Pick up the pen
and write the poem,
It’s not rocket science,
It doesn’t have to be a meticulous scribe
Inscripted with archaic
lexicon, the imagery
doesn’t have to paint
a perfect theme,
the rhyme can be
awkward, screwed and
off whack. It doesn’t
have to be unique
or the same. It can
be raw and tough
and bleed from the page
It doesn’t have to
articulate your every
thought that speed
races through your
mind. It doesn’t
have to be as good
as his or her’s
and it doesn’t have
to be liked…
write the
God damn poem,
it isn’t
rocket science.

Karen Hayward ©2019

I am love…

I am love. Liberate me from these past chains and I am the essence of love, the Eros of ancient Greece, the Roman Cupid, I am the epitome of love caged within a shell of disdain. Free me. Please. I am love, I am words spoken too fast, distracted thoughts, random smiles inappropriately dispersing the grey, I am the I love you’s, told time and time… For any moment can be our last, I am love, let me be love let me become the Intense fluttering of a dragonfly empowered to fly the skies, protected as I dance between atoms, a sprite teasing the sun beams. I am love, *flourishing* when loved, an *inferno of heat* , I am love, look closer it is love that curves my lips, it is love sparkling in my eyes, it is love that carries my laughter… It is love that lifts my wings, to be and to love, to love, to love freely, wholly, intensely in the abandoned hues of tomorrow between the silent beats of contentment. I am love, liberate me, please, my wings are clipped, this cage suffocating, I was love, this mist drowns me, I was love, this cage kills me. I was love… I am love, I am love, I am love. Free me, please.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image via WordPress library

The fairytales are the cage

The seconds ascend
across the broken
scent of bleach,
swept debris
And forgotten cutlery
wedged between
reality and
fantasy. Caged in
the realm of
fairytale, no
Bird sings here, no mice
no pumpkin carriage.
The fairies Godmother
has long vanished
into the ethereal
taking with her
the Ill fitting glass
slippers. And so it
is I sit here bare foot
as the seconds ascend.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

And sings the glistening beads

Swirling smooth

lush kisses of fog

embracing our skin

with gentle kisses

for the soul.

My love,

let us lose ourselves

deep within

the forest

away from

prying eyes.

Bare skin

beneath the

howling moon,

find me,

taste the essence

of me in each

dew drop upon

your naked form.

There in the forest

between the

swaying leaves.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

I want to walk barefoot upon the moon. 

I want to walk on the moon, 

bare foot with universal star 

dust dancing through my tresses. 

I want to stand upon its naked form 

and stare into the blackness. 

I want to sing among the stars. 

I want to look back at earth 

see Gaias true beauty from afar. 

I want to swim in lakes of moon light, 

naked and unashamed watching numerous 

suns rise across my horizons. 

I want to wear meteor did upon my dress,

skimming my knees a full circle

that twirls as i walk, 
teased by the breeze. 

I want to ride chariots of the Gods, 

traverse the skies in the simplicity of innocence
On the blood of purity. 

I want to walk bare foot upon the moon. 
Karen Hayward *© 2017

Without shoes my soul flies.

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I promised…someone or something,

perhaps a relative,

my dad,

or my  Grandad lost in spirit.

I promised,

God or the devil,

or earth’s spirits maybe,

or it could even have been

the clouds as they skipped merrily

on by. I promised….Someone,

myself perhaps…

No matter my age;

no matter my dress,

my hair,

I would never truly leave behind

my inner child.

I would never forget the sky as I swung higher

and higher a swarm of fear

of excitement

of life

igniting throughout my soul screaming for release as my feet

push out as my knees pull under as the clouds become closer,

the sun warms my face….I promised…myself perhaps…

even grown up shoes are made to be slipped off so as to feel the earth between our toes.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image Karen Hayward ©2017

The Essence of Gold Dust.

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Drowning in the essence of your love,

pool of desire pulling me in as your

ocean embraced my soul in sudden

distraction as the air was pulled from

my loveless lungs. Seconds turned

to minutes, hours crashing through

days melding into weeks…now time,

is the foundation of our existence.

Clarity of thought to which you have

whispered, a constant ebb of love,

the ocean, Pandora’s stained essence.

You? You are the gold dust sprinkled

on the oceans surface, calling to my soul,

pleading I rise, I breathe, I live …I love.

Treading water beneath horizons of eternity,

celestial skies illuminated in your

cyan eyes.

Claimed?

I have never felt so free.

Karen Hayward ©2017