The blue whispers of yesteryear

You look at me with the same blue eyes of over twenty five years ago, has it been that long? Age has made you look healthy, fuller, time has settled your soul I see. Tell me, if you will, how is it that misfits find each other in the crowds of screaming faces? Yet we did. We were not the broken, not the unfixable, our souls were intact only our spirits were torn from the root. I told you once, not to worry, you were gonna be fine, but you couldn’t hear me above your black nameless trainers with dirty white broken laces and faded second hand blazer that hung from your underfed frame. You had to drown first, we both had to, suffocation was the only way we could discover our own inner strength. We spent so many seconds, so many minutes, so many hours queueing at the dragons door scrambling for a signature to add to the ones we had just ourselves scribbled across those green sheets of paper that tied us to our school days. We didn’t always talk, not with words, sometimes our eyes said all that words could not. You told me, he loves me, I knew that, he had done since the first year at primary school, or perhaps before, perhaps it started that day as I walked along my road playing dollies an an empty street and I became the target for his kisses, rudimental exchanges of power as I pushed him away still disgusted by the very idea of boys. He believed I was his property and everyone knew that. Yet I never was, I would always be the one he never caught. It was love I saw in your eyes then, two souls speaking above the din of reality but we both had our rules of loyalty, isn’t that what made us so different? Broken and yet still we put others before ourselves, still we lived by our own codes refusing to be pulled into their pit of despair. You look good, age wears well on your skin, no longer an underfed frame, muscles now where once was skin and bone, smiles where once was a lad finding his way through knife laced streets of neglect.. Yet still, deep in those eyes of yours I find something, hidden, waiting to be told, to be said. And the moment is gone, the pendulum swings as we pass in the street, only our souls remembering.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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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


Decaying Lace.

IMG_20151102_114056 (2)

Broken mortar crumbling away.

Glass squares that make a pane.

Saw dust where once was wood.

Knock it down, they really should!

Lost memories and stolen kisses

whispered thoughts and true misses.

The firsts the lasts

the forgotten memories of someones past.

A decaying world now unsung

contents lost probably flung.

Home to critters the lost and quitters

filled now with decades old litter.

It started here, it started there

surely someone out there cares.

The broken soul of this decaying place

is someones memory of perfect lace.

Karen Hayward. (copyright) 2015.

Behind the mask.

She has mousy hair,
That bleaches blonde
In the sun,
And deep blue eyes, that
Hides her lies.
Her skin is soft and white,
so white
and when the summer sun skips across it,
it leaves a rich red trail that burns her for only a couple of days.
She can love.
she knows how,
better than most,
she feels pain,
hurt that burns at her very soul.
She hides it,
so no one will know.
She is selfless,
a deep need inside of her, always, even when they are undeserving.
She can be fiercely loyal,
too loyal,
she is blinded by her choices, she doesn’t know,
Doesn’t trust her own voices when it’s time to let go.
she forgives from her heart, each time,
each crime,
She enjoys the silence of the early morning when the world still sleeps.
She likes,
whatever it is she likes in that moment,
a beat of a song,
a lyric of love,
a long forgotten word.
she has a spirit that dances to the silent waves,
the ebbing tide,
the rising sun,
the moon that hides.
She’ll carry the world upon her shoulders,
and not complain and never wane.
She laughs deeply from her soul,
smiles with love for eternity. Her hair is messy,
even when brushed,
thick and unruly one side kinks in a wavy curl,
the other lays straight.
Her skin is littered with freckles and scars that carry memories of loss and times when no one was there,
to show they care, of despair, of the moment when she knew, she meant nothing to you.
they’re memories of tears that fell with ease as they rampaged through her broken body,
and her body is so very broken.
She doesn’t trust with ease, she see’s
Between the lines,
So plays her cards,
to stay ahead of the game,
it helps her to stay sane.
She hides behind a mask,
And is always,
Whenever asked.