To burn like pale fires.

Would you? Momentarily
pull me in close, stem
the void of noise, imbue upon
me the soft silence of
sanctuary. Validation is
such an annoyance of
need, desired yet stubborn
denial, fierce, yet. . .
vivid rainbow of chaos that
hides pale technicolor
aura. I am gentle as
much fierce, soft as
much hard, pure as much
erotic. Paused breath
I breathe in silent wisps
reading the world through
silent eyes. Would you?
Hold me as the Sun ascends,
descends, glittered trails
of desire lost in woken’s
dawn, I hear now the
ebbing flow of life’s
ethereal lake, and some days,
some days I am the lioness,
the wolf, the flames of Hell
fire and the essence of
desire that burns
within me. But other day
I am merely the falling
petals of the tuberose
delicate, fragrant,
pure, essence lost without
protection from the

Karen Hayward (c)2017 Image and words

Lost thoughts and broken shells

A lost memory of fantasies gone by,
grains of sand beneath a clear topaz sky.
Whilst searching for the forgotten glass
worn away and tossed at last
I found truth hidden in the shining light
an abundance of wisdom,
so glaringly bright.
Shell of the seahorse
the ebbing moon has bought,
through all the years I dreamt I caught,
now you come,
when it’s frosted glass I sought.
The universe today, a message it taught.

Karen Hayward (Copyright)( Poem and image.) 2014.

Intrinsic working of an introvert soul

Have you ever watched the intrinsic
workings of an introverts soul?
We hide deep within the shadows
listening as shoes are worn tread bare.
We scuttle through raindrops
feeling the celestial embrace upon our skin.
We roar into empty skies at twilight
with the moon caressing silent thoughts.
But if you look real close,
if you pay attention to our inaudible beat,
you can see us skipping across powder puff clouds
of white searching in emerald skies of blue,
dancing to natures frequency,
singing to the birds symphony.
Have you ever seen the intrinsic
workings of an introverts soul?

Karen Hayward*©2017

No claim to image 

Graphite girl…

She was graphite, rough and raw.
She’d erase rough lines of guidance,
use the indents as a reminder of where not to walk,
how not to cry,
when not to break.
She’ll sit up into the wee twilight
Hours curving letters across
nipples pert bud,
gently caressing sensuality,
as the sharpened pencil defines
contours of need,
black lines of repression smeared by charcoal nips and probing tips.
Blurred definitions
tainted revelations
deceitful realisations
Graphite creations… how she pondered
now the way we draw our lines
in pencil, temporary markings
leaving a gentle trail
of destruction across
naked bodies beneath Lunar glows
Wild oats, taken, made and sown
Pick ups and throws…
The allure of graphite, need
erased, redrawn… Redrawn.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Echo of my wandering spirit…

Drowning in kaleidoscopic hues of colour,                                                  Plunging through suffocating screams of realism
Colour me in paint strokes of crimson blush
and the licked flick of a dandelions wish
kicked to the curb of impressionism
May Cezanne paint the stills of my soul
and Monet the echos of my wandering spirit
So I may inject their portrayal in arsenic
lining the canvas with mercury
till the Mad Hatter stops for tea
and the White Rabbit runs out of time…
But for the storms that rage
rains that cleanse,
washing toxicity from the chaos
so I may spend my days
in monochrome exile.

Karen Hayward ©2018

No claim to image – Cliff Walk at Pourville, 1882 — Claude Monet

Toes skipping across marble floors…

I suffocate in the silent notes
of a forgotten orchestra
as it drowns me in its melodious
song, the ancient whistle of
Pan and his nymphs dancing
to an unheard tune as I lose
Sight of skies of blue.
Dressed in topaz silk skimming
bare knees, purple ribbons
toes skipping on marble floors,
I hear the devil call as he lands
upon my shore…
All air is sucked from my lungs
Life drained from my veins
Tears milked from the shadows
of my heart as the walls tumble,
As the ceilings crumble,
As the chandelier shatters…

… fragmented diamonds,
sparkle in the darkest hours,
Light in life’s void, beauty in
It’s shadows…

I could drown in the
monochrome whispers of
fantasy, lost, suffocating
in my reality…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found via google search