Here are part two of the words dreamed up from my head. (correctly formatted by T-Jay)<\/p>\n
The following few are ones I wrote after a friend confessed to me she was having an affair.<\/p>\n
When I see you pass me by,
\nI want to call out your name,
\nBut our needs for each other are secret,
\nSo I cannot come out to the world,
\nThat you are the one,
\nThe one close to my heart,
\nI know that one day I may be hurt when it happens,
\nThat we must part. Sept 1991.<\/p>\n
You will always be special to me,
\nAnd always be on my mind,
\nAnd I will never forget,
\nThat you have been good to me,
\nAnd you have never found me a bind,
\nYou know that I will always be there,
\nIf ever you want me near,
\nJust let me know and I will find a way,
\nTo be there for you my dear. Sept 1991<\/p>\n
Torn between two loves,
\nWhich one will I choose,
\nThe one that gives me happiness,
\nOr the one that gives me blues,
\nIs it worth the heartache,
\nIf I decide to choose,
\nOr let my life go on the way,
\nAnd take each day as it comes,
\nSo I don’t have to make that choice,
\nAs someone will get hurt. Sept 1991<\/p>\n
Do you sit and think as often as I think of you,
\nYou are rarely from my thoughts,
\nWe see each other every day,
\nBut sometimes we don’t speak,
\nBut I always know when you are about,
\nAnd sometimes when we meet,
\nWe may just have the time to say hello,
\nAnd how are you today,
\nBut I will always care about you,
\nI hope it won’t be hard when you go,
\nAs I knew that it would come to that,
\nAnd that you will always remember me with love. Sept 1991<\/p>\n
Please don’t leave me alone like this,
\nWhen I am feeling blue,
\nThe love we had was so special,
\nI thought it would stay true,
\nBut people change and you went away,
\nYou came to collect your life,
\nAnd told me it was all done,
\nSo don’t leave me alone like this,
\nOn this lonely winter day. 28\/2\/1992<\/p>\n
SOME OTHER PROSE<\/p>\n
GOING HOME<\/strong><\/p>\n The boy trundles as fast as he can, Written for my brothers and my sister who all were “paper delivery boys”\u00a0 21\/3\/1992<\/em><\/p>\n It’s quiet in the garden, Written on 25\/5 1992<\/em><\/p>\n SUMMER SCHOOL HOLIDAYS<\/strong><\/p>\n Long days of shouts of “Mum I’m bored, Written on 4\/8\/1995<\/em><\/p>\n MY NORTHERN ROOTS<\/p>\n <\/strong>I was born in the North, Written on 29\/3\/1993<\/em><\/p>\n A Geordie is a special soul, Written on 29\/3\/1993<\/em><\/p>\n The man walks slowly home from work, Written 29\/3\/1993 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/em> This last one is written for my 3 sons, each and every one.<\/strong><\/p>\n He walks tall, THAT’S IT, FOLKS…I STOPPED TRYING TO BE THE POET LAURETTE ABOUT THIS TIME<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Here are part two of the words dreamed up from my head. (correctly formatted by T-Jay) The following few are ones I wrote after a friend confessed to me she was having an affair. When I see you pass me by, I want to call out your name, But our needs for each other are […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":65,"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-540","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\/540","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=540"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/540\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":552,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/540\/revisions\/552"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/65"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=540"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=540"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carolwake.me.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=540"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nIn the rain or the snow,
\nThe job in hand is done,
\nHe has been to every house in hand,
\nTo deliver the daily news,
\nand know he’s going home.<\/p>\n
\nWhere I sit today,
\nThe birds are chirping in the trees,
\nThe squirrels at their play,
\nThe family are all scattered,
\nThey are all grown up and gone,
\nI sit in my chair in the summer,
\nAnd at the fireside at the turn of the year.
\nAnd wonder where the time has gone.<\/p>\n
\nThe day has just begun,
\n“Where do we go today?” they say,
\nThere is no one here about to play,
\nI sit in the heat and watch them swim,
\nThe chips and fizz for all…
\nAnd this is just the first day!<\/p>\n
\nSo I am different from you,
\nI don’t say it nastily,
\nBut I do know it’s true,
\nWe are tougher and stronger,
\nThat’s both women and men,
\nWe have scratched for our livings,
\nNow and way back then.<\/p>\n
\nSome godown and dig for coal,
\nAll are kind,
\nThe young and the old,
\nI’m proud I’ve got a Geordie soul.<\/p>\n
\nHe’s creased and stooped and marked with dirt,
\nHe’s been away from his home too long,
\nA double shift is for the strong,
\nHis shining teeth gleam from his blackened face,
\nLike the “face” that he has been working on,
\nAnd for many years he has done this daily,
\nBut now the time has come when “they” want to stop him,
\nHe doesn’t know what else to do,
\nBut if the pit closes…”What will he do”<\/p>\n
\nAnd the pits did indeed close, closed by Margaret Thatcher. That’s all I am going to say<\/p>\n
\nAnd always a man,
\nBut he’s still my child,
\nThat’s why I worry and why I care,
\nHe’s really OK and does his own thing,
\nButs it’s just because I love him,
\nAnd he is still my child.<\/p>\n