I never used to iron.

Ironing. For years I refused to be a slave to the mould of hot steaming iron. I refused to smooth away the crinkles, press creases and stand in the ultimate housewife position. Legs spread, board out, piles upon piles of  stylistic statements before me, all of them requiring attention, all of them requiring me to become the atypical label. A housewife, a wife a mother, a female, a girl a lady. We iron.

We stand for hours, up the board, down the board, bored, bored, bored.  You were in or you out. I was out. I was the black death of womanhood my views contagious, my opinion death like. So I ironed less and welcomed my self induced plague. 

I iron. I became the label that society imposed on me. Sickened by my acceptance I remove my bra in protest.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Flowers in the attic where do you hide!

The feeling creeps in slowly.
Panic, as I flip through once, twice, three times. I search the normal places, beside  the bed, the couch, at the top of the stairs, by the window in the kitchen next to the heater, the window that shows me the sun as he wakes and the moon as she wakes. It’s not there and not even the sparkling stars in the clear skies can make me feel better. I search inside bags and tucked beneath the mattress, I pull out the bed and feel my heart sink, my eyes prickle and for a moment I question my sanity. What if. What if I didn’t own that book, what if I just borrowed it, that would certainly make sense and suddenly it feels like my world is crashing, I just want to read the book, now, I search some more determined to be sure that the book is at least not here. Emptiness envelopes around me, darkness falls upon my heart, I feel a great void where a story should be, not any story and certainly not a recall from the many times I have read it before, a void created through the lack of pages to turn, the lack of worn out paper in my hands. The emptiness has become me.

Karen Hayward 2015. ©

Futile resistance.

The conservation of energy so that I may survive,
a colony of destruction no shadows in which to hide.
Darkness fell and flames flared,
the corruption of memories never truly shared.
Oblivion denied frolicking with hate,
an illusion of pretence to celebrate.
Automated response clicked into place,
I wonder if I can wander without leaving a trace.
Silence erupts from the neck of brown glass,
repetition the new pattern learnt from the past.
I’ll sit for a moment take heed of the day,
before resting my body in the bed where I lay.
I’ll look to the window where the moon does glow,
I’ll ask her to help me so that I may grow.
I’ll speak with the angels and beg them for strength,
Metatron will show me in my dreams at great length.
I’ll listen to the silence as it screams into life,
Piercing reality like a sharpened knife.
No words I will say and you know this is true,
You’ve trampled my dreams
and I have nothing new.

Karen Hayward 2015©.

Scorpion’s cusp Sagittarian’s rise.

Neither the centaur nor Scorpius.

The mythological bridge with a tail

that stings.

Both wanderers searching for truth.

Feed her sting with secrets so dark

and you’ll  fuel the archers love for life.

The Scorpian will regenerate to keep

control over her destiny whilst the Centuer

fights the hemmed in corner to regain

freedom. Either way she rises.

The King of Gods oversee’s her whilst

the King of War whispers in her ear and

the King of the Underworld takes her hand

and leads her into temptation. The Scorpius,

unafraid will walk away unscathed as the

Centaur chalk’s it up to exploration.

Let her breathe if you have been unfortunate

enough to cross her, or bow down and take

the angry words, for they will come as she

searches the deep waters of her captive emotions.

But beware the Centaur does not rise and lead

the way, the fire moves so quickly and those bows

can move so far.

She’ll flirt with you till passion bubbles motivated

by her desire to play. Remaining devoted

whilst the Centaur is mindful of her tongue.

Together they explore your mind. Between them

every dark corner of it.

Together they rarely leave without their chosen desire.

Scorpius will use her passion to manipulate your eyes

whilst the Archer sets up bow and the Centaur

captivates your mind.

Escape is futile, unless she changes her mind

which she is known to do.

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)

Image shared via internet, could not find original owner or copyright…please correct me if you can!

 

Thinking of you beneath a dark eternal sky.

Dark skies above call me from my sleep,
whispering of thoughts that run so deep,
telling me of dreams that are okay to keep,
as I sit in the dark thinking of when we’d sleep.

Karen Hayward © 2015.

The crimson Lake of Lust.

I will…

if you will.

I’ll show you the truth

with an honest account

of the days and the nights

that we no longer count.

I’ll bare you my soul the root

of my heart,

together we’ll find the

place where we start.

We’ll take down the walls,

and the flowerless thorns

burn up the halo’s

and put on our horns.

Together we’ll touch the essence

of life, the crimson vein

of beating souls deep in the

woods beneath the cleansing rain.

I will if you will, i’ll leap with my faith.

Blindly i’ll jump into the sensual lake.

I’ll give and i’ll give,

and you’ll take and you’ll take,

and memories of lust is what we

will make.

The Train Journey.

We’re going on a train today,

a train that moves and moves,

so my mummy brought along the bag,

filled with things that sooth.

We’re going on a train today,

along the bumpy tracks.

So my mummy wrote it out and

drew a detailed map.

We’re going on a journey that

takes us far from home,

my mummy brought my teddies

so I wouldn’t feel alone.

We’re going to a party,

where all these people love me,

my hearts in all a flutter,

so many things,

I need a shutter.

The train is going fast, the people

talk to much,

and in London it is obvious

they all do rush, rush, rush.

So my mummy takes my hand

and kisses on my cheek,

‘Relax my little lady’

these memories are yours

to keep,

Let go of the anxiety

and fly high above your head

look there in the deep blue sky

spread your wings instead.

I went on a train today

and my mum was right,

I really was ok.

My legs were heavy

and I wanted to flee,

my heart went fast,

but this didn’t last.

I got too hot

wanted it to stop,

my mouth was dry,

but at least I knew the reason

why.

I went on a train today,

a perfect memory

that will always stay.