Give to me please my muse…

Photo

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.

Will you dance with me beneath a twilight moon?

Photo

Will you dance with me
For just a while
Beneath pale night skies
And a moons slither.

Will you for a moment?
Entwine words and worlds
Whilst we slow dance
Till the stars arrive.

Fingers curled through
fingers, hair gently dancing
with the Jasmine breeze
As last rays kiss my cheek.

Will you dance with me
For just a while.

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.

img_20170120_082918

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

img_20161212_091835.jpg

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