Pauline Golds Pauline Golds, Writer, poet, genealogist, mother, grandmother and hippy. Author of Grow Your Own Family Tree, Silhouettes in a Silent Land and From Greyscale to Technicolor.
Pauline Golds. Writer, poet, genealogist, mother, grandmother and hippy

Grow Your Own Family Tree
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Silhouettes in a Silent Land
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From Greyscale to Technicolor
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My Poetry
Selected Poems

About Me
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My Poetry

From a very early age I began writing poetry. These poems generate a semi-autobiographical study of my life thus far. I will be gathering them together for publication soon, but in the meantime here is a sample:


Although my feet have never strayed from this green land I call my own
I'm travelling in a distant land upon a road I've never known.
Like Shultz's stranger in a place where I know longer seem to be
The person that I knew so well, the person that I once called me.

Although no oceans carried me to pastures new to seek the light
I struggle onward up and down through shades of grey - no black nor white.
The need for truth consumes my soul as Descartes thinks and finds himself
I feel that I no longer no if I am here or somewhere else.

My social passions burn and flare, my natural passions fight to stay
A part of who I used to be, like Rousseau in a yesterday.
In my fair home where I was born I knew that green and pleasant land
Where all who strove could reach their goal and all were dealt an equal hand.

And from the start I knew my place, I had my children, made my home
As Hobbs and Burke I did us proud, I always knew my time would come.
And so when I had done my part for Queen and Country, paid my dues
I went to seek another place, a place this time that I could choose.

But when I reached the other side, I knew I'd found another home
I listened to the things they'd done and thought my time would never come.
Their world was from the bourgeoisie and I, the prole, could feel a grudge
For Marx could never have foreseen how far we've come and yet not budged.

I know a hundred years ago I would not have had rights to learn
And thanks to liberal minded men I now no longer have to yearn
For something I cannot attain, and yet I still do not feel whole
For they are still the bourgeoisie and I am still the lowly prole.

But still I feel so very glad that they are them and I am me
For they with all their fancy ways could never see the way I see.
The place I come from has its faults but people there seem much more real
They do not have pretentious ways; they do and say just what they feel.

And you my friends with fancy cars that sprout your liberal moral code
Could never really understand, could never travel down my road.
And though maybe I'll never know just how it feels to be like you
At least in this fair land we share, perhaps someday I'll be there too.

So now I must play separate roles to keep the prole inside my heart
Yet still to bridge that mighty sea that crosses to my other part.
The truth I seek may be quite clear; I think therefore I must be me
And I can be both prole and sage in England's Meritocracy.

Copyright Pauline Golds 1995


As midnight shadows pass across the page,
So haunting is the fear that grips my heart.
The pain inside that feels despair and rage
Pulls hard from deep within and tears apart.

The wish of death's release consumes my soul,
Yet fear of dying fills each fading scene.
To know that I will never be the whole
Of who I am and what I could have been.

The guilt that tears within me pulls me back
In knowing that this world is plagued by war,
That all I have is what so many lack,
Yet still I cannot breathe through want of more.

When I was young, the foolish idle dreams
Engulfed my mind, as oft they will in youth.
I had such plans, so many hopes and schemes
And all the while I still believed in truth.

That when you play the game, obey the laws
You do God's will and faithful live your days,
Then one day all this will be goddamn yours
And you will reap the pleasure and the praise.

How foolish is that youth to have such hope,
How brainwashed are the minds of those like me
Who live each day and in the end just cope
Because that is the way we're taught to be.

Well where are all the teachers and the dons
The preachers and the liars and the rest,
The ones who told me I could be someone,
Who opened up Pandora's box then left?

Well this is I, your prodigy, your hope,
A desperate fragile woman filled with rage
Because there must be more than just to cope
With this sad truth that hope is lost with age.

There's nothing left to strive for, all's behind
This ailing body, trapped within this cage
And what is left of once this agile mind,
Who listens anymore to elder sage?

The candle waxes low and shadows deep
Are falling fast upon my weary eyes.
I know that soon relief will come with sleep
And I will pass the night with sweet reprise.

But when again the sun rejoins this place
And wakes me from my only hours of peace,
Again I will go on just step by pace,
Until the night returns and brings release.
October 20th 2000

Copyright Pauline Golds 2000


Closed doors slamming tight in someone else's brain
Take the shackles off the wall
And leave them drowning in the dust
Dream the dreams of masters past collecting pain
Catch the memory of the fall
Of worthless trinkets turned to rust

When I saw the days behind your love red smile
In the shadows passed away
There were takers on the cell phone
Till the words inside moved on the last lost mile
Then we find ourselves today
With beaten memories turned to stone

Feel the witch upon the water
Shifting time through shades of red
Funny how that time moves faster
With the laughter in your head
So the clock ticks in the corner
As the laughter fades and dies
See the witch upon the water
Moving slow through tear filled eyes

Take the back seat as the crowds swim past the womb
Turn your head upon the stake
And sing in whispers through the pain
Touch horizons one last bid before the tomb
Kill the promises they make
Then let the truth connect your brain

Feel the witch upon the water
Shifting time through shades of red
Funny how that time moves faster
With the laughter in your head
So the clock ticks in the corner
As the laughter fades and dies
See the witch upon the water
Moving slow through tear filled eyes

Feel the witch upon the water
Shifting fate through shades of gold
Funny how that fate can't change you
Infant faces growing old
So the sun ticks in the mirror
And the laughter filters through
See the witch upon the water
See the mirror - she is you

Copyright Pauline Golds 2004

I Loved You When

I loved you when...
The sky bounced high from virgin, white-capped mountains,
Majestic peaks, the frozen lake below,
The azure sky gushed straight from Heaven's fountains,
Cascading down in sunbeams on the snow.
The little train that led us to such wonder
Wound upwards through the weaving Alpine ridge,
Past purple forests climbing steep in splendour
Along the vale that stretched beneath the bridge...
I loved you then.

I loved you when...
Beneath the hilltop castle close together
We dined on dumplings, drank the native wine.
The little river boat denied the weather
The drizzled skies gave way in thought to shine.
And when you danced that evening, spirit beaming
As pitchers drunk, you twirled around the floor
With soft spoke eastern misses, I sat dreaming
Full knowing I could never want for more...
I loved you then.

I loved you when...
Bohemian clad painters wove the story
Of days long past when death gave way to art.
Cathedral bells rang out to sing God's glory
And Sunday morning filled my soul, my heart.
We strolled the Champs Elysee in the sunlight,
The Masters in the Louvre wrought laughter new,
We drank a cup of Heaven in the moonlight
And slept entwined both loved and loving true...
I loved you then.

As summer's thrill
Casts warmth across the Earth alive and singing
We gaze upon our haven by the sea,
Our little white-walled garden, birdsong ringing,
Where cities distant make no call to me.
The fragile bees draw nectar from the flowers
As sparrows nest and seagulls white clouds ride,
My home, my England holds us in its bowers,
When hearts brim full with life and joy and pride...
I love you still.

May 31st 2009

Copyright Pauline Golds 2009

The Cobweb

There's a cobweb hanging loose upon my ceiling,
I notice it whilst lying on my bed,
But at that time my mood is not for cleaning,
So there it hangs, its spinner long since dead.

But when I'm wielding polish, cloth and duster
And shifting dirt from skirting, shelf and sill,
The cobweb gets forgotten in my fluster,
And so I guess it's hanging up there still!

Copyright Pauline Golds 2010