Goodbye no Reason why.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies,
No goodbye, no reason why.

History once again,
prevails its weakened soul.
So much forgiveness,
but the end is nye.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies.
No goodbye, no reason why.

So undeserving of the truth
you offer silence instead.
When true words would
sooth a broken heart.

No goodbye, no reason why.
No sorry and no lies.
No goodbye, no reason why.

No empty lies.
No questions of why.
Just honest truth
Is loves real proof.

Karen Hayward ©2013 – Edited 2020 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

They’re Catholic, does it matter?

They’re Catholic, does that matter? I say it like it does, like the cross in their window bears their souls, but where was God when she fell? Some people spill love from their pores in caring smiles and mindful nods. Her twinkle near most left that day, and for a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. He looks like St Nicholas, smiles like an old pirate and looks at his wife as though he has found the grail, I suspect he has. I suspect unbeknown to him, them, all of us, he has found that which is more holy, more powerful and more beautiful than any other earthly matter. Their love is different. The passion comes in his early morning jolts to the allotment, the way he stops at the corner looks back and waves like a mad man drowning at sea, anything to see that twinkle in his gals eye. She aged, over night, but her beauty never faded and her belief never drained. She smiles now with those sparkly blue eyes lined with tears as she hobbles past on his arm, him in cut of shorts, a baggy shirt buttoned up high and white spangly legs… They’re catholic, devout, they go to my church that I pretend to forget to attend and as I sit beneath the muted blues of an evening sky and watch him wander by I wonder. They’re Catholic. Does it matter?

Karen Hayward ©2018

Tinker tailor soldier… 

Sometimes you can bite a tongue too deep,
Awaken a dormant sleeping beast,
A scorpio was never born to be meek
Her protective stance is her sleep…

But scales must be aligned, to be fair
You ever wondered how she got there?
A Lone walker, she needs no one to care
Self destruct, from a single source they share.

Now silence echoes as the future calls
A blip on the radar she will cut the cord
Pull at the lines and break her own fall
At best it will leave her just a little bit sore.

For meekness was never her skin
and respect not given where dues
Is the strength it now brings
as she wanders away,
to forget about you, for the loss
of respect, where respect was due.

Karen Hayward ©2018 image and words 

Overload.

The draft box has once again exceeded 100, you guys know what that means right, yeah, sorry I’m gonna be spamming odds and ends of my thoughts for the day in the hope that some will become poetry 😀😀.
I shouldn’t need to thank you.

I shouldn’t need to say,

but thanks for cleaning dishes

that’s one less job today.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Ancestoral whispers.

Legs trample me in their rush 

to achieve greatness as I fall to 

the floor consumed by weakness. 

My transparent existence lays torn. 

I offer no resistance to the 

oncoming stampede as vultures 

devour my innards to feed. 

I reach alone into the heavens 

gazing at the stars, 

whilst soldiers of Beelzebub 

claw at my scars. 

No one hears my screams 

they echo through the thunderous

 clouds, no one see’s my face 

beneath the masquerade shroud. 

I converse coherently to my 

inner child, 

we sit broken 

on the cold concrete for a while. 

Dirt stained hands rest upon my

 shoulders, 

holding me down, 

helping me drown. 

Gulping down the polluted air

I feel it spread through my veins 

Staining my heart, branding my soul. 

I stop breathing.

Listen to the beat

of my dying heart as

my blood slows.

Beating

Beating

Beating

Beating. 

…Beating.

From beneath the shadows of darkness

I hear the distant ancestoral whisper. 

Drums fighting for the perfect 

beat rapidly a chaotic rush

of angry echos.  

Eyes open I see past the legs 

that trample, 

I push away the tainted 

hands of despair. 

My apparent transparency the force 

in my rising soul,

as my inner child whispers,

I need not be seen,

to be whole. 
Karen Hayward ©2016 (image and words)

Narcicist .

I recently had the pleasure of sharing private messages with a narcissist. By pleasure I mean soul destroying energy draining horror. I wouldn’t normally choose to communicate with such a person but in this case my eye was off the ball and before I knew it he was under my skin. I blocked him. Yet his presence has continued to annoy me. The fault lays entirely with me my intuition screamed at me that there was something wrong about this person, but this clashed with my beliefs that we shouldn’t judge a person on first impressions….what the fucking hell was I thinking!  I communicated with him for just under a week and in that time he shared anger, gas lighting, manipulation, obsessiveness, a desire for power and control as well as an ability to wield that power and control. All of these emotions convert to energy as an empath I pick up on that frequency of energy….the problem with this is that most other people can’t , so his public posts just appeared to them as harmless, quirky as us writers are, but harmless. Of course in his pm’s he was able to explore my vulnerabilities with more vigour, but it was also there in his public posts and replies. I should have been able to shake him off but the reality is his clear disrespect toward me has highlighted my vulnerabilities and taken me into a place of questioning. Amazing how quickly a narcissist can get in and fuck with your head. In short he disrespected me as a female writer, us females are already fighting enough stereotypical crap as it is we don’t need individuals to play along too. He did this in a number of ways, covertly communicating in such a way that he expected me to not notice. I did notice. The vulnerabilities he highlighted have been dominating my mind and pushing me into a corner to clearly stand up and define who it is I am as both a person and a writer. I guess in a way the situation has made me question whether he didn’t take me seriously as a writer, because up until this point I haven’t taken myself seriously as a writer.

Over the next few weeks I plan to explore the different ways in which this person was able to disrespect me as a writer. I could of course sweep it under the rug, shrug it off and pretend it never happened, but why the fuck should I, my writing style pushes the boundaries and I often explore topics that allows society to stereotypically label me. This is the problem.. I am who I am, I am not the words on page I am the spaces between them and for that alone I deserve respect.

Karen Hayward ©2016.