And the moon whispered shyly into the skies.


I pause and let the tiredness overcome me

crouching to the ground I peer up to the

flaming skies of sunset and watch as he

whispers golden amber through the leaves

a soft breeze dispersing the beauty delicately

onto my pale skin. Above the skies are white and

hint at the vulnerably of a rich blue and too shy to shine sky.

And there nestled behind the small white tufts is a glorious moon

fading into the soft hues, in her fullest form

shining still among the cloud filled skies

of flaming glory. And then she is gone, hidden from sight.

Karen Hayward ©2016

God gave to me the setting sun.


  • This poem was inspired by a sunset picture shared with me on google by a good friend,  the original inspirational picture was delightful as well as savoring an extremely precious moment, for the purpose of this post I have used my own sunset picture…but it isn’t nearly as beautiful as the one that inspired e 🙂

Is it wrong to believe that God sets the sun each night, for me? Is it wrong to believe that he disperses a multitude of loving colours through the skies, for me too see. Is it wrong for me to believe this? When darkness has reigned upon me, when the universe has felt too big, that setting sun has always been my guide. The day ends, all things end and yet, the sun, he never truly sets he simply bids farewell with the promise of rising again the following day. And he does. No matter how thick the cloud, or how ferocious the storm, he is there climbing to the heavens only to fall again as the moon whispers his name. Leaving behind him the pink skies of love, the orange skies of passion, the yellow skies of friendship, the purple hues of preciousness as God’s angels begin their night time shift of protecting the innocent. I wonder, is it wrong I believe God sets the sun each night, for me, for you, for whoever in that fleeting moment is in need? Is it wrong of me to think that?

Karen Hayward ©2016.

I imagine you taste like…


I imagine you would taste of; love, sweet like cherry ade with fizzy bubbles popping on my tongue, and the ocean on a fresh crisp evening the salt lingering in the air. I imagine you would taste of the delicate blades of lush grass beneath my bare feet or concrete warm and soothing as rain spits down forming pools for me to dance in. Or maybe a thousand words shared between new lovers, shy and blushing as their lips meet in the precious first kiss. I imagine you would taste of falling tears and hearts tearing open, of broken promises and thunder storms, atoms charging the skies. Or maybe of hidden glances and butterflies, or the excitement of exploring the unknown. Or sweet tea, morning coffee, broken, dunken biscuits and empty packets. I imagine you would taste like the first flakes of snow falling from the red skies and perfect naps and the last chapter of a book that I read first so I can see how the story is created I imagine, you taste like creation.

Karen Hayward. ©2016

Rays of light escaping through broken branches.

Orange rays of light escaping through the broken branches

as the howling wind brings rain clouds marching.

The leaves sparkle in glistening delight

and the sun whispers a stubborn goodnight.

Droplets of rain cloud my view,

a thousand sunsets and this ones new.

A sky alive with soured milk,

clouds so soft they look like silk.

Pushing through and pushing past,

the halo of light cannot last.

So for now I will sit and see,

and for a moment,


that I am free.