If Poseidon would only pardon you for a moment

It’s odd, the thoughts
that haunt. . .
Do I make you proud?
Or is shame upon
your eyes.
Does your smile
brighten the heavens;
or are you frowning,
watching me drowning,
where I think
I’m swimming,
winning, some
would say sinning?
Where are you?
I reach out, feeling
for your touch,
I look, I search,
On butterfly wings
and floral scents,
then the radio plays
our song, and still
I’m left to wonder,
am I right or am I
wrong.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017 Image and words

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 

Who will listen

I wander time to time
to that lonely
room of despair
but you are not there.
Just timeless words
left now to rot
gathering the dust
of moments taken
moments lost.
He doesn’t understand
yet the curvatures
of our reality, yet tries,
but what does it
matter when you are
lost to the skies.
You were the harshest
of lessons that I had
to learn, and I was
the friendship
that you had to earn.
Now who do I tell?
Who listens now?
Oh I hear your echo
I hear your shout,
Even now that you’re
not about…
Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on wordpress

A token from the grave

A token to a killer a treasure in a chest and the policeman comes along to make his first arrest.

Grim he got there first, to take evil to his lair, and left behind Jane Doe,
for Grim couldn’t take her there.

She sat beside the body Stockholm now her name, she cried for her lost daddy, and for when the angels
never came.

Blood upon her hands and shame upon her heart a whimper from the corner and she near on fell apart.

She could not save the rest the monster took them all. A shoe for each the girls that fell, one less if
she could tell.

Throat slit open, eyes closed, blood spilled across the floor Jane Doe dropped the crimson knife and
waited by the door.

She couldn’t waste a second, could feel the mist devour the last shreds of her soul, adrenalin now her power.

She opened up the chest counted up the shoes wandered between the trees collecting bare feet from all the graves she knew.

The policeman followed on and looked deep within her eyes, he counted up the children through his broken, sobbing cries.

Jane, he said, young lady, there’s a shoe left on the wall tell me where to find this grave so her parents I can call.

Jane simply looked away, the officer
begged give us her name. Tell us where to find her grave…

But this shoe had no grave, only demons in her mind for Jane you see, she was the first, life for her perhaps was worse.

He kept her slave by day and night
watched her as she grew, beat her when she seeked the light and even made her choose.

And now her hands are stained with blood, their lives upon her chest, the horrors of her past still raw, Jane Doe will never rest.

But the officer a fierce man now talks above her pleas, Jane he says my child, your daddy was not he, this blood is not your sin, that man was not your kin. So Jane my child tell me, that treasure on the wall,
Give to me a name, so the parents I can call.

Jane looked the officer deep within his eyes, said, you see, that shoe upon the wall, that shoe belongs to me.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

Condemned by the raging vultures

I sometimes feel like a naughty child
condemned for having picked up the pieces
that you were handing me in the dead of night
as the watchful world around us slept.

Condemned for lightly erasing your memory
from the spaces between the letters
on my page where I keep you so neatly
tucked away beyond prying eyes

Condemned for rising amidst grief
when the jagged rocks beneath me
offered such alluring love as the
snakes gathered readying for my blood.

Condemned that it was me, so plain
among the sea of princesses, just me that your own, condemned because I knew them…

… and they never knew me, and how that changed the balance of envy.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

Who now but the waves that ebb and flow

My dearest, see now how the sun kisses
the ashes of your soul that swim through
the days tide that ebbs and flows searching for home. Alas, you are home,
paradise to an eternal soul, I touch my
fingers to the calm motion of your love
and for a moment I feel your touch. You crossed dimensions to stand at my side,
traversed the oceans on a waning moon to feel the essence of my soul and with every falling ebb I whisper to the far of waves, I miss you. . . for who now will hear of my secrets, who now will understand the macabre laughter of my soul and who now will tell me how to love and just when I think I am alone the tide once more, kisses the shore.

Karen Hayward ©2017