
Karen Hayward ©2016
She sleeps peace etched across her face
eyes flitter beneath eye lids.
I twiddle my thumbs at this new found freedom.
Stop. I wanna get off.
I’m done on this ride,
the world is spinning
i’m spewing my guts.
I’ve paid my penance,
stop the fucking ride.
Stop.
I’m tired of this game
i’m drowning
can’t you see?
The undercurrent has my legs
and the white surf
is filling my lungs, bright
rays are blinding me and
the rain is slamming
me further under the water.
Stop.
I wanna get off.
Karen Hayward ©2016
There is no other moment in the day when I am as free. No moment when the silence is interrupted only by the mating call of an unseen bird. No other moment when the silence is my comfort. When the dark skies are my home. No other moment for the moon to whisper to me as she falls from the sky. This small open window to the universe is my hope when all hope has left me. Those seconds in time when I and the universe are at one.
Karen Hayward 2016.
Once upon a dark dark day,
a devils angel fell to play.
Her tattered wings no longer white,
torn to shreds no good for flight.
A crumpled mess of broken love,
she wonders now if that’s enough.
Falling tears on the earthly plane,
wondering how humans don’t become insane.
As all the sins of long ago
softly start to flow and grow
lust consumes her telling soul
as Satan cums to take her whole.
Karen Hayward ©2016.
This is a rant not a poem, sorry ’bout that!
The first rant, walking back from line dancing/gossip time with the gals I was stopped by an elderly man, he asked me if I knew where he could sell some tape cassettes. I gently told him it was unlikely he would find anywhere to buy them and he explained to me that he had found a Dab radio in a charity shop, but was short a couple of quid so he had offered them the tapes as part exchange, but they refused. Two pound short. He started crying and said he just wants to be able to listen to music, his home is ever so quiet and he misses sound. Two pound fucking short, they’re meant to be a charity shop, they’re meant to be about helping people. I gave the man my head phones and popped a song on YouTube for him before giving him the two pound. Bless his cottons he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But really two fucking pound, surely they could have knocked two pound off the over charged second hand radio! When we did stop doing stuff to help people so as to line our pockets with money instead?
Second rant. Spread across my Facebook page today are home made video’s of a man standing on a first floor ledge above some shops here in my hometown, on the pavement below are emergency services. Watching are a group of so called adults, filming and slinging abuse. I’ve just read 52 responses to the video and all but one are offensive. The dumbest one I read was ‘He’s asking for a cheeseburger. That’s not mental illness, he’s just a cunt.’ Cos, yeah they use the cheese burger question when they are evaluating at the doctors, ‘hey, how are you today, let me ask you a question, are you partial to a cheese burger? You are, great news it’s not mental illness, that’s another bed I’ve saved at Peterbruff. The most illogical one I have read is, ‘they (the ambulances) could be off saving someone.’…hmmmm, the man is stood on a ledge, what he isn’t worthy of being saved?
I feel nothing but shame when I see people respond this way to another human. To think I am actually sharing the same air as these people, worse these people are breeding, these people actually have the fucking vote. When I think that women had to fight so fucking hard to able to vote and these men actually have it by default. These are the very same people that are screaming from their arm chairs not to let the refuge’s into our country, because obviously every single one that the UK allows in are actually going to be coming right here to my little town. Their argument? Look after your own…isn’t that man on the ledge one of our own by their very own definition? Humanity is shot to pieces we’ve lost our ability to be empathic towards other humans. These people don’t need to be standing and staring they are there out of their own desire to see someone worse off than them, they are feeding on the circumstances of this man. The worse thing is they don’t know why he is up there, they’re just passing judgement, anything to make themselves feel better. Clearly they have very blessed lives and are enjoying flaunting this. These people are human trolls and that guy on the ledge can’t just ignore them and they’ll go away. At what point will people stop and see that learnt negative behaviour will be our downfall. I wonder how many of those adults will go home and spend the evening talking about the attention seeking cunt that was wasting the emergency services time, and how many children, innocent, pure and loving minds will hear this, and the dreadful lessons they will be learning.
I feel nothing but shame. This is the world I am offering my daughter, my nieces and nephews, children of friends I know and ones I haven’t met yet. We’re leaving them a world that lacks humanity. How the fuck will they survive.
Karen Hayward ©2016
Skies of deep and settled blue and the warmth of a flaming sun upon my skin has flown me to far away lands where I have sat and pondered all that life can be and decided that I am so entirely in love with me.
I love my feet, my toes all long and slender.
I love my legs, my knobbly knees, my bum. I love my bum on the days when it reminds me I am my mother’s child, I love it more on the days when it exists.
I love my arms, pale, slender and peppered with freckles. I love my shoulders that tan slightly as summer ends.
I love my stomach, scars and all.
I love that at 5ft 8 I’m not short and I’m not tall.
I love my eyes that cannot lie,
And the way I blush when I go shy.
I love my mind, I love my heart,
I love the light I love the dark. So summer skies of deep, deep blue,
I love myself as I love you.
Karen Hayward ©2016.
Spare me the history making class.
This is history in the palms of my hand.
Writing itself in the blood of my sins,
smeared across the empty page.
There’s no reason for the rose hue tint,
let’s not glorify the facts.
Let us speak with a double edged sharpness,
free ourselves from the grappling hands of a fucked up society.
Stop listening to the screams of the fallen.
Let them become the echoed stepping stone of reality.
Their sweat dirtied with the mud of indecision and regret.
Guilt etched into every breath they take.
The stench rising from their mangled bodies.
Breathe in death,
let the those floaters become you,
swimming in your lungs as your heart pumps.
Death, life, death, life.
The constant beating of fear.
Close your eyes feel that darkness.
Know in your soul that Satan too is an angel of God,
carrying out the work of him almighty.
So I sin in the name of the Devil
as he drags me down into the depths of hell
glaring deep into my soul,
he searches but cannot find,
for I am broken, but I am found.
The only blood upon my skin is self made luminous sin,
tainted in the beholders eye .
Let’s not dirty with the sweat and tears of a foxes tongue
the beauty of our blood tinged forgotten fun.
Karen Hayward ©2016
blossomsworld 