Wishing upon planes thinking they are stars…

From this angle, she see’s the universe,
the infinite promise of light in dark
and ponders if believing is perverse
Like the damned wishing on eternal stars.
likely soon he’ll skin the flesh from her soul
bleed her dry till she’s tender on the tongue
shelling the carcass upon an old knoll
ripping at rotten scars where life had stung.
And she’ll tumble, doe legged into headlights
the scattered remnants of one’s own soldier
fettered to the darkest skies of twilight
falling nude at the hands of her poacher
Perhaps we pander to the passing planes
Thinking them stars, just spectators of shame.

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image found via Pinterest
#sonnet

Molecules for the Blacklight

This isn’t my pen,
someone stole my pencil,
My thoughts are caged
in empty milk cartons
ready to post
“wanted” pictures
made from trace.
Tattered and torn
half arsed ink stains
I write in vain.
The butler stole my
tea, gave me toast
buttered both sides
then dropped me
from the greatest height
My ego has a pain
My heart refuses
now to beat
My soul, deciding
it’s a game,
gave up trying
to be brave.
Reality is a blast
bound in kinky,
curly leather
straps, molecules
for the black light
and rancid eyes
watching,
waiting,
praying…
This isn’t my pen
sticky fingers
and licking tongues
toxify my ink
with fugu juice
injecting the heart
vain, hooked up
to the needle
dulling, nullifying,
I’ve sent her into excile
Coventry for lovers
abandoned my muse
to the dungeons
for her crimes
but the prissy little
bitch, took all
my fucking lines…
Now my ink is going limp
erectile dystunction
without the blue pill
I’m just another writer
stuck between the trees
with nothing to say
just words to up and kill….

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image found via Pinterest

Blue eyes Husky

Old man up my road
owns a white
Siberian husky.
He pounds along
the path chasing
cats, pulling old man
here, there
everywhere.
His bark is fierce
splits atoms
demands attention.

Old man up the road
pauses at our gate,
for Husky blue eyes
searches for his
Princess blue eyes and
he finds her.

Husky stands tall
with his front paws
perched atop the
Black iron gate.
Head bowed.
He does not bark,
jump, skip or
dance with
excitement.
He patiently waits.

Small girl squeels
with delight
‘our friend, mummy’
she looks to me
for permission.

Permission granted.

Small girl walks steadily
to the gate leaving
behind her fears
and anxiety.
Husky holds his position.
Pausing a foot away
she reaches out small
tender fingers…

Husky smells, a small
dance in his back paws
as her fingers delve
deep into his fur
they rub heads for
a split second
then husky is calm
blue eyes searching
blue eyes, she smiles.

Old man tells me
he ain’t never seen husky
like this with no one…
She must be special he says.

Old man knows.
Husky knows.
I know.

One day she too will know.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words ♥

Slicing through the echo of my own perfection

The body, when perfectly whole
Without cut, scar or gaping hole
Is a vessel of beautiful perfection
Radiating aura without detection
of cast of entities from darker sense…

Each cut, scar, hole leaves open essence
protection fails as they seep in
heavy thoughts they always bring
feeding on energy, power drives on
reality is rewritten, they become strong.

To cleanse, to hide, to meditate
is never quite enough to fight
for holes in auras outer shield
are the reason for the magnetic field
They deceive, come in many guise

Such power they feed from mine so wise,
S’not you s’not me, they choose just feed
are blind in choice beyond holes of sieve
Such holes they must be healed
To regain your protective field.

Even in distance across time and space
healing occurs from source trace,
All is needed, permission granted
intent is thought a decision planted
Allow me, and I will remain silent
till thoughts quenched end of violence.

KH©2018

Image found via wordpress library 

The pinkness of my singing soul

… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandora’s chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open,
knowing it was time…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found via wordpress 

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick

On silent whispers of Jack’s
nimble fingers she feels the frost
clawing at her innocence. Blind
eyes and deaf ears, the street
dancers set eyes on prey, and
move and swing, in ancient ways.
As Jack’s nails etch and sketch
permanent scars upon the souls
delicate skin, this veil, oh so thin.
Oh so thin, as darkness frosts
and etches…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words