Storm Katie.

Storm Katie, I see that you are here,
your strength the reason for my fear.
Howling winds tearing through the leaves,
swaying side to side through the dying trees.
Storm Katie, I sense that you are angry,
your rage to much for you to see,
as you release torrential rain down into the street.
battering kindly all that you can beat.
Storm Katie, I see your lonesome path,
the reason why your anger means you do not laugh.
I hear you tapping at my door,
fist raging, feet stamping on the floor.
I hear your nails scrapping across the crying glass,
your turmoil so demanding you tear through so very fast.
Storm Katie the light of day has come,
people count the damage and add the final sum.
I see you didn’t like my fencing or my garden gate,
still there are hours till you release this vengeful hate.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Coke and wine.

I hear the wine flowing and the glasses chink

as you miss the table and hit the sink.

Mother and daughter addictions together

thrown in the garden whatever the weather.

You talk above the same old songs, and I wonder

if you know that your behavouir is wrong

or that there’s a rat in your kitchen running a mock

it’s a matter of time, tick fucking tock.

As predictable as the sun that moves the dial

smeared face and blood shot eyes is your style.

Mother dearest your spirit is broke

I saw this in your face the moment we spoke.

Fuck this and fuck that ‘cos the world is so screwed

but you never consider that the problem starts with you.

Ten green bottles sitting on the wall

every single night I hear them fall.

A knock at the door and the bed springs go

Daughter dearest, do you think we don’t know?

You sing as it moves to cover the sound

to hide the white powder,  another round?

Your a tight knit unit all full of love

broken souls that are fucked up and stuff.

Excited greetings and laughing galore

filling the glasses who wants more?

Voices go up voices go down

I can actually hear when you’re wearing your frown.

The music begins and everyone sings

till the spiteful tongue brings out its sting.

Tears are falling and the mask no longer fits

true colours shining none of you give a shit.

The lamp is broke, the glasses shattered

not that any that truly mattered.

You scream you push, so much pressure

you lose the very thing you pretend to treasure.

Flashing lights and a friendly face

an easy call for them to trace,

again today, again tomorrow

mother and daughter full of so much sorrow.

 

Karen Hayward ©2015

 

 

 

 

Lost in a sea of blood.

Fucked up and broken the devil has spoken,

a black hole of despair and nobody cares.

There’s drugs and there’s hate at

those red flaming gates

and the horned one calls

to those that will fall.

He offers them drink,

to

watch

as

they

sink.

He takes from their soul…

a bit at a time,

feeds them back life

built upon crime.

And none of them see,

they think they are free,

as the devil moves their hanging strings

hanging down from his flaming wings.

Chains of the woken.

Sometimes I wonder if I am broken,
as I consider thoughts left,
Unspoken.
Is it true, the strong suffer in silence?
As they defend themselves from
life’s strategic violence.
Perhaps it is the weak,
that refuse to speak,
Searching always for what they seek.
Sometimes I think that I am broken,
That my spirit lays in chains,
waiting to be woken.

Karen Hayward © 2014.