what I’d like,
Is to see them all.
Perhaps one day,
with sweet tea,
scones, strawberry
conserve and clotted
cream. Bare feet,
plush velvet cushions
and hours to spare…
Actually, what I’d like
is to see the way your eyes
flash with excitement
as you tell me their
stories and the way
your voice skips up
an octave as you recall
the days. And of course
we’d need to sit real
close, so I could see,
I’m thinking, my cheek
against your chest,
my hair spilling over
you and your arm
wrapped around
my shoulder…

… Clothes would
be entirely optional.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Ever a sky as blue…

Has there ever been a sky painted
so deep a blue as that day
I was sat upon the melting black tar
poking holes for the adults to despair at.
The sun, a ball of magnificent flames
branding his name into the pale skins
of the wild children out from dawn till dusk,
in the days when the street lights kept time
and text messages came in the form
of the smallest children pinging
between playspots through the
Abandoned streets of poverty.

A sky so dark it fiercely roared
so bright it encaptured imaginations
so angry it promised storms
yet no cloud in sight
just the gentle swish of a summers breeze
tickling through the cornfields
and the distant echo of solitude
as we melted into our surroundings,
languid and swollen with inactivity
as we collectively prayed for the rains,
in the form of pennies found for a new hose pipe
or paddling pool, water guns or balloons so we could hydrate our souls.

But I digress into the days canvas
was there ever a sky as blue as that day?
Empty streets scattered with the remains
of the lunchtime rush,
Abandoned, thud – less footballs
crying dolls in plastic buggies with empty bottles
and dry nappies dressed in woolen tights,
bonnets and dresses fiercely wrapped in knitted blankets
… And bikes left foolishly strewn across street corners.

A bike lays abandoned,
shroud in the rose Bush shade
where I retreat for a moments breath
I am five,
I am timid and shy
and yet to learn how to ride.
Was there ever a sky so blue
as that day
no one there to applaud or cheer
or push or balance me
no one there to celebrate my
coming of age.

… Just that roaring blue sky
So deep it embraced my
mind in tender kisses,
etching itself into the recesses
of memory, between the
spearmint mojos and daisy chains ready to be re-painted
in the drop of a moment…

Just me and the whistling heat shimmering
across my horizon dancing between
busy buzzing bees and fluttering delights
Just me and those burning handlebars
beneath soft tender fingers
just me and the scorching seat against bare legs
just me and peddles never known
Just me and that bike.

I forgot to breathe for a millisecond
of time,
as I lost myself in the bikes motion
beneath that roaring sky
So dark I wondered
who had gotten the heavens so angry
So dark I believed the end was imminent
So dark, my inner voice rose
drawn to it’s promises
of magnificent power…

… Has there ever been a sky
so blue, as that day…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

Sometimes I sing your tune…

Black and White house, number sixteen,

what were you doing deep in my dream?

What wisdom do you deliver in those deep

brown eyes,

perhaps so I might ponder the reason I try.

You see that, right?

Perhaps you were my lesson learned,

regret created and thoroughly earned.

Or perhaps…to show me the truth

that my choice was right, your smile the proof.

You are the benchmark I use to decide

what i’m willing to lose on this lovers ride.

For it’s kinda the same, except this time I fight.

Remember the song? You always saw my light

whispering still that I stand up to the night.

I guess I can see why my mind  set on you

a reminder maybe of days that were blue,

regret, karma, wrong paths walked

so many thoughts never talked.

You made me promise i’d step out from the dark

follow a new road my unknown path.

I couldn’t see it but you surely did,

years ahead you told me,

that’s where your Cleopatra

was hid.

Alas, we no longer talk,

I angered you when I finally walked,

I severed a tie that transcended the earth

tore a hole in your universe.

Oh but the lessons you taught

perhaps this is why in my dreams you were caught.

Love with pride,

never let it hide,

there is no wrong only right.

Regret. Love is always worth the fight.

Perhaps this is why in my dreams I caught sight

as I pondered life after the flight.

Karen Hayward ©2016

I read it once on the front page of a tabloid

I read once that it’s only love if you can list all the reasons why, otherwise it is simply biology, a response that with time will fade.

… and so I ponder when it was that love became a checklist of necessities and where on that list I should write that together we laugh like hyenas, contagiously giggling.

Further to this thought, when did love become a collection of data; a spreadsheet of positives, the five year plan of our futures, and is this the place where I should mention that I believe we have lived many futures, together, already?

