Month: July 2017

Ode to the plum tree I’ve stripped bare.

How to grow a plum tree from a fresh seed

Once upon an autumn day
Fell to earth a pit,
Most likely twas a sunny
Spot where children once
did sit.
Through winters love
The pit did freeze,
till out fell a tiny seed
that bloomed into
a lonesome tree
With luscious leaves
that grew so free.
And summers came and
Winters went,
through rain and hail
All weathers sent,
This little tree grew
Mighty strong
And truly it was
Not long, till sprouting
from out his branch
Was love so glorious
from his golden heart.
Emerald jewels
Of luscious green
This tree I often pondered
surely is but a dream!
I checked each day
with a lovers splendor
touched the gems
In search of tender.
Till there upon a
summer eve
Upon the floor
A gruesome thief
All battered flesh
ripped apart
I could see the
Cold stone of
My lovers heart.
I stopped and looked
And wondered should I?
Could I? How the hell
wouldn’t I! This gem
in royal plum,
rich and juicy
from the glory sun
I heard the tiny
supple split of twig,
A little turn did the trick.
A held this beauty
in my hand,
Felt the love from
Of this land,
Smelt the sweet
heaven scent,
then sunk my teeth
In the devils descent.
Tore at flesh of
darkest hue,
Addicted now I was to you.
Sweet tender juice
upon my lips
heaven sent this tender
kiss.
No leaves or jagged
branch apart
could keep me from
my one true heart.
I filled my pockets
and even my sleeves
I had to have them
all for keeps.
Till bare the tree now
does sit,
such beauty came
from that tiny pit.

Karen Hayward©2017
Image found on pinterest

Lunar crystalline beads of ever beating life.

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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
owl hoots a chorus of ancient wisdom
the silent echo
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
the muting of 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

I breathe in silent wisps.

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Would you? Momentarily
pull me in close, stem
the void of noise, imbue upon
me the soft silence of
sanctuary. Validation,
such an annoyance of
need, desired yet stubborn
denial, fierce, yet. . .
vivid rainbow of chaos
hides pale technicolor
aura. I am gentle as
much fierce, soft as
much hard, pure as much
erotic. Paused breath
I breathe in silent wisps
reading the world through
silent eyes. Would you?
Hold me as the Sun ascends,
descends, glittered trails
of desire lost in woken’s
wake, I hear now the
ebbing flow of life’s
ethereal lake, and some days,
some days I am the lioness,
the wolf, the flames of Hells
fire and the essence of
desire that burns
within me. But other days
I am merely the falling
petals of the tuberose
delicate, fragrant,
pure, essence lost without
protection from the
elements.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words.

Seemingly bottomless.

Art Work of Alice in Wonderland <3 <3

Perhaps the fall is
like Alice’s hole,
seemingly bottomless,
lined with trinklets,
jars of memories, speckled
stars of hope,
freckled fragments of
love.
And storms, of course storms.
Hazardous hailstorms of despair raining down upon
Queen of tarts,
of hearts,
of tarts and hearts
and perhaps the
odd King hiding in the
recesses of time.
Maybe, falling in love is
like the mad Hatters tea party, chipped china,
pretty pastels,
cucumber sandwiches,
forever there, forever gone,
always coming and
never wrong.
For, there is always time for tea, always a tomorrow,
another cup,
good and bad,
It’s a given,
a promise of a brighter
day, a loving embrace within
the sweet liquid nectar.
And yes, there will be
mouldy bread, curdled milk,
Flies of destruction.
There will be sugar
thieves and odd concoctions,
but there will always be
tomorrow,
another tea party.
Yes, perhaps falling
in love is just like
falling into
Alice’s world.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image found on pinterest

Trembling trepidation

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I would cuss his name
but for the quiver in my voice.
Powerless, bound,
wall holding me,
knees tremble at his touch,
his words.
I blush for my naked skin
it’s translucent hue
weak against his
strong
dark
liquid tone.
I blush at his touch,
his tongue warm, invading.
Hands strong,
demanding.
I blush.
As my body responds .
I blush.
I would cuss his name
but for the rise in need
that throttles at my
throat, but for his
primal scent
caressing my core,
I would cuss his name
If it was,
that I didn’t want more.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words

A weaved web of lust

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My need
entwined within
your vines.
Locked in a
mortal sin,
thoughts
abandoned for
last rays of desire
smacking across
my skin.
I think of
nothing else.
These are the
words pleading
for the ink of my pen,
lost and again
found in your
intent.
A weaved web of lust
I am ensnared.
Devour me.
Cast about me silk ropes.
Envisage me
powerless
yet powerful
within your grasp.
A slave to our primal pawing.
A slave to our ancient calling.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Words and image

A phantom

celstialtears

Sometimes I ponder
what you are.
A mirage perhaps,
my body starved
from thirst, a mere
hallucination
of the mind.
A phantom, maybe.
My souls need for hope
a self made vision
in a world of dark
shadows kissed
by the crescent
moon.
Or perhaps you’re a
dream, a universal
symbol coated in
star dust, your essence
a mellifluous whisper
from my slumber.
But what are you?
Reality? No.
How can reality
feel this way. My
reality. How can my
reality feel this way,
A fantasy then?
You must be.
A fantasy of love.
Of acceptance.
We were never
meant to be.
Or perhaps,
we are the definition
of serendipity.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image found on pinterest