Month: October 2016

disconsolateness.

A plethora, the souls laceration from reality

the seppuku of broken spirits, how it pains

me, your wails auscultate the planchement.

Silence. Coruscation, red, blue, red, blue.

Darkness.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Publication.

 

This online publication is a new venture created within a google+ poetry community ( find it here….it is so very worth checking out, they are an amazing group of people, and the poetry shared is divine) that I am a part of. They very kindly asked if they could use one of my poems in their first edition, which of course I said yes, is such an amazing honor….Take a moment to look through this amazing creation, and find my poem on page 33 🙂

Oh glorious mist, take me home, take me home.

seamist

Oh glorious mist, like rich silken threads

pouring delicately through the streets

of a lost concrete horizon. Take me, weave

for me a cloak of such splendor my naked

form will sing to the heavens of divine pleasure.

Oh dear, glorious mist, your ocean scent

speaks of ancient home, my soul yearns

for your touch. Kiss me, with a thousand

tongues, atom for atom, seep within me

and search for the essence of my core.

Ensnare me, oh dear glorious mist, ensnare

me within your silken fingers. Tantalise my

porcelain skin, graze the sensitive skin upon

my neck, your gentle smoke wrapping around

my beating heart, beating for you,

for you,

for you.

Sea mist, my truest love, let me nestle deep

within the droplets of home, so I may hide

from the darkness that is life. Swathe me

in all that is sensual, let passion rise and

entwine, take me home,

dear glorious mist,

take me home.

Karen  Hayward ©2016

Image found on google search.

 

Let me be the many colours of the spectrum shimmering beneath celestial illuminations as the darkness begs at my bare feet for forgiveness. 

KH@©2016

Davy Jones locker.

blossomsworld

image

Each grain of sand a broken heart saved by Davy Jones to insulate his locker. The melancholic melody protected in the Seas of the fallen. Soldiers of the depths collecting pain as I collect the tiny shards of green glass beaten and worn down by pain until it is spat back ashore, smooth and frosted. I ponder as I search the tiny piece of glass, how much heart ache did it take before it reemerged as this tiny slice of beautiful perfection.

Karen Hayward ©2016

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