The chaotic tango through invisible self.


I leave a shard of myself in the shadows
A soft echo of spirit, she moves with care
unseen by all, she is delicacy, vulnerability
she is the binding Celtic knot. She is my net
when I fall, my enough my embrace my love.
I leave a shard of me in the shadows
where few think to glance as they tango
through me in a tantalised dance.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

The depth of love your touch can bring.


Beneath a summer sky of deepened blue
with a rich sun I think of you.
Not the gentle breeze upon my skin
but the depths of lust your touch can bring.
Nor the subtle scent of purple beaded petals
No, just the way your honey voice settles.
As rays of heat warm my soul
I think of you and I feel whole.
White puffs of cloud drifting by
become your kisses on passions sigh.
Bees busy mining for their queen
whilst I struggle in earnest to keep my thoughts clean.
A penetrative stance in mornings intent
Wishes of desire divinely sent
As the summers day begins ascent
Your lust is the my only scent
embracing the curve of tender skin
As I dream of a life of luscious sin.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

Every Track Leads to the Devil.


I lost my battle of innocence,
by choice,
It was my voice.
Lost my angelic-ness,
This is my mess.
I am tainted,
too late to go back.
What if i’m wrong,
and this is the devils track?
No difference,
It never is,
No one will truly call me his.

Karen Hayward ©2014 (edited 2017)

Image and words

To gather lost pieces.


If I gather up
the cracked
pieces of
the shattered
grains of soul,
the shards of
spirit, the
chipped remains
of identity,
perhaps you
could help me
tidy them into
neat piles of
rationality, dust
away the insanity.
Fill the voids
with self believe,
polishing them
with self confidence
long lost in the
devils hour.

Karen Hayward* ©2017
Image and poem.

Breathe fire upon lost morsals of reality. 

Breathe fire into my dying mind

Awaken the cognitive notions 

Of explosions limited by the 

Silent implosions. Reality is 

In motion, the orgasmic pleasure 

Of devourity coursing through 

Life’s purple lines…Breathe 

Fire i to my dying mind. 
Karen Hayward*©2017

Image and word’s


Ignorance sure ain’t bliss. 

If truth be spoken and lies erased 

Life forsaken, spirit raised.

Then ponder me for just a mo,

Let’s sit and watch the peacock show. 

And when all is done, left alone, 

Sat upon your empty throne,

I ponder then do they know,

Who will love you when they go. 

For carry then their tainted mind

Transcendence they will not find.

Ignorance is sure not bliss

We are not forgiven when gone amiss.  

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image and words.