Iridescent hues…

are not so unlike
the iridescent hues
of colour that freckle
out across the canvas.
Perception being
both ally and enemy
as their colours change
like the chameleon,
a different light,
a different face
A single mask
painted in
iridescent tones
of life.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words


Old man up my road
owns a white
Siberian husky.
He pounds along
the path chasing
cats, pulling old man
here, there
His bark is fierce
splits atoms
demands attention.

Old man up the road
pauses at our gate,
for Husky blue eyes
searches for his
Princess blue eyes and
he finds her.

Husky stands tall
with his front paws
perched atop the
Black iron gate.
Head bowed.
He does not bark,
jump, skip or
dance with
He patiently waits.

Small girl squeals
with delight
‘our friend, mummy’
she looks to me
for permission.

Permission granted.

Small girl walks steadily
to the gate leaving
behind her fears
and anxiety.
Husky holds his position.
Pausing a foot away
she reaches out small
tender fingers…

Husky smells, a small
dance in his back paws
as her fingers delve
deep into his fur
they rub heads for
a split second
then husky is calm
blue eyes searching
blue eyes, she smiles.

Old man tells me
he ain’t never seen husky
like this with no one…
She must be special he says.

Old man knows.
Husky knows.
I know.

One day she too will know.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found on pinterest

We grew up on the sharp edge of poverty
rebal with a cause of our own
repelling authority, society, reality
followed a path of wildness sown.
They said, we had perfect hips
Was good for nothing but having kids
One dad, two, three, maybe four
Poverty cycle, repeating the poor.
We succeeded at failing, came top of our class,
Sipped on cidar from our childhood flasks.
No need to worry, no need to fret,
At sixteen we become part of Britain’s great debt.
Teachers never bothered, the head didn’t care,
No one even noticed when we stopped going there.
We wore indifference across our lips
prostitute red, layer on layer, glossy and slick.
And when time suddenly came, exams taken,
Sixteen went past, future forsaken
Some of us fell, hips wide and bearing,
New life created in a career of caring.
Some of us paused in a psychodelic dream
Locked between worlds with adulthood to fear.

Me? I had failure at hand, expectations to break,
So I picked up the books and read by the lake.
They said I couldn’t, I was all hips and blue eyes, that’s all,
I accepted their words, I’d most probably fall.
I didn’t aim for the top, just a life with a view,
A place where I’d happily dream skies of blue.
They said “You’ll work in a shop, and not a thing more”
And soon I was a manager, they were right for sure…
But I kept going forward had stereotypes to destroy,
Whispered through days kept my dreams coy.
I climbed and rose, walked on painted tippy toes,
No place for the poor done good, I wrote my own life show.

There’s a glass roof for women unbreakable you see,
An etched line for the men, a reality,
not a battle of wits, wisdom or intelligence,
No, its a line that demands female defiance…

But poverty has no glass, just hips
and glossy red lips,
No succeeding, just expectations of failing,
You either fail at school and fight for a life,
Or fail at babies and become no-ones wife.
My roots are seeped in the stench of poverty,
Skyscrapers, someone else’s reality,
They set a standard, the poor girls target,
dreams are only for the rich they say
use the gifts God gave you that day…

They said I was good for nothing
all blue eyes and hips for kids to bring…

My Dad said, girl, do you see that star?
No I said, we ain’t taught to look that far…
He said, keep walking till you have that in sight,
That my girl, is your glass ceiling, that, is your light…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found on pinterest

Golden flames adorn my skies

I am lost in days silent retreat,
as Helios stands guard of vast
raging skies as evening draws,
and he bids goodbye.
My soul transcends in the way
his Amber kisses traverse
the colossal void of existence,
crimson echoes of light skipping
over atoms, submerging Gaia
in vivid hues of love,
the serenity of eve’s glow,
each pocket of colour
a prayer
whispered into closed palms,
screamed to the heavens,
spoken into the tangled
strands of a love one’s hair
as Helios bids us goodnight
till morn and Selene
stirs stifling a yawn and
we sit momentarily still
paused by the beauty
of our creator, be him a he,
a her, a deity, a God or god
a messiah or Angel…
In that moment between
dusk and twilight
we find them in our prayers
In return,
they give to us a sun and moon
a reason to pause us there.

Karen Hayward©2018

Whimsical promises…


I sit beneath the cherry blossom, sun soft against my skin the breeze dancing through my hair and the blue sky above watching me. Eye’s closed I listen to the earth, her song as she skips past dancing through atoms. Around me forms a serene calm, a melody of candy floss pink and budding greens.

I am reminded through the implosion of fragrant rose petal that I am alive, reminded through the explosion of Purple lavender buds that I breathe, reminded through the soft silk cherry blossom that I am one with the universe.

Around the me the world is consumed by distractions, the cars busying to their next destination, the man walking beside his Dog, one day dreams of a game of catch, the other thinks only of home. The rustling bags filled with treats and tinkling of coins as bells ring in triumph of debts collected. Even the clouds rush by, no where to go and no reason to stay.

I close my eyes, lose myself in the echoes of childhood dreams, fairy tales and fantasies still to be discovered…

Karen Hayward © 2018

Image and words

A Glimpse at the Ride.


Some people come into our lives forever,
Some just so we may catch aglimpse of our soul.
They put us on the right path,
They’re a beacon of light on the darkest nights.
They show us the dreams that we do not see.

They say we walk the earth with the very same souls.
Each life, Each time, repeating a pattern,
repeating a crime. With each familiar echo
our soul connects. Sometimes with laughter,
sometimes with kindness, sometimes with love and
sometimes the knowledge of having it tough.

And in among the de ja vu
you discover the missing piece of you.
The mirror reflection; bits gone,
without detection. An image of your dreams
your heart, your soul. Everything new but everything,
you already knew.

The twin flame doesn’t bring Love, lust,
or salvation. A twin flame whispers in your ear,
that they are always near. No matter how far,
even the furthest star. They show you your path.
They are love that is unseen, they are the reason you dream.
They are not the missing piece, of your soul, they
are you. And they always knew, as did you.

They are the fire in your flame, listen
as they whisper your name.
They are the light that leads you into the night.
They are not the love that fills your thoughts,
they are the breath that gets caught.
Throughout our days, they say,
that our souls will meet, and filled with
heat, we will know.

Some will grow old, along by our side,
Some come along, for a glimpse at the ride,
some of them unknown,
away they do hide.
All of them
here for a moment
at our sides.

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.

Image and words