Regretful stance in essence of whispered tombs.

( The Italian Sonnet. )


My dearest, I do not forget your name
or whispered promises, tomorrow’s breeze
carries still your message, stand tall, fly free,
ageless spirit unburden fickle shame.
Resistance, for wild souls remain untamed.
Allow never again this heart to freeze
To love in abandoned hues will appease
lost embers of oceans eternal flames.
Yet, I feel the drumming echo of fear
pure porcelain pieces scattered across
the floor, vulnerability so near.
To not give is such a regretful loss
awakened I search the celestial sphere
for regret, is too much a haunting cost.


Karen Hayward* ©2017

Image and words

Without shoes my soul flies.

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I promised…someone or something,

perhaps a relative,

my dad,

or my  Grandad lost in spirit.

I promised,

God or the devil,

or earth’s spirits maybe,

or it could even have been

the clouds as they skipped merrily

on by. I promised….Someone,

myself perhaps…

No matter my age;

no matter my dress,

my hair,

I would never truly leave behind

my inner child.

I would never forget the sky as I swung higher

and higher a swarm of fear

of excitement

of life

igniting throughout my soul screaming for release as my feet

push out as my knees pull under as the clouds become closer,

the sun warms my face….I promised…myself perhaps…

even grown up shoes are made to be slipped off so as to feel the earth between our toes.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image Karen Hayward ©2017

Tomorrows promises.


What is future but the very grains of sand

slipping between our fingers. Words we

utter in despair, thoughts we hide to

show we care. The crisp frozen mist I drag

into my lungs giving me life. What is the future

but the very beating of my heart  at the mere

thought of tomorrow’s promised us.

Karen Hayward ©2016

(Image and words)

Promise me nothing.

Promise me nothing and let no word uttered from those deep red lips thereafter be a sinful injustice to the destination of our journey. Promise me nothing and never will you be capable of tearing slits through my heart or leaving my soul abandoned beneath storming skies. Promise me nothing, not even a kiss or a hint of your love, promise nothing and let it be stained with your lust fuelled seman, seal it with the saliva of a thousand kisses from your lips to another and another. Just promise me nothing, let that be the only promise you make.

Karen Hayward ©2016

The hush of the morning rush.

The hush of the early morning
That brings in the summer storm
The timeless repetition of sound,
So easily found.
Soft blue sky,
Hidden behind a thin veil of white,
Promises of what might.
As i watch the sun,
Creep away from night.
Wisps of yellow greens,
Can be seen,
Climbing through the trees,
Bringing the midnight owl to her knees.
Calling to me,
To wake, to pull away from sleep,
So gloriously deep,
to move toward the warm air,
That the sun does share
The beauty, that the earth does bear.
So i wake and i pause,
and think not about
The internal wars, I
think only of the moment,
Before the sun reaches high, and the hush whispers bye.