Paul D. Hayes

Paul D. Hayes

Paul D. Hayes is a poet living in Western Pennsylvania. A fourth-generation steelworker, he has spent three decades in the Environmental Health and Safety field working in heavy industry and other sectors, a life that deepens his attention to work, place, and the ordinary moment. Raised in a Pittsburgh city neighborhood and now living in the Laurel Highlands, he draws inspiration from travel, photography, and the particular geometry of lived experience. His writing seeks what Henri Cartier-Bresson called the “decisive moment” — not just what’s seen, but what settles into lasting shape on the page. Outside of writing, he’s with family and friends, or taking life solo on his motorcycle.

The Watcher

July 2, 2026•73 words

The Watcher December 2025 The evening sky revealed itself to me in layers of light. First sun, then expanse, and then cloud— orange, blue, white, and then some gray. Cool air through the window, as we moved— connected me to them, together as one thing. The sight of a felled tree, by the roadside, revealed to me the time— revealed to me that the tree is time, and the sky was it's watcher. ...
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Light and Sound (a Haiku)

December 31, 2025•17 words

June 9, 2022 Light and sound anchor, Shades of shadow and silence, Reach to me from depths. ...
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Darkness Forest Floor (a Haiku)

December 23, 2025•16 words

May 25, 2022 Darkness forest floor Contained fear within, save light That which was my guide. ...
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A Longing

December 23, 2025•112 words

From the Melcher Way collection from the R2 journal entries - February 2025 I long to feel the times, the way I used to feel the times— If only sunlight would reveal the days to me again— moments I lost to ravages of mind. If only wind would breeze upon my face those sweet aromas— forgotten and lost to the favor of some artificial delicacies. If only earth would be under my feet—raw— grounding me to righteous paths—away from familiar chasings. If only trees would rustle their boughs: the ge...
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Withering Frames

December 22, 2025•108 words

On the fragility of mind and purpose circa..2004/2005 from Lexington, SC On withering frames of mind and flesh, we toil—in subconscious slumber— disappearing into the realm of nebulous menaces. Wearing fake facades over faces of fear, and meddling in the manifestos of men, and harboring festering hearts, feckless, impersonating the personal, and likening self to all. But victories come in scraps of moments, seen only through magnifying glasses of piercing focus. Where moment is, and forgiv...
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Did My Mother Have DTs

December 21, 2025•107 words

From the Melcher Way collection A recollection from my youth, circa 1986 That day, in the evening, in the tiny living room— nicotine-stained walls, couches with the wooden armrests, The ambulance people stormed in— they took my mother by force. The ghosts of her imagination stood idly by. Onto the stretcher, into the straps, out the front door, into the back of the van— off she went. The remaining unopened cans of beer, the jug of homemade wine on the floor in the kitchen, next to the trash ...
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To the Sun I Saw While Leaving Philadelphia

December 20, 2025•124 words

A memory from 2020. Was I the only one—I thought— to have seen you, to have appreciated you, that day, moving north? Mind dragged way behind—you know— the view of my gaze was not able to testify, was not able to stop. I swear there was nowhere to stop, to pull over, to wait for mind to catch up, to tell that guy in the orange vest facing east to turn around, to see—dammit. If mind was there, it would have found a way to stop— the courage to stop, to look at you, to acknowledge how you had e...
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Copyright © 2026 Paul D. Hayes

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