Awakening soul.

I pause by the door so I can feel the raindrops on my skin,
damp lavender fills my senses
as I listen to nature’s perfect tune.
The air is cold and instantly I regret no jumper beneath my coat.
The rain is colder, droplets of forgotten tears from heaven trail across my skin.
And I forget.
I forget the harshness of my surroundings as I stand eyes closed beneath the skies waterfall.
I forget the darkness that swells inside of me as the tip tapping rain plays ferociously on my porcelain skin.
I remember in that moment, only that I am a soul, capable of many great things.
The raindrops cold and refreshing, tap against my inner core begging it to waken and I answer simply,
‘I am woken’.

Karen Hayward ©2016


SS850250 (2)

I’ll place you upon my page momentarily,

for the world to see us in our entirety.


I wont need beautiful words to recreate our fire,

or a vocabulary precariously  laced in desire.

There is no perfect rhyme or beat or flow

that can recreate this unceasing glow.

Imagery will only describe the contours of our love,

metaphors will compare it only, mundanely, to other stuff.

Poets of the past whisper of its nature in the blank spaces

of the pages where their own thoughts were  once traced.

I’ll place you on my page momentarily,

so we can see ourselves, entirely.


Karen Hayward ©2016




A lullaby of raindrops.

Where sleep goes sleep came
as I slumbered peacefully beneath the drumming rain.
Perhaps, the Angel of sleep took pity,
and played raindrops in a perfect melody.
Or maybe the rain tip tapping,
soothed my soul whilst I was napping.
Either way. I slept so well,
as though the rain,
had me in his spell.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Denim jeans and vintage lace.

Bottle caps and a cider chase
Denim jeans and vintage lace.
Fallen darkness the nightly chase,
as the devil tries to keep the pace.
Vodka tipples and loaded shots,
Warm evenings and summer frocks,
Chains that bind, chains that lock,
Pleading eyes a front your…
Cider chasers, bottle caps, vodka tipple and semen shot,
summer days and binds that lock,
Naked skin beneath the frock,
waiting, playing, needing your…

Karen Hayward ©2016