At the back of Journal No1 are at least 24 poems that I have written. Words out of my own head that I thought I would share. I am no William Wordsworth I have to say before I start.<\/p>\n
(TJ – I have formatted these, so you can actually see the poetry in action!!! – I can see where uncle D got it from!)<\/p>\n
CROSSROADS was written 16\/8\/1991.<\/strong><\/p>\n I am at the crossroads of my life, I love my man so very much, I work. I wash, I scrub the floor, But that Crossroads?? Written August 20th 1991….No Title<\/strong><\/p>\n As I reach my middle years, When I was just a little girl, And the dreams that you had as a little girl, August 20th 1991<\/strong><\/p>\n As we stumble through life blindfolded, Aug 1991<\/strong><\/p>\n What is life but one long chore, I FEEL THAT IN AUGUST 1991 I THINK I WAS HAVING A MIDLIFE CRISIS.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n In the shade of the old apple tree, I AM A LEAF<\/strong><\/p>\n The summer has gone, and lastly for now…<\/em><\/p>\n Little babies pink and new, Part 2 to follow……<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" At the back of Journal No1 are at least 24 poems that I have written. Words out of my own head that I thought I would share. I am no William Wordsworth I have to say before I start. (TJ – I have formatted these, so you can actually see the poetry in action!!! – […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":64,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-537","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/537","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=537"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/537\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":550,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/537\/revisions\/550"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/64"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=537"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=537"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=537"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI want to be more than a wife,
\nI want to stay, I want to go,
\nOh hell, what do I want,
\nOh, I don’t know.<\/p>\n
\nBut no longer tremble at his touch,
\nThe babes I bore are nearly grown,
\nI think I am happy with my life,
\nBut is there more than just being a wife?<\/p>\n
\nFor some women that is enough but I want more,
\nTo run along a sandy shore,
\nTo find something that is just out of each,
\nWhat I want is just a dream,
\nIt sometimes makes me want to scream,
\nBut then he calls me “Oh, my love”,
\nAnd deep down I know that is enough,
\nAnd I know that to my children three,
\nA special mum I am meant to be.<\/p>\n
\nWill I go??
\nAs I said before I don’t know.<\/p>\n
\nI wonder to myself,
\nWould it have been half as bad,
\nIf I had been left “On the shelf”,
\nCos in those young far off days,
\nWhen each day dawned was new,
\nTo be someone’s wife was the thing to be,
\nThe thing to achieve and do.<\/p>\n
\nSummer days were bright and long,
\nEach day that dawned we would play and play,
\nAnd not a lot went wrong,
\nAnd then the teens came catching up,
\nAnd the games would start to change,
\nAnd lives problems came to stay,
\nAnd wouldn’t go away,
\nThen the boy of your dreams would appear to you.
\nAnd the next thing you would be saying,
\nYou would be saying “I do”<\/p>\n
\nWould at last once come through.<\/p>\n
\nBecause we were not told what to do,
\nHave you ever wondered if it’s written down,
\nA big book that is given to you,
\nBefore you were born to work out and decide,
\nWhat plan you do this time around,
\nTo see, if you can achieve for once and for all,
\nWhat before you were born you had once understood.<\/p>\n
\nWhen you are old and grey,
\nWhen you were young,
\nWhat did you do,
\nBut wish your life away,
\nAnd now those years have gone,
\nAnd you have worked and worked for so long,
\nYou wonder if you lived it right…
\nOr did you live it wrong?<\/p>\n
\nI sit in the cat basket with a pad on my knee,
\nFor poems of inspiration I seek,
\nI wish I were strong,
\nBut know I am weak,
\nA famous writer or poet,
\nI will never be,
\nAs I sit in the cat basket,
\nWith a pad on my knee.<\/p>\n
\nIn a blaze of blue sky,
\nAlong with my friends,
\nI flew way up high,
\nThe days now draw cold,
\nMy green gown has gone,
\nMy new gown is brown,
\nI will soon flutter down,
\nI am a leaf, but I will die,
\nWhen I lay on the ground.<\/p>\n
\nThat everybody loves,
\nSome grow up tall and strong,
\nBut for some, things do go wrong,
\nAnd these babies are the special ones,
\nThat will always need your care,
\nAnd you must love them true,
\nCos sometimes they don’t stay with you,
\nGod takes them back before too long,
\nAnd in his garden, they’ll grow strong,
\nBut while on earth they will need you,
\nTo help and care and see them through,
\nWhen times are hard and needs are strong.<\/p>\n