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
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
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 ♥

When love tastes so good damn pure …

I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs.
Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Singing to my soul.


I open a window and sit huddled in front of it. The morning air is humid, freshly fallen rain adds a twist of freshness that travels across the beaks of birds in song. Beneath grey clouds I listen to the orchestra and wonder whether mother nature or the universe is their conductor. Heavy cars are sporadically spilling up the road, tires dragging through the puddles, engines disturbing the music. Then silence erupts but for the whistling lovers that sit up in the trees. Their song washes over me as the rain begins to fall cleansing the start of another day.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Dark morning mist.

Soft mist clings lovingly to the tree

as the morning dew leaves droplets

sparkling across the tips of the grass.

Darkness still reigns as the moon

drops her head slowly toward her

daytime pillow. And any second now

I know the sun will reach her fingers

up across the roof tops. The morning

is still, I can hear no birds, I can

hear no Tom cats calling to his

lover. Just darkness, interrupted

by the casual morning worker,

carry along his wake up juice. The soft

mist dances now, circling its prey.

Delilah’s army.

This is the story of my amazing niece Delilah and her beautiful family, please read it here, Delilah and here.

Delilah is fighting cancer, her family and friends have become an army of supporters ‘Delilah’s army’.

Please head on over to her facebook story and offer your support, show Delilah she is not alone. Together we can beat cancer.

Follow her Dad’s twitter story here.

This is her fundraising page here.

And this here is the little princess herself, looking beautiful as always.

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Rainbow in a concrete city.

Dear Mr all that you are,
I saw a rainbow today,
in the sky from afar,
In a concrete city with
An horizon of cars.

Storm clouds descended
Rain fell hard,
never ending,
and there in the sky a multitude
of colours,
the earth was lending.

And I thought of you,
As the beauty spread
through each hue,
Mingling together
And staying true.

The little ray of red,
Deep, intimate sensuality
that calls me to bed
With fantasies shared,
and thoughts that we’ve said.

And the warmth of orange,
Without a rhyme,
And the truth of actions shown through time.

The sun through the storm,
as the world turns cold,
You are the welcome warmth,
You are the catalyst, you are the thaw,
that warms this heart, that is so worn.

You are the fresh green grass,
And budding growth
the spring that never lasts
but returns each year
with loyalty as a mask.

The blue sky always there,
Filling the world with a
Promise, to always share
You’re every where I look,
the reason I care.

You are the indigo of life,
always urging me to do
What I feel is right,
You are the beauty in
A dark star lit night.

And you awaken my passion,
With the ease
of a summer breeze,
With true violet fashion
the most natural of reactions.

You are the beauty I see in the trees,
The strength that has gone,
but returns before long,
You are the warmth in a sea of coldness,
the smile that is absent,
the kindness that has left.
You are beautiful.