Caught between sleep thought

Caught between two planes of existence,
slumbers promise a far of lie,
lost within the realms of my dreams
all fingers, eyes, smiles and presence,
held captive within your essence
as spectres draw me from my sleep
fingers cold dragging, pulling
gasping as touch becomes real
and I am awake, in the darkness
of eternity,
caught between the two planes of existence,
again and again and again
you are there, waiting for me to dream….
again and again and again
they are there waiting to pull me from my love.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

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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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I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs.
Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

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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

Image via WordPress

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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Fairytale truths

The wakened
sight of the
blind burning rigidity
into fluidity
through lucidity of mind.
A made up story
of upon a times,
the damsel,
the Princess,
the Queen and her tarts.
The owl is wise at twilight,
the flea upon a beggar,
the mouse,
he creeps,
he crawls he squeals
yet sees it all.
But alas,
his tail is a noose,
the farmers wife
got loose upon
offer of a truce.
You see,
its all a Grim type tale,
blood and guts,
deceit and glory
just another
virtual story.
Gone now is the hole,
The rabbit and Alice
Dreams have become
pixels,
Princes… Pixels
Kings… Pixels
Promises… Pixelated
fantasies,
Imaginary realities
King Ego ruling the roost
the awakened state
the new fairytale truth.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image found on pinterest

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