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

Karen Hayward (c) 2017 Image and words

Will you still when I am aged

Will you. . . ?
When my skin wears the markings
of my days and the lines of my nights
etched upon my face in a constellation
of battles won and wars lost.
Will you…?
When my hair is peppered with storms
meant to crush and dances meant to
drown. Leaving a trail of suffocated
colour, speckled through my timeline.
Will you…?
When my essence is muted grey in a
room full of rainbows arching to
perfection as I stumble to stand but
manage only to fall… Will you?
Will I?
Yes, when life is tattooed across your skin
in the distant echoes of battles, knights and Kings,
Yes, when age holds you within its grasp,
hair disappearing rapidly fast.
Yes, when our minds are a riddle
of yesteryears, lost thoughts and a need to tiddle,
Yes, when presence is historical in fresh blooms
among young meat in crowded rooms…

And suddenly I understand the depth of ‘of course’
the reason behind loves universal laws
We are all of our good bits, all of our flaws,
And age is the key to a souls longing need,
together we’ll blossom, starting from seed.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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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

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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The enchanted promises…


Your gift to me I shall treasure

until comes the day when I can

rest upon your chest and feel

the beating of our hearts in unison.

My wings will know the essence of life

upon them as I soar through the skies

resting upon clouds as the ascending

sun skips across mountain tops.

I will wander through the storms of existence,

your love my protection. For I see it now,

no longer do I walk alone, with only my shadow.

I will search the darkness for light

and when needed,

call upon you, my knight.

I will sever no ties, I will stay within sight,

but promise me,


my dearest love…do not wander into the

enchanted forest where I cannot follow,

do not befall the bitter tincture

of love in guise…for if I cannot follow,

If I look and cannot find,

then how am I to awaken you with true loves kiss?

You will be lost to an eternity of slumber

your soul rotting deep within the dark realms.


Karen Hayward ©2016

Image found on pinterest


Do you remember?

Do you remember? 

I’m sure that you do.

The nights when we drank

The nights when we spewed. 

Your little skirts 

and the endless black tights.

And those tired walks home

When dark had turned light. 

You remember the letters? 

Or the hours we slept

Remember the laughter

Or the tears that we wept. 

But do you remember 

The pub where we went,

This song? We sang and we sang

Like a stress release vent. 

Microphone in hand

I never knew the lyrics

But you’d giggle say

But we always sing it. 

We always sung it. 

Do you remember?

I’m sure that you do

My friend from the past,

that I once knew. 
Karen Hayward ©2016 

Word prompt, buddy….a moment longer.


Word prompt…buddy.

This poem is inspired by a person from my past who meant a lot to me then and means a lot to me now, however his wife does not permit us to talk. Yet even though we can only share brief glances we have remained friends for over twenty years.

Did you see me before I saw you?

I felt you before my eyes registered you.

You watched me walking for a moment

longer than usually permitted.

You walked alone.

Your lip raised in that little coy smile

of yours,

I wondered what are you thinking

as your eyes slowly blinked.

Then you were gone.

Karen Hayward ©2016


Bathing in memories.

A memory from my younger years, talking whilst in the bath is to me one of the most beautiful things you can do. This is a forgotten memory of a close male friend…clearly our friendship had very few boundaries!

I remember the lost days when you would call at my house. We would lay lazily across the bed speaking, not speaking. I remember you would knock at the bathroom door and pass me through a glass of wine, on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. At first we whispered through the open door, gossiped. You promised not to look and so began the journey of me bathing whilst you sat on the side of the bath, talking, sipping on wine.

Karen Hayward ©2016