Would you fry the eggs?
Would you kiss me soft,
and hard when required?
Would you feed me books,
would you allow me
stupidity, verbally,
… let’s call it daftness,
so I can learn?
Would you pull a blanket
over my shoulders as
I sleep?
Would you make my
favourite dinner when
I am sad, when I am happy,
when I am grateful, when
I am needful?
Would you leave me
be to watch old movies,
The Wizard of Oz
and contemporary
remakes,
would you let me talk?
Would you let me keep
my socks on?
No? Would you promise
to keep me warm?
Would you be the man?
The protector? For I am
tired of that role,
Would you let me be the
lady, meek and mild,
soft and gentle,
Would you let me be
the nurturer?
Would you stand at
my side when I am
the lion, fierce and
protective, would you
stay at my side
proudly then?
Would you let me
love you?
In all my abandoned
states of intensity,
passion and raw
quirkiness…
Would you let me love you?

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Horizons calling…

And all of my
yesterday’s made
my today,
horizon smeared
in the devils mist,
and still the sun
burns through
and verge edges
are promised,
and falling
is a must
I’m sure now
Oblivion can’t
be that deep
and rocks are
never as sharp
as we expect
and beyond that
veil, I can
finally derobe
this battered
armour
and let the sun
warm my skin…

Karen Hayward © 2018
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Restless toes.

I am restless, the sea calls out to me
like a mother calling
her child and
I am burdened to answer my souls call.

I am restless craving the gentle ebb
of a silent tide creeping across sand
lulling toxic thoughts, offering lifes answers.

I am restless, my toes search for soft grains
my fingers yearn for his cold icy touch
my eyes need it’s endless horizon of hope.

I am restless, the sea calls out to me
on salty fog and the gulls crying song
and I am burdened to answer it’s call.

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image and words

The gentle essence of sleep leaves me now
I stretch away the cold snake of winter
that crept beneath the blankets open mouth
and curled around my slumberous splinter.

I listen for a short second to birds,
they sing of merriment and joyous days
a perfect orchestra requiring no words
existing through the melody of play.

I watch a lone drop of water diving
happy, into a pool of ecstasy
sporadic tip taps and gleeful sightings
I pause and drink in this reality

Rising with cold still upon my tired skin
I pull on a soft, worn, cashmere jumper
embracing now soft pinks and floral prints
I am the hushed tones of succubus amber

I try to recall the day I became this new essence of femininity
and decide it was always there in haze,
Hiding behind my broken fantasies.

I sit by the open window and see,
sleep has left me free from worries, concerns
and in the silence the serenity nurtures me
And I am at peace listening to the birds

Karen Hayward ©2019

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Pick up the pen
and write the poem,
It’s not rocket science,
It doesn’t have to be a meticulous scribe
Inscripted with archaic
lexicon, the imagery
doesn’t have to paint
a perfect theme,
the rhyme can be
awkward, screwed and
off whack. It doesn’t
have to be unique
or the same. It can
be raw and tough
and bleed from the page
It doesn’t have to
articulate your every
thought that speed
races through your
mind. It doesn’t
have to be as good
as his or her’s
and it doesn’t have
to be liked…
write the
God damn poem,
it isn’t
rocket science.

Karen Hayward ©2019

It’s not that I think our souls will transverse
the very beats of times tick tocking clock
Or the stark darkness of our universe,
I don’t think love can make time pause or stop
It’s not the bond that binds, with unseen thread,
Or the way each one leads and each is led.
It’s not a phantom, ancient belief
synchronicity so tidy and neat
It’s not even a hopeful, dreamed thought
that in his delicate net, I’ll be caught…

It’s as physical as can be
this deep,
vivid, mind expanding, crazy need
to curl my naked form within his space
safe within our handmade nest of white lace
It’s the delicate essence of true trust
embracing love, friendship and delicious lust
Perhaps it’s the way he lets me fly free
unclipped wings, voice dancing across lush trees
returning to the nest at each ones call
I think perhaps that’s the cause of loves fall
when Alice slipped down that loving hole
and now became my only life goal.

Karen Hayward ©2019

Image and words

Snow saunters gently…

Dawn has woken to a wedge of white snow,
Blanketing proudly before my waking eyes
The morning glimmer of crushed diamonds glow,
and birds huddle quietly in empty skies.
Silence rings out in bells of emptiness,
among the stilled monochrome dawning day
the fallen flakes of colds existence
have owned the dark of night through thoughtless play.
In this moment, only I and he exists.
Helios still lays deep within slumber
The skies are heavy, awkward, threatening,
and there, the knitted weave of white, Jack’s number
lays tauntingly snug across window screens
It snowed, wee blankets of love on sleeping cars
so few flakes, laying restless in the dark…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image and words