Snow saunters gently…

Dawn has woken to a wedge of white snow,
Blanketing proudly before my waking eyes
The morning glimmer of crushed diamonds glow,
and birds huddle quietly in empty skies.
Silence rings out in bells of emptiness,
among the stilled monochrome dawning day
the fallen flakes of colds existence
have owned the dark of night through thoughtless play.
In this moment, only I and he exists.
Helios still lays deep within slumber
The skies are heavy, awkward, threatening,
and there, the knitted weave of white, Jack’s number
lays tauntingly snug across window screens
It snowed, wee blankets of love on sleeping cars
so few flakes, laying restless in the dark…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image and words

Snow day wishes…

Cream clouds
crystalline wishes
diamond blankets
and snowflake kisses

A silent hush
glittered fantasies
Infinite sprinkles
Snow dream realities.

Blushed cheeks
Cold toes
Thick gloves
And a snowman nose.

United play
Giggles delight
Tears to be cried
Snowball fights.

Hot choc and ‘mallows
Festive shows
Snuggly blankets
The after snow, glow.

Karen Hayward ©2017

No claim to the image 

Cold toes

Cold toes, warm tea morning gulls
screaming to the skies. Dark clouds
sun rise peeping over the horizon,
cold fingers, extra jumper, tired eyes
weary mind, kettle on, hot water
bottle grabbed, .slow cooker out
diced beef in, sky staining vivid
pink. Cold feet, freezing toes, extra
socks, silence, momentary, cars
slowly whizzing past, cat purrs
climbing inside my cardi, shared
heat, sun rises, day begins….

Karen Hayward © 2018

Image and words

Morning frost and Sunday melodies. 

Morning mist sweeping through quiet streets, kissing frost embraced blades of luscious Green grass as a pale sun hides from sight, gathering Sunday morning thoughts on gentle melodies of songs gone by. And I watch the magpie, watching me and I know the ancient symbolism of its soul like the back of my expressive pen that pours ink haphazardly across the blank canvas of a soul awakening, sleeping, awakening and I hear the whispers of higher thought calling through droplets of dew quenching a thirst I cannot see and she is gone, her song echoing still…I watch the mist curling, swirling thick and heavy as an ancient, Druid perhaps, corner of my soul awakens at the soft call of home.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

Jack’s nimble fingers. 

On silent whispers of Jack’s
nimble fingers she feels the frost
clawing at her innocence. Blind
eyes and deaf ears, the street
dancers set eyes on prey, and
move and swing, in ancient ways.
As Jack’s nails etch and sketch
permanent scars upon the souls
delicate skin, this veil, oh so thin.
Oh so thin, as darkness frosts
and etches…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest.