Category: journey

Double sided coin to determine my fate.

 

North, straight ahead toward the gleaming

lights. A new horizon, lush green

fields and a glorious sun creeping

into the emerald blue skies.Homeward

bound into the arms of the universe.

 

Or east into the realms of endless words

and pages that smell of jasmine, sunshine

and a little piece of hope. Flowing skirts

and wild hair, daisies popping up here and there.

Stars reflecting light for me to share.

 

Or south, down into the devils lair with

flaming hope and burning desire, constant

fuel to feed the fire. Endless voids of forgotten

hope and the depth of feeling such pleasurable

scope. Eyes open, soul upon my sleeve and heart lost,

somewhere.

 

West toward the reality of a full turn, the cycle

rotating, rotating, rotating. Grey suits and empty

eyes, souls trampled and hearts held in an iron grip.

Each step worsening the rip. Each unique thought

ready to tip. Humanity on a downward slip.

 

Tails it’s North, heads it’s East,

heads it’s South, tails it’s west.

Flipping a coin the perfect test.

Thanks to Mr Harvey Dent.

heads it’s East the way i will go,

heads is South the life I will know.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

 

 

 

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If people knew what they leak.

If people could see what they leak,
the way their emotions flow through
the atmosphere. The tears they
refuse to cry.
The lies.
The pain they lock away for
a darker day.
It all leaks.
It skips across the breath of some,
dances through the mind of others.
Seeps into me.
If people could hear what their eyes say,
what the pause between their words tells me.
If people knew what they leak.
The excitement that flutters in my stomach with an unknown cause,
The heart that breaks over and over,
pain caught in my throat.
The fear, oh the fear that fills our souls that seeps from the psych invisible to
the naked eye.
If people knew what they leak.
They’d understand why I seek solitude,
why my mind is so very open
to the possibilities.
If people knew what they leak they would know why it is I am open and closed in a single heart beat.

Karen Hayward © 2016.

Heavy and bleak.

Some days feel so heavy and bleak,

A scented haze for the muddled and weak.

 

But what if tomorrow is all that I seek?

But, what if tomorrow is just another day in the week.

 

What if tomorrow I wake up and can fly?!

Or perhaps I will sit and watch stars shoot by.

 

But what if it rains from the skies up above?

What if it cleanses the hurt and leaves me just love.

 

But if tomorrow I fall, I trip or I lose?

But what if tomorrow just simply soothes?

 

Some days are heavy and bleak,

but tomorrow may hold all that you seek.

 

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

I need the flutter of wings.

 

 

I lean back, close my eyes

let my body fall with the swing.

My stomach lurches as

a thousand butterfly wings

tickle my stomach as fear

swells with every drop.

This is living.

The fear that beats inside me,

the excitement that rushes

through my body into my fingers,

into my nervous giggle as

my world drops down and

then rises, high, high above

the clouds and I can look the

sun straight in his face.

And then I remember as that

excitement rushes through me

this is living.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Blind faith.

image

I want to know. The obsessive need consumes me.

I need to know the whys the hows and the vivid paths. To accept I must fully understand the intricate web of silk lanes.

There has to be a reason.

Everything has a reason.

Tell me the reason.

Let me obsess over the details and file away the
concrete evidence created
in my mind.

I can recreate reality and cover it in darkness.

Word games on a wooden board in the flaming pits of hell. Satan will play his hand and I will know. I will know the answers to the questions he has. I will not be outwitted by the horned man.

Turn right, turn left, walk ahead five steps, turn around touch the floor and there you’ll find destiny’s door.

So tell me.

Show me why there is pain in my soul, show me why I know emptiness. Don’t whisper it on the breeze where I cannot hear. Tell me.

Paths have to be walked, so show me mine.

Lessons have to be learned so give me the books.

The soul must grow, so show me how.
Tell me I am on the right path.

Grade my attempts with A* and big fat F’s in red marker.

Show me.

I cannot do this alone you must sign post this journey.

It’s not enough to believe in me.

I cannot hear what is not said.

I do not see the reason for the blue that sparkles through the grey cloud.

I do not understand why I feel the suns heat as he reaches his arms around me, warming me for a moment before my day begins.

Tell me.

Tell me I will find light.

Show me why I must survive the darkness.

Don’t tell me I must blindly trust in the journey.

For surely without sight I will fall, and then who will catch me?

Karen Hayward © 2016.