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Jan 2016 · 797
Cara McKee Jan 2016
And you are new!
In pink, in blue,
and sleep and dreams
I do eschew;
our days in play
at keekaboo,
and cows say moo
and cats go mew,
and my task to
clean up the poo;
the unknown goo,
and find the shoe,
and gaze at you.

You change my view.

Completely you,
but who?
And where's your shoe?
Jan 2016 · 1.4k
Cara McKee Jan 2016
This is not my land.
This waterlogged clay soil is not my rich loam.
I am the incomer, comeover, the offcomeden;
not from 'round these parts.
We do not share a history,
I do not know your tales,
and you are unprejudiced, but
I don't fit in.
And yet, I find, on returning
to the green-grey valleys of God's own county
this now too, is not my home.
Not my land.
Jan 2016 · 686
Cara McKee Jan 2016
Colours written on the body;
stories told inside the skin.
The ink-ed creature recreates herself.

Inchoate markings clothe in colour:
carnation blooms within the skin.
A crimson kiss comes carmine, but is kept.
Oct 2015 · 1.0k
My Three Kids
Cara McKee Oct 2015
First the boy.
Bursting into life,
filling his space.

Then a girl.
Quiet, calm assurance.
She will not.

Last came Ivy.
Wild and wonderful,
turning upside down.
A Magi poem on my children.
Cara McKee Jun 2015
He turned up late; cravat askew,
with gleaming teeth, champagne for two,
and all of this I would eschew.
I've waited all the day for you.
Mar 2015 · 992
Cara McKee
Cara McKee Mar 2015
Cara McKee
is the name on me.
Writer in chief
at the 'Ohwedo' fief.
Inspired by Abraham Lincoln's poem, Abraham Lincoln, and referring to my blog at
Jan 2015 · 1.5k
The Edge of Doom
Cara McKee Jan 2015
His look is wolflike; hunter in the dark.
“You come with me,” he said, “don't be a wife.”
He lifts his leathers, ready to depart:
“You come with me, and leave your boring life.
“Come ride with me, and see the edge of doom.”
The edge? I follow him where he would go.
And gentle him, and watch his glamour bloom.
I raise him up. A man whom all would know.
And I, remaining there, upon the edge,
Find I have, unbeknownst, become a wife.
And while he wins high praise upon the ledge,
I live my unremarkable own life.
And yet I have seen o'er the edge of doom,
and bear remembrance here within my womb.
Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. My first attempt at iambic pentameter and sonnets. This won me a competition!
Jan 2015 · 2.5k
Going to School
Cara McKee Jan 2015
Bags packed, homework done,
Snacks picked for everyone.
Jumpers, shoes, and jackets on,
Tantrum dealt with and we're gone.
Scooters: one; two; three,
All the bags, with me.
High Street or Eastgate?
Come along, we won't be late!
Nearing school it's getting busy,
Cross the road, say 'thanks' to Ali.
First child's off; small feet are dragging.
Park the scooters; cuddles: they're in.
Fast paced poem best read aloud.
About our old school run in Moffat, Dumfriesshire, Scotland.
Jan 2015 · 805
The Circle
Cara McKee Jan 2015
High, high above the town
She lay still as the sun shone down
She lay in the wheel of the circle of stone
The sun shining down on her there, all alone.

But she was of the earth, spinning around,
The soil knew her name as she lay on the ground,
And twelve stones reached up to the sky,
Framing the flight of a crow that wheeled by,

And wheeled back around with interest to see
This flame haired lass, so still yet free.
The flame in her hair called the flame in the sun,
As with the elements she was one.
Written in response to the prompts 'summer' and 'interested', and with Joolz Denby and the Twelve Apostles (stone circle on Ilkley moor) on my mind.
Dec 2014 · 10.8k
Circles - A Poem about Google+
Cara McKee Dec 2014
I've been Google+ing a while now,
But I've got an admission to make:
I really don't know what I'm doing,
And I seem to have made a mistake.

I've got lots of folk in my circles,
Just a few are in family or friends.
But in the acquaintances bracket,
The list, it would seem, never ends!

I don't know who all of these folk are!
They are not acquainted with me.
So I'm looking now at their profiles,
To see who on earth they might be.

I've worked out, a men's dress designer,
Some writers, a woman called Eve,
An editor, and a photographer,
Are all friends of my good mate, Steve!

I have found some Icelandic artists,
Musicians from the Isle of Man,
And think what they all have in common,
Is they're friends with my ex-husband, Dan.

I feel I have finally cracked it.
I have worked out where I have gone wrong.
I've +1‘d their circles into mine,
Ending up with a friend list too long.

So now I am happily culling.
Goodbye! to Rebekah afar.
I'll not miss your feed from my circles,
As I have not a clue who you are!
My entry into a local poetry competition with the theme: Circles. I quite like it, but don't know what to do with it. Any ideas?

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