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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku.

The past: (The Empress, reversed)

 

Earth mother, Venus

caged inner feelings. Belief.

Over loaded, block.

The present: (Ace of Swords, reversed)

Clarity clouded

chaotic aspirations

lost true direction.

The future: The Star. (Upright)

Ibis, tree of mind

loving phase, future divine

destiny, calling card.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Dark shadows.

No matter how much darkness I believe

I possess inside my soul, the sunlight

never fails to find me. It searches in

the early morning as skies brighten and

Gulls scream at the clouds above. It

creeps through the luscious green leaves

blossoming into life. It skims across

roof tops and crawls across the cold concrete.

It goes to war with storming clouds

and disintegrates the coldest frosts.

It disperses the shadows and lights

the smallest flickering flame inside of me

dispelling the emptiness of my darkened

shadows.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Do you see?

Would you pause, to walk along

a freezing shoreline beside me?

To walk behind as I skip on ahead?

Would you smile as I pick up shells

would you hold the broken pieces of

sea glass, spearmint green and

royal blue and tiny slithers with a

yellow hue? Would you feel the warmth

of the winter sun on your skin?

Would you feel the energy of the sea

as she crashes into the sand?

Would you understand, what I see?

Would you know the endless possibilities?

Would you walk beneath the dark and

gloomy pier, would you know to hold

me near? Would you know my soul

yearns to celebrate the magnificent

sights of the universe, would you know

my passion is reflected? Could you see

that reflection? Would you know?

Would you walk beside me

and show me a thousand beautiful

things, a thousand forms of true,

each one looking so new.

Would you feel it? Would you feel

the passion in my words? Would you

see it as I dance among the birds?

Would you harness it? Would you know

to pull me close, hold me tight as though

I were a whispered ghost?

Or am I destined to always see things

so differently, to feel the universe in

my veins, passion as the

sea mist rains. Will anyone ever see,

what t is to be me?

 

Karen hayward ©2015.