Snow saunters gently…

Dawn has woken to a wedge of white snow,
Blanketing proudly before my waking eyes
The morning glimmer of crushed diamonds glow,
and birds huddle quietly in empty skies.
Silence rings out in bells of emptiness,
among the stilled monochrome dawning day
the fallen flakes of colds existence
have owned the dark of night through thoughtless play.
In this moment, only I and he exists.
Helios still lays deep within slumber
The skies are heavy, awkward, threatening,
and there, the knitted weave of white, Jack’s number
lays tauntingly snug across window screens
It snowed, wee blankets of love on sleeping cars
so few flakes, laying restless in the dark…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image and words

Is love the Holy Grail…

Some days she’s the spark that ignites fire,
a raging blaze of loves passion burning
fueling lit embers that raise her higher
stroking, nudging, stirring this deep yearning.
Other days she’s the silent, passive hues
Submerged in toxicity of drowning
she rebukes the swollen ego that flew,
leaves herself a broken shell and frowning.
The nightingale promises found love,
Singing a lullaby of forever
on the ebbing tides of home, calm and rough,
the precious pearl and her loyal protector
She wonders if all dreams are fairy-tales,
Or if true love is the holy grail.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image downloaded from Google search

Wishing upon planes thinking they are stars…

From this angle, she see’s the universe,
the infinite promise of light in dark
and ponders if believing is perverse
Like the damned wishing on eternal stars.
likely soon he’ll skin the flesh from her soul
bleed her dry till she’s tender on the tongue
shelling the carcass upon an old knoll
ripping at rotten scars where life had stung.
And she’ll tumble, doe legged into headlights
the scattered remnants of one’s own soldier
fettered to the darkest skies of twilight
falling nude at the hands of her poacher
Perhaps we pander to the passing planes
Thinking them stars, just spectators of shame.

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image found via Pinterest
#sonnet

The cracked remnants of tomorrow’s dreams

Can it be that love exists ‘neath blue skies
between the forest green vines of ivy
or on ancient mists of a moonlit sea
I find a tomorrow deep in his eyes
the speckled remnants of new paths aligned
between the broken cracks of history
a presence preserved in serenity
my love dances with singing butterflies
on nights empty echo and fierce rhythms
Our Selene hears the whispers of my soul
Whilst I drown in pearlescent kisses
configuring broken algorithms
beneath these blue skies I am whole
wondering about loves existence.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words
First attempt at a *#Italianpetrarchansonnet*

A carefully compiled list of quirks

I am a carefully compiled list of quirks
Please do not kiss me with vacant lips
I am a forgotten library of ancient works
Do not touch me with tender finger tips
I am a self made bookcase of insanity
Do not stain me with a silver tongue,
I am organised to my own conformity
Please, do not think I can be undone.
I am a catalogue of first editions
Please, do not think me second choice
I am all the eccentricities of my vision
So please, do not silence my only voice.
A lifetimes worth of precious works
I am a carefully compiled list of quirks

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image found via Google search

Black leather and kissing red… 

Black leather and kissing red 

Will you bind me in tomorrow’s kisses
Translucent skin bare against black leather
Squirming, pleading, alost in your wishes
tender lips, grazing, as soft as feathers. 

Come, lose yourself in eyes of innocence,
fingers entwined between flaming red curls
Pushing, pulling, testing my resilience
Skillfully guiding, inner she unfurls. 

encapsulating her essence in hues
Technicolour, tickled fingers trailing
between Celestial beats arousing you
And passions burning fires truly flaming

A rare puzzle piece beyond defining
Would you embrace the effort refining.
Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found on Google. 

Lilac love.

Gentle whispers embracing lilac love
I am the petal and you are the rain
I drown my thirst in your succulent taste
The red fires of passion the subtle calm
of blue, a perfect combination of
me and you,as vines weave together need

I could become lost on this ascent of
of pleasure, a pheromone fragrance of
desire, an addictive toxin rushing
through my blood,a chemical fixation
drunk on honey nectar, the voyeur’s dance
life’s perfect exhibition lustrous stage.

Silk petals love caresses lust bruises
quenching nourishment and the flower blooms.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words