Multiverse of possibilities.

Collaboration between myself and a very talented poet/writer/creator Blueflamez.

Check out more of his work on the link at the bottom! ūüôā

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Forget the Ink, forget the page.. Let us entwine thoughts

and become the very essence of poetry. We’ll dedicate the

blank spaces between letters to the creation of our realities

based upon our fantasies. Quills together in shared unison,

a creative rush of chaotic lunacy…the building blocks of

moral sanity a pandemic thought spread throughout

humanity.Think about the concept, the art, those same

words embedded in your mind, the margin, the heading,

the facts you can piece together, and tear apart. The real

challenge is shaping up and breaking down the mental

blocks that can hold you back, only to channel that creative

spread that surrounds you, and unlock that potential.

Harness the power of a world within the world, the multiverse

of possibilities, choices, to see the mirror image of who

you were, to the person you’ve become. You are the pages,

you are your eternal life of spoken truths, and written fantasies,

your signature is your personality as your greatest work of all.

The letters of your existence a strong hold of knowing,

unknowing becoming and undoing. Call your name into

the cosmos, start with an inaudible whisper if you must,

there is no rush. Say it, shout it, call it from heavens bed

sign your essence across the skies of men.

Sign your soul across the minds of man.

Karen Hayward & poetryflamez ©2017

Image Karen Hayward ©2017

Find more of poetryflamez work here.

 

 

 

The map home. 

Tell me wandering soul, are you lost? Have you traipsed through the dark alleys of forever in the pouring rain searching the heavens for that single star that illuminates your heart? Are you lost? We are all lost. Thereare no stas to guide us only our inner thoughts. Make speed now, the storms are coming and when you are done screaming to the gods of yesteryear take comfort, for blue skies will follow and golden rays of sun will fall upon your soul warming your very core. And when alone walking through the valley of death ponder upon the fickleness of the heart, the fear of the mind, and the truth of your inner self, for when lost in darkness, your intuition is your house, your compass, your map home. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

If I am lost return to sender.

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If I became an empty face in the crowd, would you know me still? If I were lost, wandering through the empty days my shadow merging with the concrete, would you see me still? If the solitude sucked me under and I was drowning in oxygen, would you feel the slowing of my beat?  If I fell to my knees, bloodied and grazed and let life pass on by, would you know of my absence? If I walk the wrong way into the crowd of empty souls, will you feel the pull? If I am lost, will you find me?

Karen Hayward ©2016

Coke and wine.

I hear the wine flowing and the glasses chink

as you miss the table and hit the sink.

Mother and daughter addictions together

thrown in the garden whatever the weather.

You talk above the same old songs, and I wonder

if you know that your behavouir is wrong

or that there’s a rat in your kitchen running a mock

it’s a matter of time, tick fucking tock.

As predictable as the sun that moves the dial

smeared face and blood shot eyes is your style.

Mother dearest your spirit is broke

I saw this in your face the moment we spoke.

Fuck this and fuck that ‘cos the world is so screwed

but you never consider that the problem starts with you.

Ten green bottles sitting on the wall

every single night I hear them fall.

A knock at the door and the bed springs go

Daughter dearest, do you think we don’t know?

You sing as it moves to cover the sound

to hide the white powder,  another round?

Your a tight knit unit all full of love

broken souls that are fucked up and stuff.

Excited greetings and laughing galore

filling the glasses who wants more?

Voices go up voices go down

I can actually hear when you’re wearing your frown.

The music begins and everyone sings

till the spiteful tongue brings out its sting.

Tears are falling and the mask no longer fits

true colours shining none of you give a shit.

The lamp is broke, the glasses shattered

not that any that truly mattered.

You scream you push, so much pressure

you lose the very thing you pretend to treasure.

Flashing lights and a friendly face

an easy call for them to trace,

again today, again tomorrow

mother and daughter full of so much sorrow.

 

Karen Hayward ©2015

 

 

 

 

A wooden town lost in despair.

(Jaywick).

Fucked up and busted,

burnt out or rusted. Broken

glass and shattered dreams

of a fantasy held, but never seen.

Lost souls in a town of death

blood, sweat and the eternal meth.

wooden homes burnt and gone,

a hidden place so filled with wrong.

Drugs and hate with cider shots,

this is the place that love forgot.

Fucked up and broken

the devil himself has spoken,

he rules the town of deep despair,

and

nobody

cares.

The wooden town that time forgot,

there’s one road in, and it’s full of rot.

Broken souls and spirits high,

as someone, somewhere, begins to fly.

He takes from their soul

a bit at a time,

feeds them back life,

built upon crime.

A fantasy once, held by mans dream,

to recreate life an image he’d seen.

Memories of old in the wood that he sold,

to have and have be

the stories to keep…

a holiday for life, a home where you’d sleep,

but the devil did see the dream

that would be,

with its one road in that

led to the sea.

And the universe screamed,

and the universe saw,

the dream that was built right there at the shore.

She sprinkled down sand,

and skies of deep blue,

and added souls with hearts

that were true.

She shot out the stars

that covered the sky,

these were the light

that lit up the dark.

And the devil despaired

and the devil does fight,

he’ll do what he can to banish this light.

Shattered glass and splintered dreams,

lost souls fraying at the very seams.

There’s those that see, the dark and the lost,

the eternal damned, societies lost,

and those that know

of one mans dream,

never made but always seen.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016