Tag: children

The calpol calms.

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Like hunter gatherer leaving
behind the confines of
hibernation she steps
hesitantly into the light
rummaging to quell the
quench of thirst and storm
of hunger that rages within.

KH ©2017 image and words

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A moments reprieve as you sleep.

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At dawns awakening
the world screeched
upon the etched carvings
of a spiteful tongue,
hates essence
suffocating my light.
Drowning in yester-
years ocean of
delinquent blood.
The hours owned
by the devil, wiped
clean by the angels
beating wings.
The merry go round
of existence. Dawn
becomes day, day
becomes noon,
noon leaves too soon.
After drowning in
evening’s promise,
night begs for
resistance.

Tired eyes and stinging
mind, I walk the halls
to you, no calls for mum,
no echo of media.
I pause about your feet,
and take in life’s splendour.
A gift . . . the soft hum
of sleep already arrived,
the whisper of a moment’s
promise. I pause now with
freedoms time upon my hands,
and stare into the heart
of twilight skies. your
gentle sleep, a melody so
sweet.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words

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From here I see the
night skies,
Deep blue with
muted clouds
speckled sparingly.
I feel the twilight
breeze, it’s scent
soft and welcoming,
Like an ancient
whisper calling
me home.
Warm lavender
caresses me
calming my mind
the damp promise
of rain kisses
my lips.
There is no moon
and the stars
hide behind a
blanket of
darkness.
But there is you
and the soft hum
of sleep as
exhaustion wins.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words

Modern Bedtime Story…

Photo

(Photoprompt)

Do not judge without pause…

Our twilight hours are illuminated by blue screens

and chuckles of delight,

for you see…

my body does not know day nor night.

Atypical regulation is absent

my mind does not close at the dimming of light.

So I ask of you please,

stop and look…at our daily fight.

A pillow for one with two joyous heads

because I don’t like going to bed.

When I close my eyes what happens then?

And are certain our dreams are just pretend?

There’s no song my Mum can happily hum

that doesn’t hurt my ears,

No classic tale she can tell

that will settle down my tears.

I need her here, but, she must not touch,

Oh, I love my Mummy so very much!

Beneath the covers I feel her warmth

she does not move…for that can cause a storm!

I watch a vid and another too

but none of them are ever new!

That would be too scary

far,

far,

far,

too SCARY.

I like to know exactly what comes after

this ensures the echos of my laughter.

It calms the beating of my heart

my tablet, you see, plays an integral part.

I went to bed at seven and now the clock says twelve,

My Mum, she is reading, facts in which she’ll delve.

I know that she is tired I see it in her eyes

and all throughout the night she dreams of starless skies.

I know when time has come, she tells me one, two, three

then pulls the covers up and we cuddle…but just our feet.

And now i’m feeling safe and now I’m feeling tired

and contrary to belief I do not wake feeling wired!

My Mum, she does not hum a song or tell me of a tale

instead, she falls asleep each night, with the world

telling her she failed.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image used via photoprompt (Maricris Cabrera)

 

 

Poorly gal. 

My dearest love, my gal, 

As you lay sleeping your body healing i sit beneath a twilight sky pondering the mechanics of life. I swallow strong sweet tea with trepidation, the scent of poorlyness still hangs in the air and i give myself a fifty fifty chance of keeping the tea down or following you into the fields of stomach flu. I pray to any God that is listening making promises of devotion if they only promise I won’t be sick. I search the empty sky for a moon, but find nothing, i search for the stars that say i am not alone but i find nothing.. I shiver by the open window that is keeping you cool, keeping you sleeping, i reach for my scarf and give thanks to any God who hears me. 

Xxx

KH*©2017

Mum’s sleep. 

Mum’s sleep. Such a thing truly exists.

A momentary lapse of time when you

Share the bed with a child. The edge 

Becomes your mattress, the cold night

Breath becomes your cover, feet become

The realities, hard knock kisses of slumber. 

The rising sun does so creaking through

Grey clouds as you are faced with life’s 

Biggest decision….To stay here on the 

Battleground of sleep deprivation 

Or to rise Into the new world blindly 

Aware sleep will not be yours again for 

Another sixteen hours or so…Mum’s sleep,

Karma’s cruel joke.
KH*©2017

The good ole days…

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I remember a time when I was young
When us kids went outside for fun.
Our mums drank tea, had a natter
Their laughs echoing over the kids chatter.
The men earned honest money, with hard graft
They were the days, but they didn’t last.
 
Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,
As the promise of spring filled the street with mirth.
We wore hand me down clothes and real leather shoes,
Played in the growing corn, had lunch on the kerb.
We played kerby and footy bulldog and chase
Everything we did was always a race
 
Summer days in the summer haze
The field of corn lined with trees, no hint of a breeze
Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,
Dandelion clocks, oh how time flies.
Purple fingers, tell tale lips,
Blackberry pies with apple bits
 
Bonfire night, the woolies are out,
In before dark the mothers did shout.
Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy,
Halloween sweeties an endless supply.
We play on the cornfield, so empty and bare,
Its hard to remember what they grew there.
 
Snowmen so big we stood in awe, then
took turns aiming for the highest score.
One in each garden, some on the path,
A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.
In the cornfield trenches were dug, ammo created
The older ones always dominated.
I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze
Before they laid brick, took away the trees
Everyone got busy, the air grew stale
And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.
 
Karen Hayward ©2017 (Image and words)