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Do not grieve when I am gone,

I would not want it so.

Plant both feet firm in life’s joy,

and let my spirit go.

Take Mother Earth and dance with her,

and pass the day with Father Time,

for when you hear the linnet sing,

Know that it comes from my beating heart.

When you see the cherry blossom,

confetti falling at your feet,

Know that I celebrate your life,

in each and every way.

When you see the warm spring showers,

or harshest winter rains,

know that they are my tears of joy,

for your each and every day.

When you feel the summer’s breeze,

or brave a storm wind night

Listen out!

For I may call your name,

to remind you I’m about.

© Threnody 09.10.14

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture credit: Torfi007  Pixabay




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I kick the dishwasher door shut

with my right foot.

Slam the mugs into their rightful place

without a backward glance,

click the washer onto spin.

Will it never end?


pulled up short,

a though occurs;

one day there will be no pots to wash,

no clothes to be done,

for you will be gone.

I fondly caress your fleece

slung carelessly across the chair,

and remove your work bag from the table -

to reveal the lily head, squashed,

beheaded, and hidden,

under mundanity

of housework.


© Lily 09.10.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit: JamesDeMers Pixabay





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There it sat, in all its hideous glory,

a bulbous, iridescent, purple pimple,

with burnished orange tongues licking,

lasciviously savouring the purpleness.


It was a product of the swinging sixties,

and T. Rex glam rock seventies.

An affront to pottery, a frivolous folly;

a vase of distinction, all in the worst possible taste.


Not Spode, Wedgewood or even Pearsons,

She bought it from the market,

proudly placed on top of the mdf bookcase

with glass sliding doors.


They  laughed, teased, insulted

the garish, gaudy, clay monstrosity.

Moved from shelf to side, hidden,

it was always restored to centre stage.


Too overpowering to hold delicate blooms,

too selfish, not wanting to be outshone,

it beamed and blinked on the mantle,

in the flickering light of the TV.


House move to house move it survived,

always her pride – in the room left for best,

until she died,

then wrapped in yesterday’s old yellow news;

locked away, denied, a taboo.


One day – somehow, remembered fondly,

revived, the story of Grandma’s vase,

unlocked, unpacked, grieving done, decades gone,

it sees the light of day, and has its place in the sun.


Handed to me, a keepsake, a memory,

an heirloom from Chesterfield market,

it now sits comfortably – retro;

proudly wearing its purple and orange coat,

a model of perfection – ahead of its time.


© Heirloom 06.10.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm








Circle Dance


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The Wait

From the fall of Troy to the Martian sands, and from microwaves to mammograms, The Wait is a collection of one hundred poems covering a swelling gyre of human, and sometimes less human, experiences, from previously unpublished poets to established veterans of the literary world. The profits from the sales of this independently published volume will go entirely to Cancer Research.





I have a poem, ‘Circle Dance’, in this anthology. Why not treat yourself to a copy. Proceeds go to Cancer Research :)

You can purchase a copy by clicking on the link below :)

Le Lièvre de La Lune


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This was a poem I wrote in June 2014. It is based on the Jataka Tales – The Selfless Hare, or, The Hare in the Moon. 

Le Lievre de la Lune

Black Rose

Worldly Winds:

In memory for what should have been Phil Lynott’s 65th birthday – still missed – Legend

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:


The last of the summer rays

blush gently on my cheek.

Tears fall like dew from the morning rose.

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

I wear my heart upon my sleeve,

I also wear my rose.

Both are there for you to see.

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

The last rose of summer cries.

The heart beats deathly slow.

The sun has set beneath the skies.

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

© Black Rose 2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

black rose 1 (Photo credit: Melinda Taber)


View original

I Am Doing This For You


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I remember you…
Your tiny frame full of fearlessness,
teaching the universe,
the ways of the warrior

To see the full poem click on this link

Photo credit: courtesy of Ancestral Archives of Derbyshire



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With tick after tock

as life leaves the clock,

time is ebbing away,

and tock before tick,

where time starts to slip,

reality shrouded in grey.

The pendulum swings

as the death knell rings

night bleeds into day,

as midnight chimes,

love’s sleep is sublime,

youth has out welcomed its stay.


© Thirteen 13.08.2014

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


Picture credit: Picture courtesy of



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