Too old to dance too young too die.

Too old to dance
too young to die
caught within a
glass vase of timeless
love, the body has
aged but the mind
remains spinning
at the tea dances
of yesteryear.
Passion dances in
the front seat of an
ancient car, kisses of lust,
desire. Her lips speak
of Dionysis his
tongue Aphrodite
and their wrinkled
skin tells of a lifetime
of need consumed
through the presence
of touch.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Stars between the cracks in existence.

*insomnia and pain related ramblings.

I sit beneath dark starless skies and I wonder why the clouds must hide them my from view. I eat beetroot straight from the pack using the same spoon i used to eat the tinned peaches, I am hungry, but right now I eat for the sake of the naproxen pill I just swallowed. I chase it with pain killers and wait patiently, sipping sweet tea and wondering what else I can eat. One, two, three, four I know the source of today’s pain and the tiredness that rocks deep at the core of my soul. One, two, three, four. I could quit. I won’t though. i ponder my own insanity as I recall the screwed up sheet of paper with pencil scribblings of my plans for the year. I could quit. I am my
own worse enemy. I am stubbornness with a capital S. One, two, three, four. I wonder what kind of muscle memory it takes for a person to write pen to paper. Today I danced in the perfect rhythm of the beats I counted in my head as I stared at my feet. One, two, three, four…four times I looked self discovery in the face, in the faces of the other dancers as they stared indifferently at me facing them instead of the blank magnolia wall. It is only through failure that we learn to excel. Some would call my coordination a failure, i call it a triumph. I look again to the skies and wonder why I cannot see the twinkling of the dying lights, why must there be only darkness. I’m hungry and consider cereal as an option as the pain killers kick in and the naproxen sets to work. I try to recall the last time I slept straight through the night, but my memory struggles to go that far. Stifling a yawn I grab my hot water bottle, another piece of of beetroot and climb back into bed, with heavy eyes, I look one last time into the dark skies and hope I might see a single star  from between the cracks in existence.

Karen Hayward ©2016. 

Red running through my soul.

I want my hair to be

a deep auburn red,

my eye’s sparkling blue

and glittering shoes.

I want a red lace dress

that clings in all the right places

and twirls over my hips.

I want to dance.

I want to feel the beat in my soul,

slow and sensual.

I want to become lost

in the notes as I

dance through the words.

I want candles flickering

in the moon light,

as the sky weeps for

the dying stars.

I want to dance.

A little, tiny bit of freedom.

Utter freedom,
When the house is empty,
And i’m sitting drinking coffee,
Radio on high,
Watching the sky,
Toes tapping,
Ideas lapping.
The time goes so fast,
And i
Know
It
Cannot
Last.
So i’ll savour the seconds,
And multi task i reckon,
Wash all the dishes,
And dance with my wishes,
i’ll sing from my heart,
Whilst i play this part,
With the radio on high,
I’ll tip toe to the sky.