Category: beach poetry

Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. ©2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’

waltergannt

I feel a vast emptiness inside of me,

spreading through the black storm

clouds, I search for my Rainbow and

I recall you gave it away.

And I search  for my love

and I remember you gave it away.

And I wonder where is my passion

and I recall you gave up that too.

And I ponder the way we once connected,

perfectly synchronized

and I don’t even try as you gave that away…

And now I wonder what is left…

A future?

A future without love

without passion

without soul

…is a slow and torturous death.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image used with permission ©Walter E. Gantt. 2016

Please see more of his amazing photography here on g+

His wonderful photography can also be

viewed and brought here at Fine Art America.

The long forgotten Sundays.

What ever happened to my day of rest?
Sweet tea brought in bed
and marmalade toast,
on that day of which we made the most.
Whatever happened?
What happened to the sweet smell of polish and soaking wet rag,
Homework lined perfectly ready to bag?
Where did it go?
Little house on the prairie
as you gave me wisdom meant to be scary,
The Walton’s and that space show,
Sunday was the day when I had no place to go.
Bubbling pans, dripping glass
I wanted those days to forever last.
The tiny kitchen and cord brown stools,
I used to tip back acting the fool.
You told me this and that
None of it true all of it fact.
Time stood still as we chatted away,
whatever happened to my Sundays?
Dinner at 2 pm on the dot not a minute late
and never a thing on the plate for me to hate.
Chicken, pots, veg and gravy
then the afternoon for us to be lazy.
We walked by the sea with sand in our shoes
Rain, clouds or beneath a sky of blue.
I ran, I climbed, I skipped I walked
as we did, me and you talked.
What ever happened to my day of rest,
the day when we would reconnect?

4.4.12 011The day is too cold to

stand bare foot in the sand

or to let my eye’s relax

and the horizon scan.

Busy thoughts are instead

replaced with busy hands.

Cleaning it seems is as

good as any plan.

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)

 

Stray Grains of Sand.

IMG_20151106_164306

It’s only in darkness that the light skips across the sand.
It’s only as the sun leaves and the moon arrives that silence comes.
Only when I need it does the tide ebb foamed in white,
And only when my eyes are closed so tight.
Only when my eyes are closed do I feel the soft salty mist against my cheeks.
Only when in darkness do I see the particles of light that look like crushed crystals.
Only hours later do i feel the stray grains of sand as my fingers glide across my skin and instantly i am back there toe deep in the oceans brittle glitter.
It’s only with my eyes closed tight that I can feel the ocean breathe through me,
and I realise I have the strength of the on coming tide
With the moon to be my guide.
I have this darkness so I can see the light,
And the strength, so I can win the fight.

Karen Hayward (©2015) poem and image.