Category: beauty

So in love with me.

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Skies of deep and settled blue and the warmth of a flaming sun upon my skin has flown me to far away lands where I have sat and pondered all that life can be and decided that I am so entirely in love with me.
I love my feet, my toes all long and slender.
I love my legs, my knobbly knees, my bum. I love my bum on the days when it reminds me I am my mother’s child, I love it more on the days when it exists.
I love my arms, pale, slender and peppered with freckles. I love my shoulders that tan slightly as summer ends.
I love my stomach, scars and all.
I love that at 5ft 8 I’m not short and I’m not tall.
I love my eyes that cannot lie,
And the way I blush when I go shy.
I love my mind, I love my heart,
I love the light I love the dark. So summer skies of deep, deep blue,
I love myself as I love you.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

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A white sheet of nothing and everything.

The frozen breath of silence as

trees lay bare deep in reflection.

Restoration of life resists detection.

The freezing of a heart by the soulless master

for destiny has a pace it can go no faster.

The soft echo of nothing and everything.

Listen carefully to the emptiness

you can hear enchantment sing.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Deceit of a poet.

Emerald skies of burning blue as white tufts of wisdom float past on the rays of a flaming sun. Inspiration woke me before my eyelids fluttered and this mattered not for my eyes have not seen, truly seen since the last time my soul screamed from the other side to look. Ownership is the materialistic economy of a rich mans world and I am poor in possessions and rich in ownership. Floating particles of death shimmering in the morning light, freely rising, freely falling unaware of any fear. Words caught on the tip of my tongue that beg and beg to be spoken and if destiny is true if our map is drawn out in blotted ink before our soul even contemplates this life, then why fear unsaid words? If all of life’s fine events happen for a reason then I am free to utter thoughts of fantasy and reality and own my day. I am free to own these intrinsic words I splatter across the page that I pull from the empty wardrobe of lost hope covered in webs and crawling with spiders. Hearts break on the beating of the roach’s wings and shattered dreams are scuttled onto a breeze of dark shores. A poets self deceit cuts deeper than any mans lies. The creation of a story based upon a false prophecy stretched beyond the realms of reality searching for the nicks, nooks, crannies something to hold, to grab to elevate the soul toward the summit. The glorious summit, and I wonder why it is that I fight this need for the summit. A thousand definitions can be formed from the utterance of thoughts based upon chemicals. A million different ways to be and I have never been A typical. Blue is red, red is green and all the colours need to be seen and my heart beats. My heart beats and beats my stomach flutters as a swarm of bee’s buzz through my soul and I am okay with this. I do not fear living. Personal autonomy and the thought tank of morality hand in hand coding for that predestined reality. Free me. Put a label on this box and clarify the meaning of interactions. Thoughts, a maze of indifference in a storm of magma a molten mass of dissected words, cut and pasted letters, broken images from a a black and white stills devoid of colours that will one day become igneous. Rocks of life. Beaten down beneath the feet a thousand life soldiers, ground into the dust of oblivion and lost deep in the outer realms of space among the dying lights. But some, some have the power to become, to be the flattened stones skimmed across an ebbing tide, to be the crystals held close to our hearts, to be the stone we never throw and never look at that attracts dust the way it attracted you, in multitude in broken thoughts and fears of unknown origins.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Leave me hollow.

Appease this fragile mind,

strip away the necessities

of grey that linger, bang

away the thoughts,

tease out the emotions,

leave me hollow and empty,

so I can refill on beauty.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Raindrops falling.

You are rain,
sleet perhaps,
you do not fall with
the fierceness of
hailstones.
You are the red blush
in my cheeks,
the searing heat
in the tips of my ears.
Your tears fall upon
my glass pane world.
Trailing.
Faltering?
No simply halting.
Reflecting.
Poor drop of frozen
rain, can you not see?
Every path you take,
every path you took.
Look.
Leads to the same end,
no matter how hard
the fall,
no matter how fast
the race.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Be the hint of a memory.

 

Be the,

hint of a kiss

on precious lips

that smile even

in the pouring rain.

 

Be the,

hint of a memory

in the sight of beauty

that shines even

in the pouring rain.

 

Be the,

scent of a night

filled with musk

and dying stars

in the pouring rain.

 

Be the,

sting of regret

in a captured thought

on a forgotten day

beneath the pouring rain.

 

Be the,

taste of a flutter

of a remembering heart

growing old in the days

in the pouring rain.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016