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

wp-image-1183885807

If she were to close her eyes tight enough

hush the world.

If she could manage to think just lightly enough,

She can actually feel him.

She can feel a new depth to every word

that spills to the page,  they

really do now simply spill. No longer does

she stop and think and edit those sacred

inner thoughts, she hands them over to you

as though they were created

for you, always for you. She’s no longer sure

whether it is a want or a need that has her delve

into darker desires, with each line

she feels you deeper. She can feel now the way your

image climbs through her subconscious

searching for the speckles of light in the dark

and although the darkness entices them both.

You are there dispersing all shadows of doubt.

Whilst the darkness intertwines through the

light the two sides no longer fight. They walk

together, as your fingers explore what you

cannot touch her mind explores what could

not be rushed. She wonders what is one without

the other and which leads and which follows.

Do words of erotic tales lead to

temptation, to the darkness of an empty

void that now has light shimmering in. Or was

it always the hidden swarming feelings

that delivered them to this very page. She used to think

it were one and not the other, but

they both grew alongside, trust in one

created trust in the other, and although

she is not aware at any point of having created

this trust, it is there. It is there in abundance.

With every thought, with every word she can feel

the depth. And she cannot pretend to understand

or even to always accept. But she is intrigued

by the way it spreads through her whilst she stands

open, and she is intrigued by the darkness and

intrigued by the light. She often wonders what

it was that scared her, why she tried so hard to fight when

all she ever need do was close her eyes and know

that this feels incredibly right.

 

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015) Image and words

All the things I never knew, I never knew.

img_20160423_194146.jpg

I didn’t know that
love wasn’t
the drowning
of desire,
The suffocating
of need,
The blanketing
of lust.

I never knew
Love was
compromise
beyond myself,
or that sacrifices
shouldn’t
hurt.
I never knew
that love
was strength.

I didn’t know
love could be
anything
other than
weakness,
that the body
held value
or that my voice
was a treasure.

I never knew
I deserved,
that I could be
that I was,
that I am
that I will be,
I never knew.

I didn’t know love
wasn’t the silent
punishment,
the hateful glares
and egg shell
carpet.
I didn’t know
my heart should
swell, but
never shatter.

I didn’t know
all the things
love was
and
I never knew
it would be you
to teach me.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words.

Touch me, make me bloom.

Photo

Just as the rose,
with her luscious crimson
petals that peel open
before the Sun,
I peel open for you.
My flushed petals curling outward,
my colour, fluid and vi-
brant upon your words.
My floral fragrance
disperses upon your intent.
My blossom awaits your
touch and when I think
I am in full bloom,
my petals become a
little plumper, my colour a little deeper and my scent
becomes your very own personal pheromone,
answering to your
primal calls.

Karen Hayward (c)2017

Image and words.

Where souls are created.

Poem inspired from a photo prompt, courtesy of David Palmer which can be discovered over on g+ right here in this super amazing poetry forum.

 

https://plus.google.com/+DavidPalmer816/posts/7B2WVj3ag6r

Every garden should be filed with tulips,

of every colour

with daffodils and daisies

and dandelion wishes along the end row.

Every garden should be filled with scented

roses of pink, yellow, glorious red and delightful

peach. There should be flower pots, welly boots,

rakes and old broken treasures.

For it is here in the garden that we are created.

It is here  beneath the  autumn leaves that the

young artist discovers colour and texture.

In springs fresh blossoms the young poet discovers

metamorphosis as the butterfly dances past.

It is here as the summer sun rises into the skies

that the musician sings the tune of the whistling

morning bird for the very first time.

And among the death of winter the writer rises

creating an escape of warmth and adventure as

Amazons and Swallows are relived.

And in every broken treasure is born the historian

hungry for knowledge and the engineer who see’s

life in the broken. And the crafter who see’s what can be

not what is as the future scientists mix water and scented

rose petals.

Every garden should be filled with tulips of every colour

and old broken wagon wheels, for it is here in the garden

that souls are born and spirits created and

children become their futures.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Can I be a member of Dauntless, Mum?

img_20160229_153119.jpg

I’ve been filling out the dreaded occupational therapy forms and came across the question what are my daughters strengths and the first thing that came to mind was courage, this reminded me that I had this still lurking in my draft box. My daughter has a neurological condition called gravitational insecurities, to explain it simply her inner ear picks up a wobbly environment, she has an excessive fear of movement. She’s scared to walk down the stairs, or up them. She’s scared of the swing, the slide, the climbing frame the round about…the park. She’s scared if the wind blows. This list is endless, life scares her.

 

My daughter asked me, do I think she could ever be a *dauntless. We had just watched Tris jump from a moving train. I am instantly reminded of the slow walk toward the train station a couple of years ago when she broke down in tears begging me too tell her how she would get off the train, I don’t know where she had got the idea from, but, she was under the impression that trains didn’t actually stop to let people off. So when she asked did I think she could be a member of dauntless I wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear, yes, I believed she already was a member of dauntless. You see some people look at her and they only see her fears. I look at her and I see her courage. Each day she wakes up and faces a world that fills her with dread and fear. Each day she faces the stairs. Each day she goes into a world full of noise and movement and she does it with a smile, a skip and a giggle. And each time the world knocks her down, she gets back up. She has more courage in her blood then most adults I know. To me she is the very definition of dauntless. 

I often find myself asking what the hell is courage? Are the brave only the ones that climb mountains, swim with sharks and jump from planes? Because to me all three of these situations have everything to do with their minds processing their environment in a certain way and very little to do with courage. For me the brave person is the one that looks their fears straight in the eyes and then walks on through. Someone might be able to climb a mountain but they may not be able to tell another that they love them. Courage takes many, many forms not just the physical prowess of controlling the way our mind interprets its environment. The courageous speak up when others are too scared to,  they walk into a world each day that they know will leave them battered and perhaps scarred, they do it anyway.

In life we are constantly faced with choices that create that feeling of fear inside of us and when this happens our bodies react the way it knows it needs to. Given the flight or fight option many of us choose the flight option. We choose not to communicate, we choose to let our fears stop us from expressing ourselves, we let the fear dictate our choices. Our bodies know exactly how to be courageous but our mind whispers that the risk is too high.

A brave person that is ready to face all that life gives them; from the dizzy heights of a mountain top, or the top step of a spiral staircase or the whispered admission of love, these people gather more memories, learn more lessons, connect deeper with their God than that person that opts only to climb the mountain that causes them little or no fear.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

 

*Dauntless….Divergent.

The faction dedicated to courage, bravery, toughness, and fearlessness. It was formed by those who blamed fear and cowardice as a cause of the problems society faced. It tries to fight cowardice by giving the advantage of preparation and the ability to act when facing a fear to its members.