Jack be nimble, Jack be quick

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 and words 

The whispered call of Dawns song…

Shh, I listen to the empty echo of 6am,
tiredness still in my eyes,
A vast sky whispering promises of light
Lonely cars splitting atoms dividing night.
I look along my road, dead lights, no life
as people sleep dream and wish for more time.
Grim has been standing guard over old man’s wife,
But he doesn’t take her, not here tonight.
Still age creeps in, always arriving at first light
Red and blue glows illuminating the site.
My sky is starless the moon is bidding goodnight,
Too late for more sleep, tiredness settles in my waking eyes.
Shhh, I sit and watch the morning skies.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

To Whom does 5am Belong…

Has never been certain
if 5am belongs to the night
and his shadows.
A tinker, fixing the broken fragments
of my mind that shatter
on impact of thought…

… Or if it belongs
to peace of mind on morning
song bird, a symphony
of love before reality
takes another bite.

I wonder does it even matter
A moment between the worlds
the sun is yet to rise
so I sit talking to grey
melancholy skies…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Kisses on the dawning sun.

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As your alarm rings,
I would reach out
my hand to your skin,
grasp at your fingers,
embrace the last of
your sleep that lingers.
I would swallow down
my souls tug and use a
smile to hide my frown.
My lips would eagerly
devour the warmth of your
essence, kissing, greedily
the canvas of your form.
I’d curse the shortness of night
and the coming of morn.
I’d search the depth of your eyes
for a moment’s need sustained,
love spilling as the endless skies
passion radiating, desire burning
alarm ringing, bodies entwining,
souls yearning, I’d kiss you,
good morning.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017