First Tutorial

A room full of people, all so unsure.

Apprehension and anxiety, burns right to the core.

Descriptions so perfect, characters surreal,

Stories in stories, some of them real.

A mans life worked with numbers, now he wants words,

Can he dig deep, and describe, the sound of the birds.

The lady who hides, from her closest her talent,

Will the world hear her words, can she be valiant?.

The man who’s seen horror, and all in-between,

Will his words describe anguish, and all that he‘s seen.

The honourable man, that for decades, did his duty,

Can he produce fiction, a thing of beauty?

In a room full of people, all of us unsure.

I hear magical words in at least ten score.

I saw souls come alive, eyes shining bright,

Creative writing is hard, but we’re ready for the fight.

To friends on my course, the people I met,

We have the Red Book, each other,

so lets not fret.

Lets all share our words, our rhymes and our plots,

From each other, we can learn what works.

And what, does not.

Karen Hayward ©2012 Edited 2020

Sacrificial Love

I love you so much and yet I cannot say
the words, for you don’t belong to me.
I am Instead left with hope, and clichés
but even that is not a guarantee.
So I wait in line, with all my patience
Ignoring the imperfections of life
And the stirring emotions of my adolescence
So that no one can sharpen their sinful knife.
I've sacrificed for you, for them for everyone
this love, so you can live out your life, happily.
I will linger eternally in shadows
of our dreams that cannot be.

Karen Hayward ©2012 - Edited 2020 Image and words
I love you so much and yet I cannot say
the words, for you don’t belong to me.
I am Instead left with hope, and clichés
but even that is not a guarantee.
So I wait in line, with all my patience
Ignoring the imperfections of life
And the stirring emotions of my adolescence
So that no one can sharpen their sinful knife.
I've sacrificed for you, for them for everyone
this love, so you can live out your life, happily.
I will linger eternally in shadows
of our dreams that cannot be.

To and fro

Once in a golden hour they cast to earth a seed, planted in the darkness with no one there to feed.

To and fro they went tearing at
her form, fragmenting at the edges, leaving her tainted and all torn.

Then she grew so much, she wore a crown of light, fought hard to calm
her demons and often lost the fight

She sow’d it far and wide, her body was her power, a vessel to discard
she thought, till her mind bloomed into a flower.

Read my little fable: he that runs may read, they look upon her wholly now, look beyond the seed.

And some are pretty enough, and some are poor indeed; and some of them I’m telling you… will silently bleed.

Once in a golden hour, they cast to earth a seed, up there grew a flower,
She saw herself a weed.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Inspired by and referenced, by my fave ever poet, The Flower, Alfred Lord Tennyson

Photo

Give to me please my muse…

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Give me paper to appease my soul and passion to fill my inkwell,

give me life flushed from living and drained from loving.

Give me pens, of many colors each one a speckle of my essence.

Give me a living canvas, breathing my air and tasting my spirit,

dust it in golden sun rays and ice it in moon beams to

sweeten the hidden depths of sin. Give me crumpled

edges and torn corners, ink blots and strike through’s.

Give me an endless ream with pause breaks for tears

and laughter lines tearing the core. Give me a hb pencil.

Chewed at one end and blunt, let it write my heart with

the smoothest of ease, love spilling through graphite,

lust splitting paper, let desire become the heavy lines

and fear the faint whisper of grey on white. Yes, give me

paper, a canvas, a living body to embody my soul upon.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words.

Swallowed beyond oblivion.

seamist

Some days I beg the
mist to fall and
suffocate me,
to swallow whole what
freedom I am afforded
and drown
those things
I am not permitted.
To choke from me
my bitter tongue
that longs to spit
flames at your
scornful eyes.
To lay surrender
the pure essence
of my soul and sell
myself to the devils role
lost in vengeful wars
I shouldn’t fight,
Some days I do not
feel worthy of
these wings, or my
need to take flight,
feeling only the
heavy burden of
your silence as it
chokes me in
your warped
perception.
Some days I want
the mist to
take me…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Ideas evolving And concepts breeding.

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If I could. . .

I would spend all day writing
And all night reading
Ideas evolving
And concepts breeding.
I would watch every sun setting
and see it as a new day seeding.
True soul nourishment breathing
My psyche feeding.
Beneath moons we’d sit kissing
the violent rush of our hearts beating
My pencils scribbling
Ink of need my pens drawing.
With time true art would begin thawing
an explosion of thoughts all storing.
An implosion of life breeding,
Happiness evolving,
I would spend all day writing
And all night reading.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

A weaved web of lust

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My need
entwined within
your vines.
Locked in a
mortal sin,
thoughts
abandoned for
last rays of desire
smacking across
my skin.
I think of
nothing else.
These are the
words pleading
for the ink of my pen,
lost and again
found in your
intent.
A weaved web of lust
I am ensnared.
Devour me.
Cast about me silk ropes.
Envisage me
powerless
yet powerful
within your grasp.
A slave to our primal pawing.
A slave to our ancient calling.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Words and image