They’re Catholic, does it matter?

Their love is different. Perhaps it matters.

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, the broken hip a memory of the past that remains in her gait, him in cut of shorts, a baggy office 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
Image and words

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Atoms folding in

We are all broken
fragments of hope,
scattered tirelessly
through times
path across linear
dimensions
weaving through
planes of existence
here upon Terra.
Poor ageing Terra.

Then Gaia kissed life
into us, the skin
was her canvas
and the scars the
colours as Mother
painted energy
between the deep
rivets adding gentle
brush strokes of
silent hues
and vivid screams
of life.

Her paints run low now,
her waters are dry,
the air dirty,
her creation is
decaying, compromised,
the canvas rotting…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Awake

Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake
among busy droplets of lavender
and burning skies of dawns glorious lake,
She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there.
Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar,
tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails
of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars
weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales.
Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought
beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty
the soft whispers of what a soul has sought
light within the pits of reality.

Perhaps souls, eachother had always known, 
not seeing the physical, they saw home. 

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words
#sonnet

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In 
such dreams 
I lose self
between gentle
yellow rays of sun 
falling from the heavens
dawns melody imploding
as silence explodes and I hear
natures orchestra kissing my soul
Awake I see only beauty 
between the devils shadows 
The perfection of flaws 
Purity of truth
experience 
of being 
human 
Life

Karen Hayward ©2018 image and words

Peach skies

Crystalline whispers
of shattered dreams
ascending the summit
of one’s soul,
yesterdays mountain…
Like waves
frozen in time,
the forgotten hues
of defeat as the spring
thaw brings new
blossoms.
A Kaleidoscopic
rainbow of colour,
flush pink petals,
lush green leaves,
a horizon before
me of fresh promises
as a new dawn breaks
and the skies
turn a gentle ebb of
deep peach.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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The twilight seconds of an empath

The Twilight Seconds of an Empath

At hours past when lingers only twilight,
The owl, my companion guards my nights
His call an ancient song of remembrance
a message from Selene of transcendence.
Among the vast emptiness of life
the tangible moment between seeing and sight
when eyes closed I hear, I see I know,
The universal energy at perfect flow
Alone, is that moment, when voices I hear,
closed eyes and faces so near.
I’m told it is a gift to see and hear and feel,
It is an existence all too real
and when I say I think you… then know
you are, you will, you do…
For we are just energy…
And I have a front row seat for the show
for that is my reality.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Hosted by the amazingly wonderful Mr +Dennis Gatheright#poetsphotoprompts

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