I read once that we should consider love with our rational mind, so I consider the vagus nerve and your intrinsic understanding of her, I can comprehend the rise and even the fall, yet thought is without physical form, are we not told, that which we can not see or touch does not exist? Yet this we both know is not true, so where in my list should I write that I taste your essence at point of implosion.. Explosion?

I read once that it’s only love if you can list all the reasons why, otherwise it is simply biology…

I think Samuel Johnson Jr failed me in offering so few words…. for I could surely form a new dictionary based solely on my reasons why.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found via WordPress library

A token from the grave

A token to a killer a treasure in a chest and the policeman comes along to make his first arrest.

Grim he got there first, to take evil to his lair, and left behind Jane Doe,
for Grim couldn’t take her there.

She sat beside the body Stockholm now her name, she cried for her lost daddy, and for when the angels
never came.

Blood upon her hands and shame upon her heart a whimper from the corner and she near on fell apart.

She could not save the rest the monster took them all. A shoe for each the girls that fell, one less if
she could tell.

Throat slit open, eyes closed, blood spilled across the floor Jane Doe dropped the crimson knife and
waited by the door.

She couldn’t waste a second, could feel the mist devour the last shreds of her soul, adrenalin now her power.

She opened up the chest counted up the shoes wandered between the trees collecting bare feet from all the graves she knew.

The policeman followed on and looked deep within her eyes, he counted up the children through his broken, sobbing cries.

Jane, he said, young lady, there’s a shoe left on the wall tell me where to find this grave so her parents I can call.

Jane simply looked away, the officer
begged give us her name. Tell us where to find her grave…

But this shoe had no grave, only demons in her mind for Jane you see, she was the first, life for her perhaps was worse.

He kept her slave by day and night
watched her as she grew, beat her when she seeked the light and even made her choose.

And now her hands are stained with blood, their lives upon her chest, the horrors of her past still raw, Jane Doe will never rest.

But the officer a fierce man now talks above her pleas, Jane he says my child, your daddy was not he, this blood is not your sin, that man was not your kin. So Jane my child tell me, that treasure on the wall,
Give to me a name, so the parents I can call.

Jane looked the officer deep within his eyes, said, you see, that shoe upon the wall, that shoe belongs to me.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

Condemned by the raging vultures

I sometimes feel like a naughty child
condemned for having picked up the pieces
that you were handing me in the dead of night
as the watchful world around us slept.

Condemned for lightly erasing your memory
from the spaces between the letters
on my page where I keep you so neatly
tucked away beyond prying eyes

Condemned for rising amidst grief
when the jagged rocks beneath me
offered such alluring love as the
snakes gathered readying for my blood.

Condemned that it was me, so plain
among the sea of princesses, just me that your own, condemned because I knew them…

… and they never knew me, and how that changed the balance of envy.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

The serenity of a sensual soul

There’s a
serenity of mind
that follows
the ascent
a nodule of calm
and yet
I am consumed
by my
I am heightened
to the primal
need of your touch…

… I am awakened
searching now for
you as I descend,
searching now for
the taste of your
ascent, my soul’s
core reaching for
your intent, there
is a calm, here
between the
pulses of desire

And now I am
sparked at your
ignited, charged
beyond the
physical form,
my soul craves
your touch

I crave you
in an all
primal urge
as oxytocin
through me.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Spitting tassels of flaming fun

Damn, some days are borne
from the bottled essence
of a dying rose, wilted petals
and the blunt edge toxic thorns.

Fuck, some moments
are the captured seconds
of caring less than the
virgin slut as she repents

Shit, such joyous bells
as the victims, victim
pouts and shouts,
Idiocy they swear and yell.

Holy crap! That tickled me pink,
No white flag, no ivory twig
not a moment to think
before drinking down that bitter drink!

Damn some days are dawned
for the Dame to give rise from pawn
of silent revenue to fierce Knight
setting straight the shit you left askew in the devils bullshit night.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

The tempted tale of grid lock

The matrix island
of communication
wires, wired, wirelessly.
Welcome to
concept central, driving
the red hues of raging
rage, a slave to the angst
suffocating the exhaust
of a poisonous hum
of toxicity revving
between thoughts
of escape drifting
away on the back roads
of petrol pleated plumes
on carbonmonoxide
dreams of serenity…

…oh those dreams
that drive the mind
numbing beat of an
alternative reality,
catastrophic candy
for the herd bred
on societies
incestual insanity.

Karen Hayward ©2018