Airshow memories. 

That deep vibrational 

roar as the 

plane splits through 

the topaz sky, 

and I am there.

I am the child on the

sand watching the skies 

and squeeling

with delight. 

I am the teenager. 

In denim shorts 

crop top,

and wild blonde hair

that sways as I move. 

I am the adult still 

young of age, 

wishing away work 

and counting the days.

I am the day tripper,

the local, the thought 

you had gone, 

and great to see you back. 

I am the adult in a crowd 

of known faces, 

the history of kisses 

leave faint little traces. 

I am the knowing, you

are the eyes,

the moment is here

caught in time. 

The planes whizzing by, 

the crowds all roar,

Lifeguards walking the edge 

of the shore. 

I am the one, one of some,

Cider and wine sat down on the 

sand, bank holiday this was always 

our plans. The end of summer

whispers on the breeze,

the last weekend of freedom,

before the sunshine leaves. 
Karen Hayward. ©2016

The seaside lad I knew.

Whispering like a dormant field mouse,

but roaring like a fucking lion.

You loved from your soul and nothing less,

And happily fucked up and cleaned up the mess.

To be loved by you in any form

was protection, an absolute norm.

And I look at Tish,

and I know the wings you spread about her,

No one’s gonna get there,

not with you about her.

Fire in your spirit that burns throughout your skin,

A devil’s little angel always teetering on sin.

The girls they fell about your feet,

swooning, every time you meet.

You were fucking fit

And boy did you know it.

Yet to be your girl

was to be your world.

And now age has fell upon us creeping up the rear,

and murmurs of your name I do often hear.

You left us far behind, a memory of your past,

Your life began unfurling all so very fast.

Your whisper still is there, it hides beneath the roar,

and your name now opens up metaphorical doors.

You reached beyond the skies,

never scared to stop and try.

You walk another beat that drums to just a few,

you’re a nutter, braver still,

but always the seaside lad I knew.

Karen Hayward ©2016

The sound of angelic bells against an ebbing tide.

Last night whilst my eyes were closed

and my mind shut down I dreamed

of the ocean. Clouds skirted above and

a grey hue hung from the air in crytalised

perfection. At first I stood alone,

just the grains of sand beneath my feet,

the damp mist at my skin and the soft

ebbing ocean that appeared to be stilled

and yet was simply moving in a low beat.

Then I saw her in the distance, laughing as

she ran in and out of the cool fresh ocean.

Droplets of water gently slipping through

the air and splashing, lovingly against her.

Her giggles of delight dancing across

the horizon, waltzing across the white

foam and cart wheeling across the shore.

I sat down and watched as she played at one

with the universe and the universe

played back.

 

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Stray Grains of Sand.

IMG_20151106_164306

It’s only in darkness that the light skips across the sand.
It’s only as the sun leaves and the moon arrives that silence comes.
Only when I need it does the tide ebb foamed in white,
And only when my eyes are closed so tight.
Only when my eyes are closed do I feel the soft salty mist against my cheeks.
Only when in darkness do I see the particles of light that look like crushed crystals.
Only hours later do i feel the stray grains of sand as my fingers glide across my skin and instantly i am back there toe deep in the oceans brittle glitter.
It’s only with my eyes closed tight that I can feel the ocean breathe through me,
and I realise I have the strength of the on coming tide
With the moon to be my guide.
I have this darkness so I can see the light,
And the strength, so I can win the fight.

Karen Hayward (©2015) poem and image.

A wooden town lost in despair.

(Jaywick).

Fucked up and busted,

burnt out or rusted. Broken

glass and shattered dreams

of a fantasy held, but never seen.

Lost souls in a town of death

blood, sweat and the eternal meth.

wooden homes burnt and gone,

a hidden place so filled with wrong.

Drugs and hate with cider shots,

this is the place that love forgot.

Fucked up and broken

the devil himself has spoken,

he rules the town of deep despair,

and

nobody

cares.

The wooden town that time forgot,

there’s one road in, and it’s full of rot.

Broken souls and spirits high,

as someone, somewhere, begins to fly.

He takes from their soul

a bit at a time,

feeds them back life,

built upon crime.

A fantasy once, held by mans dream,

to recreate life an image he’d seen.

Memories of old in the wood that he sold,

to have and have be

the stories to keep…

a holiday for life, a home where you’d sleep,

but the devil did see the dream

that would be,

with its one road in that

led to the sea.

And the universe screamed,

and the universe saw,

the dream that was built right there at the shore.

She sprinkled down sand,

and skies of deep blue,

and added souls with hearts

that were true.

She shot out the stars

that covered the sky,

these were the light

that lit up the dark.

And the devil despaired

and the devil does fight,

he’ll do what he can to banish this light.

Shattered glass and splintered dreams,

lost souls fraying at the very seams.

There’s those that see, the dark and the lost,

the eternal damned, societies lost,

and those that know

of one mans dream,

never made but always seen.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016