Oh how we love… 

I love the snow,
gloves, scarf and wooly hat,
Extra socks and a jumper or two
Squeals of delight and a Snowball fight
Cold toes begin to hurt cold hands
radiate heat, tingling fingers,
Heat rises and I feel snug
warm and glowing…

She loves the snow,
Hates, coats, gloves, scarf
and wooly hats, no extra socks,
sandals please, no jumpers mum
she begins to scream. Squeals of delight, snow on bare skin, fingers wet
cold, glowing eyes and
smiling lips, her heart
skips a beat.

We love the snow,
but hate your stares
muttered disbelief to
pretend you care. Ask,
and we’ll happily talk,
don’t stare, whisper,
and slow your walk.

She loves the snow
but she hates heat, a second
passes and she is faint,
a second more and it’s
breakfast paint. Just pause
a moment close your lips,
watch, listen truly see
I’m not about to let her
freeze, look closer,
See me touch her
arm as I wander past
see the coat across my arm…

… But mostly,
See the smile across
her soul, hear the laughter
of a spirit free and happy,
Look closly at
those pools of blue…

The problem isn’t us,
the problem is you.

Karen Hayward ©2017

I’m feeling kinda okay

Here inside my box. 

I’ll open a window, a door,

But i hide,

Like the sly fox. 

I linger in shadows watching 

The world, listen with 

A poets beat,

I don’t know the meaning 

Of defeat. 

But i do like the silence,

The empty echo

And the fragrant scent 

Of honesty.

So i linger in my box,

Peer from the door,

Reach from the window so 

The breeze can Dance

Through my hair.  

And the sun whispers,

Come on out your shell my dear.

The moon filled with excitement

Giggles and chortles….

‘Its a dare.’

And I’m left mumbling, 

That’s not fair! 
Karen Hayward*©2017

Technicoloured essence. 

…And when the grains fall and life 

ebbs within the final beats

As angels call the finest greet, as 

clouds disperse and memories flow,

What will you have to show? 

The fearsome tales of love so close,

A life lived…Well most?

A bucket list of words not said, love not told,

A constellation of getting old.

Monochrome map in hues of safe

Kept moments never run late. 

A drawer of wishes, dandelions delight

Dreams reserved only for night? 

Not me…

The angels will invent new colours in my name,

They’ll blush with pride at this spirit untamed.

Their ink will run dry as they scribe my tales,

The wins, near wins and even the fails.

With fearless exploration I will devour my days,

No feeling will pass where i do not say…

Passion will be my ink, love will be my pen

And the angels will all whisper….”and then?,” 
Karen Hayward*©2017

Image and word’s.

Blindness to societies reality. 

How blind must we be 

To believe the choice is free? 


Another woman’s fantasy. 

How blind must we be,

That we cannot comprehend reality? 

Adequate education? Is a fallacy. 

Broken assumptions they’re carefree,

Our hate, is pure insanity. 

Water the root to grow the tree

Teach our girls love isn’t free,

And teach the boys 

there’s no choice to flee. 

How blind must we be? 

To assume the choice makes us free. 
Karen Hayward ©2017 image and word’s.

Every cloud has a silver lining.


You said…

You build your world upon silver thread that lines yesterdays storms.

and I said…

we choose the darkness or the light,

and so it is I sew.

To which you said…

You see so much beauty,


you’re a celebration of life.

Smiling, I said…

We all must choose a way to survive.

Yes, you said…

you are my choice for you are my light.

Now I sit among the storming clouds

and ponder how different grey is from silver,

and I hear you whisper,

pick up the needle,

we have many clouds to line.

Between the lost twines

of my silver thread

I glimpse the particles

of light,

your essence shimmering.

And so it is we sew,

for we all must choose

to lose ourselves in the muted grays

or become the

shining essence of silver.

And so it is we sew.

Karen Hayward* ©2017



It’s the way…


It’s the way your heart does that whole beating thing that makes me love you.

The way your words tantalize my essence that made me desire you.

It’s the way your soul does the whole kindness thing that makes me respect you.

It’s an unseen force that connects us that makes me fight for you.

And an ancient whisper of recognition that makes me trust in you.


Karen Hayward ©2016

Image found on pinterest



wordprompt from the daily post today is … aimless.

and that is exactly what this blog post is…aimless, it has no point other than to ramble on about the difficulties of existence. So I had to get a new phone, my other one I accidentally threw at the wardrobe and smashed up the screen and I suspect dislodged a couple of the innards. I didn’t want to get a new phone, I don’t like new things I don’t like change and yet at the same time I fucking love change, but this change I no likey. The problem, the snag, the fucking dilemma is that my sim is a nano sim, i love my sim i’ve had it ten years, I don’t want to swap it to a micro…I have too, what a cunt. So now I have the choice, I can get my number swapped onto the micro…but now i’m thinking do I really want to? I got that number when I was a different person to who I am now, a very different person and as much as I do understand why I hold onto things rather than moving forward with technology, I am thinking maybe a new number is a good thing. Fucking decisions…and I am so very aware of how stupid this situation is I should just throw my arms up in the arm and swap the sim, I can’t use the new phone till I decide, i’m wasting valuable photo taking opportunities, I could be writing right now on the new phone, instead I am typing away at the laptop. I figure it’s a little like that saying, “look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves.” I’m a thinker my mind is always active and no decision I ever make is based on chance alone. But the bigger choices are easy, clearer, There is no big choice that could occur in my life right now that I haven’t already considered the options for….but the little choices like changing my phone number, what knickies to wear and odd or not odd socks, these are the ball breakers, these are the pennies that need looking after. Sigh perhaps I should just toss a coin.



Only letters.


Give me back the blank canvas and let my thoughts swarm into the emptiness. Take my hand and we’ll walk in those autumn leaves that we created back when we teetered on the tight rope of lost innocence. Walk with me through my mind and know the whirlwind of confusion that swirls like the ebbing tide of a thunderous ocean.  I have only random letters and weakness at every turn.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Matrix of silent reality.


From the empty silence I steal away the depths of reality and wrap them in white cotton to bury deep beneath the freezing ground. The echo of existence whispering to me the secrets of humanity and in this silence I know the answers are to be found. Solid ice thaws to the trending escapism of a pixelated Neverland unbound by the rules of society. We are whatever we say we are until the cloak falls and the darkness seeps away and no longer are we hidden by our reality. The beauty of the chaos theory fluttering the wings of now pulling at the threads of fate. The matrix code becomes intertwined and woven between the souls of the dead that believe they are the living whilst the puppeteer engineers every connection that we make. I ponder who are the wise when we are the empty spirits of an old mans philosophy. Haunting beliefs that follow us through the streets of serenity. If autonomy is the devils whisper then I choose you without reproach, i’ll lead you into temptation and wear my heart as though a broach. But reality is a fallacy a facade of broken dreams and in the silence I will find what reality means.


Karen Hayward 2016