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Month: March, 2017

I am but a whisper 

I am but a silent whisper 

A petal lost on the breeze.

An autumn leaf  burned 

Orange, delving into a sea 

Of red. I am but porcelain

Or finest lace, softest satin

Warmest cashmere, i am but

The morning birds you hear.

I am but serene glass, celestial

Dance, divine beauty, star dust. 

I am but star dust dancing 

In the sun’s rays. 

I am but a whisper

Hiding beneath this warrior. 
Karen Hayward*©2017


If time is linear…?


So tell me my sweet,

whisper it too me as I sleep.

If it is so that time is linear

then those days that we believe(d)

that the Oceans mist beckoned

to our souls in ancient whispers

of love’s unity traversing the

barrier of time,

perhaps, I ponder now,

that we were wrong,

for in the sea’s golden mist

I hear now a souls song.

The guiding light of purity

embracing me upon this shore.

The ebbing tide that caresses our minds

and teases the contours of our spirit

the distant call of past lives, an eternity

in love and now it is, my dearest sweet

that I hear your voice upon the sea,

a linear promise that you are guiding me

true love traversing time, forever in unity.

Karen Hayward *2017

Image and words.




To rise again…


The time has come that I must

again stand upon my feet

and go forth

into this world.

Rising from the ashes

your spirit

now the ink within my pen,

your love is the voice within

my words… and yet still my legs

shake as a new born deer does on her

first arrival.


Image found on Pinterest

The world, it sounds all too noisy. 

Cars swishing through puddles 

Raindrops slamming into pools

Of momentary stagnant waters. 

Worn shoes pounding concrete. 

Birds screaming, echos drifting. 

Wind whistling a storm through

Blossoming leaves,

Branches creaking in dying trees. 

People talking, thoughts uttering,

Teeth gnashing, tongue slurping,

Fingers wringing. 

Flowers peeling back petals a slow

Mechanical grinding of iron on iron.

Life exploding into chaotic sound…

And all I want is silence. And all I 

Want is silence. 

What screams but the howling banshee…

To be or not…To be…Now that, is the question,

I will drown in this sea of indiscretion.

To spill anger will condemn me in the pits of selfish need,

Yet, to grieve without voice I am warned, take heed. 

To break a promise of magnitude on created trust

Would dispell the eagle’s and thier scornful lust,

Yet still I saunter on purpose edge of qualms

Self imposed malice, pointless wars meant only to harm. 

I feel echoless screams erupt from my soul,

Pele? She has nothing on this ancient Celtic Doll. 

To be or not…Lingers the crossed eyed devil,

As his soldiers fickle and sweet revel. 

My growl a soft rumbling hiss,

Still calmed I see by your celestial kiss. 

Still calmed I see by the essence of you

Turns out what we thought…Was true. 


From the centre of conformity. 

Fuck everyone!

That’s poetry right? 

Losr vortex of hope. 

Screw you,

let reality burn 

in the lost embers 

of hope. 


When the oars have holes. 

I am tired of the show, the clown’s go round and round which one can hola loudest from the pits of desperation. You, always suggestive, that the wood work would peel back and cockroaches would appear, how very right you were. Am i truly such an oddity in this farcical of life?  Perhaps I am, for often even you were blind to my truths. Nativity, I wear upon my sleeve in technicoloured stripes of audacity and I choke on the flaming screams of….Fans? I am tired of the circus, the clown’s are evil, knife juggling fuck heads all of them jumping aboard the boat that no-one steers ..Let them sail into oblivion using your charisma as oars. 

Silver linings.

To say I don’t miss you would be a lie, this world’s loss has left a void within me that can never be filled and yet I feel the essence of you burning in my veins pleading I look up…A moment without my smile is a lifetime in purgatory. I hear the ancient whispers of your voice as you remind me again and again how you loved my energy that demanded silver woven clouds…But my hands lay bare and my silver thread is not there. For in me now lays an emptiness I cannot share.