A calm

…and there before me is the distant echo of eternity,
whispering through vines, skipping past branches
and I am lost in a hue of blue sky and soft white clouds.
My vulnerability on show, my wild streak at rest,
tamed amidst the gentle breeze of love. I am raw
and I am naked but the dress I wear and I am childlike,
the damsel, the rose and the finest petals…
and I am the purest crystal and the
finest china with a vintage glaze, cracked
and worn. But I am free here among the trees.

Always the whore once the angel

Between the
opposing vines
and strangling ivy,
under the
thorned blackberries
and
spite filled Holly
lays the
naked undercurrent
of my thoughts,
battling nurtures
insects and natures angels
And we are
what we create
in the devils flames,
branded souls
whimpering for the deed
they long forgot they
up and sold.
Once an angel
always a whore
Echoing in the broken
beads of thoughts
taught
on a death man’s wish
once brought.
Don’t you see the
shadows that suffocate
feeding from the sins
I’ve sort,
Yeah, once an angel
always a whore
pacing the sinners
catwalk shore
I am my flesh
do as you please
I am my gasps my moans
desire and lust.
I am nothing more.
Once an angel
always the whore.

Image found on WordPress free library

Daisy, dandy, buttercup kisses

I’d rather be a weed,
then a flower. I’d rather
be seen as ugly
then pretty, strong
then weak. Resiliently
stubborn fuels my
survival.
I’d rather grow in the
cracks of a beaten side
walk where the
old and the young,
pause before me,
then be lost in the
shadows of a
forgotten garden.
I’d rather be a weed
I’d rather be free.

A flower nobody wanted…

Fallen masks. . .

Give me a soul that smiles,
a heart that sings to empty
skies, eyes that see, hands
that give and a spirit that
knows what it is to live.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

. . . because beauty comes in many guises.

. . .because beauty comes in many guises.

External beauty, seen only in the
dark shadows, kissed by a crescent
moon, shroud in storming clouds.

Internal beauty, heard only between
the speckled flakes of cosmic dust
dispersed on opalescent beams.

External beauty gracing the page
in the aesthetic ink of bleeding
wounds and echoed screams.

Internal beauty never fading
perpetual light illuminating eyes,
hope, splattered about life’s canvas.

External beauty duels time and age
captured moments of supremacy
a catalyst of inspired thought, for. . .

Internal beauty needs no parade
in her mellifluous symphony.
Internal beauty needs no parade.

OPEN SUBMISSIONS FOR POETRY!

The Pearls of Catharsis Times!!

Submissions open!!

Hey guys and gals, i’m an editor of the Poetry and Quotes section in this great magazine, come check it out and send in your submissions. The theme is ‘Summer and/or environmental degradation’

We are open to submissions, closing date June 25th 2017.

Insecurities rush, the blind side.

It claws at me gently as hormones rise,

I know the uncertainty of insecure skies,

When enough, leaves and I see not a thing

Oh how I know what the short rise will bring.

But if nothing is all and all is free,

There’s nothing left for my broken soul, to see.

A blank page and empty space

Expect nothing, leave negative space.

I’m a whisper, a silhouette a bland empty ghost,

So alone I stand and alone I host.

What if…

This was my first ever poem on my blog back in September 2012, I was in my fifth year of study toward my English degree and about to embark on the creative writing and advanced creative writing modules and we were advised we needed writing outlet such as a blog……hmmm…that’s where I became a poet .

celstialtears

What if…

What if karma, destiny and fate are all fake desires dressed up in the giuse of hope, but what if they are not.

What if our paths were always destined, our distance mapped out in the stars that guide us.

What if I am simply a good memory among so many bad ones, a memory designed to offer you hope.

What if that was always to be my purpose.

What if things had been different, I had been stronger, fought for my love, stood tall and confident, demanded to be seen and heard…would things be different?

What if all along, we were just meant to play cards in that old, battered, Black and White house.

What if that was our destiny.

Image found on pinterest

I will write again today…

I will write again today.

I will write every day,

I will write myself through

the dark shadows,

I will write until my

pen runs dry and my page

is a chaotic constellation

of creation.

I will write myself free.

I will write till I become

what it is you see in me….

I will write again today.

(Image and words)