Traversing truth

I once scoffed at the concept of traversing time on love alone,
I placed doubt upon my page and delved deep into the human form
It’s capabilities and inadequacies.
I tore holes in doctrines and ripped apart
theories,
I battled existence and swept through claims of denial.
And now I must take back such outlandish beliefs,
For my fingers feel yours and yet my eyes do not see,
My heart, metaphorical? No, my heart chakra
senses the very beating of your soul,
My sacral the very fires of your need
and yet, I am still to cherish your touch
my lips whisper of lifetimes worth of kisses,
Yet still I search the today’s for your taste.
I once scoffed at that which I never knew,
my path was still unwinding,
leading me
to you.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Time ticks and tocks in the silent beats of ego

Slowly it falls into oblivion
smashed glass shattering
memento.
A brief pause when it hits.
The cursed pleasure of karma.
The jar becomes my integrity
Piercing decades of time,
the coffee grains, my dignity
spilling openly at his feet.
I count my blessings looking
at the tattered remains
of myself, it could have been
worse. He bent to gather
the shards of glass.
It could have been
tampons. That look,
the one that says twenty years
and still she’s as clumsy
as ever. . . too late, the look
lost now among the poetic
irony of a dropped jar
of coffee.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image via wordpress library

The cracked remnants of tomorrow’s dreams

Can it be that love exists ‘neath blue skies
between the forest green vines of ivy
or on ancient mists of a moonlit sea
I find a tomorrow deep in his eyes
the speckled remnants of new paths aligned
between the broken cracks of history
a presence preserved in serenity
my love dances with singing butterflies
on nights empty echo and fierce rhythms
Our Selene hears the whispers of my soul
Whilst I drown in pearlescent kisses
configuring broken algorithms
beneath these blue skies I am whole
wondering about loves existence.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words
First attempt at a *#Italianpetrarchansonnet*

Isn’t there an irony that to you I owe it all?
You uncovered a part of me in the devils hour.
Two souls, fragmented shards of yesteryear,
We were children dancing with the devils soldiers
Bound by scars of old that we painted across
each others skin, you were the innocent,
I was the sin. I didn’t believe, I didn’t see,
and your lies and indiscretion set me free,
whilst binding you to a cage of regret,
futures mapped, destiny set as you carried
into new days the broken fragments
of my soul
that I left shattered upon your door…
… Till time passed, lives moved forward,
Many sun rises, blue skies, spring rain glory
Promises made and broken.
Closure came unexpected.
I was chaos she was respectability
on paths chosen,
Only you saw my potential to be more
Yet, with self doubt you were out the door….
the catalyst moment that had me reaching for more.

I broke into a thousand shards of mistrust,
bled for my lust, died for my sins
fought bare hand your belief…
became the very thing you believed beyond me,
your choice set me free
no longer a soldier for the devils play
You uncovered a part of me that day
And as years passed and paths crossed
It was you crying now, for the love you had lost.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Between the grained remnants of adolescence.

img_20171111_221855375989982.jpgI soared to new depths within these magnolia

spewed walls of confinement on brown plastic

chairs that burned liberation from the spirit.

We stared continuously through a blank canvas

of educational institution. Wall upon ceiling

Upon brown carpet squares.

And you were the devil.

Cloaked in Grandmas clothes.

Not my grandmother, but someone’s.

You drew air deep into your double breasted

lungs giving life to your outdated fancies of

corporal punishment.

You taught me only to fear those

words written

those thoughts driven

those ideas fit only for oblivion.

Where hung your creativity?

Lost in the sharp edge of a blunt fringe

cut and cut and cut year upon decade

upon the little girl trapped in the

grained memories of a war fought and survived.

Never a soul shone in your class

no spirits soared, no eyes feversihly

Burned beyond the dull ache of melancholy.

We were there,

but nobody knew where…

but nobody knew where.

You looked at me with the same disdain as others,

hollowed my name through pert lips everytime

you caught me smirking instead of working.

Till that day as rain fell and heat rose,

all around a collective sigh and dramatized yawns.

If ever a vortex existed

It was there, that day,

at the back of the class by the window

where the last rays afternoon of sun teased

goodbye like the ticking clock, freedom

draining its last dregs as words suddenly

sprung into life…

It all started here, her yellowing dress,

the cobwebs that consumed, love so great

pain greater still and tragic love

broken promises and tiny graves,

right here, this was the day.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

 

Entwining through forgotten hemispheres. 

What now of lovers forgotten stem

that roots me to the essence of them

On kisses brow, 

not then, 

not morrow,

Not a second wasted, but now. 

For is our bond not of rarest gem? 

What lingering thoughts

a constance in my battleground mind

Yet, in peace and calm in you they find.

A lovers map of fate

destined paths leading, winding, twirling

through the undergrowth of survival

Till upon a greying day

stems become vines

Vines… Entwine

and the universe whispers

that you are truly

Mine.
Karen Hayward ©2017 image and words