Jittery kisses

The smouldering kiss of suppressed
thought, silent flames, burning
memories, (inse) ‘curities fueling
the empty hours that were once
seconds. The vile shadow of intent
for all thoughts have a root, all
words have cause and I feel for the
distant tug of space beyond
prostitution of the flesh. But alas,
some pages we rewrite in frenzied
passion and label it liberation,
erasing our markings with the
over chewed end of a HB pencil
till pages are torn and the canvas
becomes a hue of melancholy grey.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Whispering clouds

3D somehow becomes
2D and I am
transported through time
to when clouds
were shapes
and the sky
was an endless
playground.
Terra tugs at my core
caressing lost strands
of self
as my inner child
sings nursery rhymes
fit for a killer.
Death lays all around me.
Abandoned graves
aging trees
Adulthood on the
lost lips of kids as
they grasp at the
milk cartons
and for a moment
I see St Nicholas
flying high through
cornflower blue skies
I close my eyes
for a last moments
reprieve
“please wake me
from this dream”
but no one hears
I am four and
discovering
that God does
not exist…

… I lay now,
supine in a
moments serenity
reflecting my daily
wish to wake from
this dream
they call life…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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It’s everything and nothing
the beats of mind numbing
time when I simplicity
the quiet verge of self
submerged forgotten
remembered
the silence
of mind
warmed
by home
made soup.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

When gnats bite

It hurts. It actually does.
When I run my fingers
across my skin, like
sun burn, searing, stinging,
screaming pain.
I flinch.
The tablets taste like
earth. Earth and
sore memories of
childhood and this
realisation I am alone.
And oh god I am hungry,
I tell myself tomorrow
I will chart it up
remind myself to eat
between the empty
stomachs, I crave
the dinners of yesteryear;
Roast chicken
cauli cheese, roast tatties,
baby peas, followed
by homemade rice
pudding, I dreamt
about rice pudding
its sweet sticky
milk whilst curled
up watching Only Fools
or Open all hours
with a blankie,
tea and biscuits
surrounded by that
safe silence that
says pause child, pause.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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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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A pocket full of love

New? Me and you in a pocket
universe of atoms,
Not I or he or she or you
but we.
We
our
Our energies merging
between the aeons
of time,
we,
together
painting new
canvases of our
existance.
A Technicolor of
equilibrium spilling
from the
gentle strokes of
our brushes.
I’ll paint you
good mornings
In golden kisses
of light,
You’ll paint the
fluorescent darkness
the stars, the moon
and our nights
and together they’ll
become one in a
pocket universe
made for two
beneath another day’s
evening sun…

…just me and you.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Rain drops washing away our cares

We laughed from deep within our souls,
Rain falling soaking our clothes,
Splashing in puddles a raucous of sound
and right there in that moment,
we were finally found.
Big dollops of water dripping off noses,
flooding the drains and drowning the roses.
Rivers of water racing down hill
Just watching its power offers a thrill.
Exchanging lame jokes about getting us wet,
and the car that whizzed past us… Yeah we lost that bet!
Soaked to our skin, we look like drowned rats,
No coats, no jumpers and no rain hats,
Just us, our souls and our soaking wet clothes
and a moment in time, when our energy flows.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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