First Tutorial

A room full of people, all so unsure.

Apprehension and anxiety, burns right to the core.

Descriptions so perfect, characters surreal,

Stories in stories, some of them real.

A mans life worked with numbers, now he wants words,

Can he dig deep, and describe, the sound of the birds.

The lady who hides, from her closest her talent,

Will the world hear her words, can she be valiant?.

The man who’s seen horror, and all in-between,

Will his words describe anguish, and all that he‘s seen.

The honourable man, that for decades, did his duty,

Can he produce fiction, a thing of beauty?

In a room full of people, all of us unsure.

I hear magical words in at least ten score.

I saw souls come alive, eyes shining bright,

Creative writing is hard, but we’re ready for the fight.

To friends on my course, the people I met,

We have the Red Book, each other,

so lets not fret.

Lets all share our words, our rhymes and our plots,

From each other, we can learn what works.

And what, does not.

Karen Hayward ©2012 Edited 2020


Today I shall call you petal,
the delicate bloom of beauty
I will tell you, your eyes are
radiant, oceans of love, you
will giggle and say, we have
the same eyes mum and I
will smile. I will not tell you
that the depth in mine is
a lifetimes scars and yours,
your depth of blue is the
skies, innocent and pure.
Today I will call you petal,
my gentle blue blossom
peeling away layers your
heart atomized into
a fragrant love that
disperaes upon the suns
rays. Today I will call you
my petal, my love, my
favourite flower whispering.
into each day with silken
pleats of beauty. Yes,
today my darling gal,
I will call you my petal.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words

Peaked beauty.


A pregnancy memory…

Sometimes from
Out the blue my
female gene ties
me down and
suffocates me
in memory.
Warm water,
silent blue skies,
Just me and you.
My stomach
an oblong mass
of transformation.
Was it your feet?
Or your bum?
Pushing at me.
Every time.
A hate or a love?
Fear or excitement?
Just us and a few
random birds
traversing their day.
You became a peak
Of perfection reaching
from beneath the ocean
of water, Stretching
perhaps. Maybe we
relaxed together.
I still feel the skin
beneath my fingers as
you pushed a perfect
triangle and we
bonded, an unbreakable
tie. . .unbreakable.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words.

The soul that embraces inner beauty. 

For some beauty is in the eyes,

The hair that falls perfectly

And the flawless skin or the 

Lips that plead to be explored 

Beneath the layers of colour

Artistically drawn across the 

Previous canvas….But for some

Of us, beauty is in the soul and 

The way it spills naked across 

The contours of the body. The eyes

That have more depth than colour

And the lips not afraid to smile

And hair so wild it has long given 

Up on being tamed…

Yes, for some us beauty is in the soul. 

Darkness within.

Your darkness draws me in like a cold winters night,

wrapping itself around my body, creeping under my skin.

Your darkness whispers to me as the breeze whispers

to the changing leaves on an early autumn night.

Your darkness caresses me like the spring sun that

creeps in to warm the freezing days .

Your darkness ignites a flame deep inside of me that burns

like the deep heat of a clear summers day.

Your darkness is under my skin, your darkness

found the darkness I hide within.


Karen Hayward ©2015



The sensuality of a blank canvas.

There’s no space on the page where my words can settle without burning

the sheet to ash. Speckles of ash that are lifted into the breeze, thoughts

carried away into the universe.

There’s no way to spill the calm of chaos into a logical sentence that can

be read and understood, rarely can the light walkers understand the dark.

There’s no way to create form with a desire that walks on the edge of

nothingness, no perfect Haiku to whisper in code, or sonnet to bumpily

rhyme away sinful thoughts.

Perhaps if I had an invisible pen i could write of the desires, I could tell of

the thoughts that would make even the devil blush.

I could explore the page with a fresh energy, words trailing, thoughts

wandering as do fingers or eye’s or the passion that sits on the

lips of a lover.

Or perhaps, I can write in rhyme safe in the knowledge that the beat will

hide from sight my continual need for you.

Trivialization of such thoughts feels like a form of infedelity to myself, to

the empty space in front of me, to the blank page that can become so

much, yet begs me to not make a liar of it.

Perhaps the emptiness is better than being compliant and trying to force

delicious chaos into some form of normality.


Karen Hayward ©2015


Am I?

Am I a shadow? Is that why nobody knows,

the things that I think, the things that I show.

Am I a dandelion in a field full of sunflowers?

Hidden by petals up there on the tower.

Am I the soft breeze that blows in a storm

I really do wonder if I even have form.

Am I the mist hidden by the sea’s spray

would anyone know if this mist didn’t stay?

Am I anything other than toil

or am I simply the left over soil?


Karen Hayward ©2015




What tears us down?

What tears us down?

Is it the world or our own infidelity towards ourselves?

What makes us feel anger when in reality another persons actions rarely has any direct impact on us?

What makes us feel fear when every day of our lives we face the ultimate fear of death?

Is the world really to blame for our indiscretions or are we?

If on Friday 13th of any given month I were to walk under a ladder whilst smashing a mirror because a black cat crossed my path, would I really wind up with years upon years of bad luck? Or would I just feel a little silly for carrying a mirror in my hand whilst out walking and so busy day dreaming that I tripped on a cat?

Can we really blame the world when things go wrong?

Is it the worlds fault that we have single people in it?

Is it really so bad to be whole without another half? Is love really the be all and end all of this adventure we lead until we return to the ground? Why do we allow heart ache, we cannot at any point control another persons emotions, but in what way does that make it our fault? Are we really doomed because we are so busy loving everyone that we forget to love ourselves?

What is the meaning of life and why are we here?

If love is the reason for our being, if the searching and finding of our soul mate is the only purpose of this journey, then should we not die on point of contact? Should we not see them across a crowded room, touch them, kiss them and then fall into them as our beating hearts stop. Forever. And if this is not the true purpose of our lives then why does the world stop turning for so many when their soul mate has a different path to theirs? Who is to blame for this indiscretion? The lover? The world? It is said that two souls are destined to find each other, so why do people continue to believe that their soul mate exists, but are living a different life?

If soulmates are real then so are the angels that watch them. Is the world to blame when you cannot trust that your angels will direct you correctly?

Who is to blame when I am pushed into a corner and my emotions run wild? The world that pushed me there? Or is it me. Am I the cause and effect of my own stampede of indiscretion.

If I am the owner of the love that I share, of the lust that I feel, of the happiness that I throw back into the world, then surely I too am the owner of my pessimistic views? Surely I too own my spiteful tongue and hate fueled fury?

Why do we spend so much time fearing what makes us whole? Does the world dictate that such feelings are invalid? That to feel these things some how makes you less of a human?

What tears us down? The world? Or is it us? Do we place unavoidable obstacles in our own way? Do we believe that life is magical and yet constantly strive to find a scientific explanation for our emotions?

What tears us down, the world? Or is it the indiscretions toward ourselves, our very own infidelity, that breaks us?


Karen Hayward (copyright) 2015.