Atoms folding in

We are all broken
fragments of hope,
scattered tirelessly
through times
path across linear
dimensions
weaving through
planes of existence
here upon Terra.
Poor ageing Terra.

Then Gaia kissed life
into us, the skin
was her canvas
and the scars the
colours as Mother
painted energy
between the deep
rivets adding gentle
brush strokes of
silent hues
and vivid screams
of life.

Her paints run low now,
her waters are dry,
the air dirty,
her creation is
decaying, compromised,
the canvas rotting…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image via WordPress

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

Photo

Te reasoning of planets

I am lost in days silent retreat,
as Helios stands guard of vast
raging skies as evening draws,
and he bids goodbye.
My soul transcends in the way
his Amber kisses traverse
the colossal void of existence,
crimson echoes of light skipping
over atoms, submerging Gaia
in vivid hues of love,
the serenity of eve’s glow,
each pocket of colour
a prayer
whispered into closed palms,
screamed to the heavens,
spoken into the tangled
strands of a love-one’s hair
as Helios bids us goodnight
till morn and Selene
stirs stifling a yawn and
we sit momentarily still
paused by the beauty
of our creator, be him a he,
a her, a deity, a God or god
a messiah or Angel…
In that moment between
dusk and twilight
we find them in our prayers
In return,
they give to us a sun and moon
a reason to pause us there.

Karen Hayward©2018

No claim to image

Silent falsities

Stained threads of purpose,
clambering the ladder,
stepping stones of succession,
A charlatans profession.
My personal preference is to
Be forgotten, I am no man’s
stepping stone, no check list
item on the road, falsities are
for another, so let’s not pretend,
bridges burned to the very end.
Bridges burned to the very end.

Karen Hayward ©2018
No claim to image

To appease the falling stones

I would give my last, my first, my every wish to take back every tear that fell and every tear that falls. I’d place each one delicately into a jar wrapped in pink gingham blessed in rose quartz and place it at my bedside…I’d take us back to our blank canvas when days crashed and we existed from no where. Instead of greeting you with welcome I’d whisper, ‘its you’ for isn’t that exactly what my soul screamed? I never knew seconds could weigh so much and miles could seem so vast. I’d not wait this time, I’d hand you my locked chest over spilling with the torn fragments of me, and leave you to finger through at your leisure the dark shadows, sharp edges and etched scars. I’d beg you do the same. I’d unpack the monsters of your past, caress them into life, embrace their darkness and kiss away their fears. I’d give my last, my first, my every wish to wipe clean the pain I caused, I’d replace each tear with a kiss, each rip with fingers, each dark thought with knowing eyes that tell you second after minute after hour after day… I am in love with you, you are the cause of my beating heart, the flames igniting my spirit, you are the whisper I hear skipping across moon beams, you are the stars in my dark, you are my dark, my light, my source, my love, eternal.

Karen Hayward ©2017

No claim to image

See what they see…

He stroked tangles into her once luscious mane,
and peppered it in the muted hues of time.
He smoothed the years across her brow
and etched his hate
within her blunt laughter lines.
He left a thesis of his dysfunction written between the grains of her invalid groin
and ringed the spoils of her scars in red ink.
He left her skin bare of kisses, of love,
of exploration or pleasure
he tamed the primal beast
he groomed her into silence
then gave her a mirror
and said…

See? Then grinned menacingly.

He stroked tangles into her once luscious mane…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image via Google search.

It’s not that I think our souls will transverse
the very beats of times tick tocking clock
Or the stark darkness of our universe,
I don’t think love can make time pause or stop
It’s not the bond that binds, with unseen thread,
Or the way each one leads and each is led.
It’s not a phantom, ancient belief
synchronicity so tidy and neat
It’s not even a hopeful, dreamed thought
that in his delicate net, I’ll be caught…

It’s as physical as can be
this deep,
vivid, mind expanding, crazy need
to curl my naked form within his space
safe within our handmade nest of white lace
It’s the delicate essence of true trust
embracing love, friendship and delicious lust
Perhaps it’s the way he lets me fly free
unclipped wings, voice dancing across lush trees
returning to the nest at each ones call
I think perhaps that’s the cause of loves fall
when Alice slipped down that loving hole
and now became my only life goal.

Karen Hayward ©2019

Image and words

Stop the endless search for purity

If only they would stop searching the endless paths of

hopeless fools that dominate the green green grass

of earth. If they could just stop looking to appease the

lost souls of the blind clones and their followers, they

could be free. They could strip away the insecurities

of an unstable society and walk the balance beam of chaos,

one foot in front of the other as their soul flies on ahead

to clear the way. If for a moment they could shake away

their prudish thoughts, let passion enter their minds, brush

away the dirt of a gentleman’s rule, they could know ecstasy.

The creeping wave that floods through the perfectly tuned body;

inhibitions left at the door, clothes strewn across the floor,

desire in the fingertips of fire, passion no longer

denied as the flames burn inside.

If only they could walk this path, leave behind the sins of

the clueless few who fear the strong. So much fear for the other side,

for those that walk bare skinned without sin beneath a veil

of devilish fun with tantalizing tales of lust, stories of trust

and moments in time of naked bodies never meant to

be mine. Alas, the path is their choosing all mottled in grey

always concerned for the place where they lay.

Karen Hayward ©2015

Nothing comes, whilst it all is there

I never thought that I would care.

A chemical reaction and skin that is bare

and that bit of you, that you’d readily share.

But i’m without claim and freedom is yours

so take her if you please, do it on all fours.

Body to body it’s an action of lust

has nothing to do with emotional trust.

So why…

Why did nobody say that the lines become blurred,

that you’ll see emotions written in the words.

Excitement of touch falls to the page

and in that moment I hear what you say.

Words for another

as you explore a new lover.

And perhaps it makes sense

my emotional descent.

It’s more than the skin, the touch and the feel

it’s spirits that touch a connection so real.

And I did not expect didn’t know it was there

but the response that I got, was to be shown that 

I care.

Karen Hayward (copyright) 2015 Image via wordpress library