Blue eyes Husky

Old man up my road
owns a white
Siberian husky.
He pounds along
the path chasing
cats, pulling old man
here, there
everywhere.
His bark is fierce
splits atoms
demands attention.

Old man up the road
pauses at our gate,
for Husky blue eyes
searches for his
Princess blue eyes and
he finds her.

Husky stands tall
with his front paws
perched atop the
Black iron gate.
Head bowed.
He does not bark,
jump, skip or
dance with
excitement.
He patiently waits.

Small girl squeels
with delight
‘our friend, mummy’
she looks to me
for permission.

Permission granted.

Small girl walks steadily
to the gate leaving
behind her fears
and anxiety.
Husky holds his position.
Pausing a foot away
she reaches out small
tender fingers…

Husky smells, a small
dance in his back paws
as her fingers delve
deep into his fur
they rub heads for
a split second
then husky is calm
blue eyes searching
blue eyes, she smiles.

Old man tells me
he ain’t never seen husky
like this with no one…
She must be special he says.

Old man knows.
Husky knows.
I know.

One day she too will know.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words ♥

Slicing through the echo of my own perfection

The body, when perfectly whole
Without cut, scar or gaping hole
Is a vessel of beautiful perfection
Radiating aura without detection
of cast of entities from darker sense…

Each cut, scar, hole leaves open essence
protection fails as they seep in
heavy thoughts they always bring
feeding on energy, power drives on
reality is rewritten, they become strong.

To cleanse, to hide, to meditate
is never quite enough to fight
for holes in auras outer shield
are the reason for the magnetic field
They deceive, come in many guise

Such power they feed from mine so wise,
S’not you s’not me, they choose just feed
are blind in choice beyond holes of sieve
Such holes they must be healed
To regain your protective field.

Even in distance across time and space
healing occurs from source trace,
All is needed, permission granted
intent is thought a decision planted
Allow me, and I will remain silent
till thoughts quenched end of violence.

KH©2018

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The pinkness of my singing soul

… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandora’s chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open,
knowing it was time…

Karen Hayward ©2017

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Knowing that we are a soul
among souls within the
Infinite source…

… Does not make us an
awakened soul.

Then does…Standing
firm within
the shadows strong in
our convictions, aware
in our beliefs… Perhaps.

Or perhaps it is when
our awareness screams
louder than our ego,
when we care more for                                                                                                for the ripples moving from us,
then the ones heading at us,                                                                                       

Perhaps being awakened is when                                                                              we know the where about’s of our                                                                      every ripple and choose
to protect as the ebb along their path…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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..and they bottled the good the bad and the ugly

… And so he collected pain in small jars and labelled them the past, with a footnote for the future…

… And so she collected pain in small jars and labelled them the future with a footnote for the past…

… And when she appeared he knew within his core…

… And when he appeared she knew it was her call…

… And those jars of pain that belonged to another, they whispered, shouted, screamed and demanded take cover…

… Believing her to be the devil…

…he opened up their lids at the first hurdle and let their essence spill…

… But she was the angel sent to save him..

… And so in fear she tumbled, the jars fell smashed upon the floor…

… And now she drowns in his despair no hand reaching there…

… For he was the angel sent to save her…

… And now, alone, she wonders if he was the devil.

…and they collect pain in small jars upon a shelf…

KH©2018

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