Time moves between the shadows

The universe doesn’t pass time in the moving of seconds,
Instead, the ascending and descending of life events.
First there is birth to the perfect parents.
Not perfectly good or perfectly rich,
hell they might not even be perfectly hitched.
But for purpose sake, the bond is purposefully stitched.
Or un-stitched in some cases.
At a soul level you’ll recognise their faces,
past lives leaves scars, freckles, tiny traces.
Childhood happens, you might be rich you might be poor,
the universe keeps ticking never keeping score,
look around at the beauty, she only wants, that you want more.
For some there is light, for some of us dark
and as the grains of sand slip, we all walk a path,
Living becomes a story that leaves another mark.
Till finally we learn there are lessons at hand,
Life is a map only our souls know the plan,
from the moment of birth when Terra began.
They’ll be tears, they’ll be hurt and boy they’ll be pain,
they’ll be days when we count seconds by the drops of grey rain,
and some of us sadly, will be driven insane.
But alas time must trickle through the portals neck,
as we eat, pray, play, work and slumber in bed,
Till finally we wake, then we are led.
For each soul that wanders for each mind that grows,
lessons are delivered knowledge is sown,
and time passes by in a constant flow.
Some of us lucky our lessons we learn,
twin flames found at the very first turn.
Some of us feel time, feel time, as each second burns,
time hesitates, stammers and screams,
we can’t figure out what the symbols mean,
we can’t make sense of the time that has been.
The universe doesn’t pass time in the beating of hands,
time is explored through our souls and their plans,
some paths we can’t and some paths we can.
Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)

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A serenity

I have a deep yearning
within me
for solitude
silence,
for the
swaying grass,
and whistling leaves
for rolling hills
endless skies of blue
and the rising
giggle of the days
sun spilling across
lush green grass
just beyond
the railroad
and her one
a week station
that sits patiently
without sound,
yearning for the
hustle and buzzle of life.

Karen Hayward ©2018

To and fro

Once in a golden hour they cast to earth a seed, planted in the darkness with no one there to feed.

To and fro they went tearing at
her form, fragmenting at the edges, leaving her tainted and all torn.

Then she grew so much, she wore a crown of light, fought hard to calm
her demons and often lost the fight

She sow’d it far and wide, her body was her power, a vessel to discard
she thought, till her mind bloomed into a flower.

Read my little fable: he that runs may read, they look upon her wholly now, look beyond the seed.

And some are pretty enough, and some are poor indeed; and some of them I’m telling you… will silently bleed.

Once in a golden hour, they cast to earth a seed, up there grew a flower,
She saw herself a weed.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Inspired by and referenced, by my fave ever poet, The Flower, Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Cleaning makes me

Cleaning makes me hungry
Cleaning gives me clarity
Sweeping makes me hungry
as I sweep away old thoughts
Dusting makes me hungry
as I drift of to lavender fields
and jasmine scented evenings
Wiping makes me hungry
as I cleanse old stains, leaving
behind the scent of bleach
Mopping makes me hungry
as dirt clears, as thoughts
clear, as day dreams burst into
life,
Cleaning makes me hungry.
On clear sides with clean plates,
a clean knife and a clean floor,
I make a banana sandwich to
sate my hunger…
Cleaning leaves me exhausted
The sandwich goes uneaten.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

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Fairytale truths

The wakened
sight of the
blind burning rigidity
into fluidity
through lucidity of mind.
A made up story
of upon a times,
the damsel,
the Princess,
the Queen and her tarts.
The owl is wise at twilight,
the flea upon a beggar,
the mouse,
he creeps,
he crawls he squeals
yet sees it all.
But alas,
his tail is a noose,
the farmers wife
got loose upon
offer of a truce.
You see,
its all a Grim type tale,
blood and guts,
deceit and glory
just another
virtual story.
Gone now is the hole,
The rabbit and Alice
Dreams have become
pixels,
Princes… Pixels
Kings… Pixels
Promises… Pixelated
fantasies,
Imaginary realities
King Ego ruling the roost
the awakened state
the new fairytale truth.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image found on pinterest

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The days when…

I remember a time when all I
could cook was toast.
At the very most.
toast and jam.
Which pleased my elders,
As they flew down memory lane.
Karen Ann bread and jam.
It’s all she ate then,
It’s all she eats now.

I remember a time when
It was you in the kitchen,
Bitching,
because it was never me,
I used to run and flee
when the pans came out
and our dad would shout.

I remember calling you up,
to find out how to bake a potato,
Yep,
a potato.
Because I didn’t know.
And how to make
cup cakes too. . .

At first, she, would make me
Rhubarb crumble to take home,
I certainly never moaned.
Dad fed me
at every opportunity,
Always ringing to see
whether i was free.

Then I realised I missed
real food,
I missed my Dads dinners.
I missed vegetables,
bolognaise,
I missed that the most.
My Dad made one of which to boast.

So I set out to cook
didn’t use a book.
There was always
the chip shop,
If it came out a flop.

I remember a time
I tell my daughter,
as i take fruit strudel
from the oven
turning cheesy scones,
A quick stir of the thick
tomato sauce speckled with basil. . .
I remember a time
when your Grandad let me be,
so I could play,
till the day that I was ready.
I remember a day when I couldn’t cook,
not even with a book.

Karen Hayward ©*2014*

I sometimes catch my shadow

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I sometimes
catch
the not so distant
sound of footsteps
lurking in past
shadows
walking
behind us.
Do you hear
mine? Bleeding,
tar like energy
through the
Open vines of our
existence.
Then the sun rises
and our past
shadows creep
Into our future self’s
Vivid darkness
contrasting light
I sometimes hear
the footsteps
of your shadowed
past creeping
alongside my
demons and I
wonder are they too
tied by the echos
of ancient maps.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words