Who will listen

I wander time to time
to that lonely
room of despair
but you are not there.
Just timeless words
left now to rot
gathering the dust
of moments taken
moments lost.
He doesn’t understand
yet the curvatures
of our reality, yet tries,
but what does it
matter when you are
lost to the skies.
You were the harshest
of lessons that I had
to learn, and I was
the friendship
that you had to earn.
Now who do I tell?
Who listens now?
Oh I hear your echo
I hear your shout,
Even now that you’re
not about…
Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on wordpress

Candy floss 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 Pandoras 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

Image found on pinterest. 

All the things I never knew, I never knew.

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I didn’t know that
love wasn’t
the drowning
of desire,
The suffocating
of need,
The blanketing
of lust.

I never knew
Love was
compromise
beyond myself,
or that sacrifices
shouldn’t
hurt.
I never knew
that love
was strength.

I didn’t know
love could be
anything
other than
weakness,
that the body
held value
or that my voice
was a treasure.

I never knew
I deserved,
that I could be
that I was,
that I am
that I will be,
I never knew.

I didn’t know love
wasn’t the silent
punishment,
the hateful glares
and egg shell
carpet.
I didn’t know
my heart should
swell, but
never shatter.

I didn’t know
all the things
love was
and
I never knew
it would be you
to teach me.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words.

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That curve
Is energy cascading
across me,
through me.
Look how
your essence falls
upon me,
Like a cashmere
scarf,
gently caressing
the tilt of my chin.
The simplicity of
a sensuous scent
Lustrous intent
erotic content.
That curve licking,
kissing, stroking
exploring, traversing
the very contours
of my mind.
A treasured find,
One of a kind.
That curve of your
tongue as words
form, escaping your
lips that beg me
always for one
tiny kiss.

Karen Haywrd (c) 2017

. . . because beauty comes in many guises.

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. . .because beauty comes in many guises.

External beauty, seen only in the
dark shadows, kissed by a crescent
moon, shroud in storming clouds.

Internal beauty, heard only between
the speckled flakes of cosmic dust
dispersed on opalescent beams.

External beauty gracing the page
in the aesthetic ink of bleeding
wounds and echoed screams.

Internal beauty never fading
perpetual light illuminating eyes,
hope, splattered about life’s canvas.

External beauty duels time and age
captured moments of supremacy
a catalyst of inspired thought, for. . .

Internal beauty needs no parade
in her mellifluous symphony.
Internal beauty needs no parade.

Rob Gordon & Karen Hayward © 2017
Image ©2017 KH

Every cloud has a silver lining.

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You said…

You build your world upon silver thread that lines yesterdays storms.

and I said…

we choose the darkness or the light,

and so it is I sew.

To which you said…

You see so much beauty,

forgiveness,

you’re a celebration of life.

Smiling, I said…

We all must choose a way to survive.

Yes, you said…

you are my choice for you are my light.

Now I sit among the storming clouds

and ponder how different grey is from silver,

and I hear you whisper,

pick up the needle,

we have many clouds to line.

Between the lost twines

of my silver thread

I glimpse the particles

of light,

your essence shimmering.

And so it is we sew,

for we all must choose

to lose ourselves in the muted grays

or become the

shining essence of silver.

And so it is we sew.

Karen Hayward* ©2017

 

 

No pin upon my atlas.

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My map stands empty,

no pins to leave my footprints

across

the

globe

and the seven wonders.

I cannot boast of a thousand cultures

swimming first hand through my veins,

nor can my tongue speak of any language

other than the one given by my mother

as she enriched my palette with

poverty’s favorite dishes.

I’ve not seen a multitude of sunsets kissing

new horizons nor watched as the moon spills

pearlescent love across lakes, upon oceans, upon rivers…

Upon earth’s most glorious waterfalls.

I’ve never attended a grand ball,

or danced across a stately hall.

My memories are not decorated in cultures finest,

embossed in pearls encrusted in diamonds.

I am not cultured.

I was not taught the fundamentals of elocution,

I cannot call myself a lady.

My name is not a sought after rose fragranced in class

and watered with the travels of a Prada bag.

I guess I am poor…

and every morning I thank the gods for this blessing

and each evening

as I watch the same moon ascend the skies

I thank the heavens in my addressing.

I have no pins trotting across an atlas,

just the essence of my soul that walks with

each that has crossed my path.

I cannot speak in the tongue of others,

only the tongue of humanity. I am cultured only

in the depths of trust and loyalty, taught

only to give and never to take to smile in kindness

and never be fake. I’m better than no man,

and no worse then a Queen, taught to work

hard towards all that I dream. I will

give you my last, I will give you my first

whilst quenching my soul and its insatiable thirst.

I’ve no pins, no seven wonders, no silk or cashmere,

champagne is yet to cross my lips and still I’ve never

learned to twirl from my hips. I lack culture,

eyes empty and mind filled with the

common mans dream,

I’m better than no man, rich or poor,

and worse than no Queen on land or ashore.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

 

Druid oracle, whispers of a past.

(Druid animal oracle reading in poetry form)

(Motive behind a situation or event)

Behind every reason lays motive whispering in the moonlight,

dancing on speckles of sunlight caressing the earths breeze.

Eala brings the beauty of souls of love, of great depth. In the

pureness of white feathers the swan, in her earthly beauty

brings divine love that can traverse to the Otherworld. She,

the cloak of the bards of the past, the whispered promise of

love divine brings blessings to the poet.

 

(effect, emotionally, socially, relationship level)

Perfected patience and the world becomes a restful

place of great beauty, the book of nature becomes

our life and we become one with the universe.

Our intuition grows, we grow and finally we are open

to becoming one. Corr whispers a chorus of patience,

perseverance focus and concentration as he walks you

through the inner realm.

 

(Effects in the tangible world)

Damh parades with such grace and majesty,

his protection a lulling calm, his strength the gaining

of independence. He comes to give freedom to a past

that haunts. With blessings of new beginings,

what means everything to him and so little

to her will become an act of dignity, an act of wholeness

draped in grace and power. A first, it is to be an act of love.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

 

Eala = Swan.

Corr = crane.

Damh = Stag.