2nd Place!


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I am so delighted to have won second place in Dagda Publishing’s Homecoming competition.

The write up is spot on too!

I wrote this poem whilst on retreat. Every morning, whilst meditating, the geese would fly off to a nearby lake, and in the evenings I would hear them returning back to their roost. The sight and sound of them was magical and primal.

Towards the end of the retreat I started to think about the journey home. Myself and friends heading back home to Yorkshire, (the North), full of hope, expectation and viewing the world with new eyes.

You can see the full poem by clicking the link below –


Thank you very much to Dagda Publishing for awarding me second place, I am thrilled and giddy! Please take a moment to check out their page as they do showcase some great writers and poets regularly on their site.












Photo credit: Found on thevintaquarian.com  Pinterest


Worldly Winds:

This one is for my Mum who would have been 68 today – Happy Birthday <3

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

How I wish,

you were around,

to keep my feet,

upon this ground,

to clip my wings,

and whisper this…

Life’s a play –


don’t give up,

and don’t give in,

it’s just a game,

that no one wins.

© Protagonist 29.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


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The Waiting Game by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm (I Am Waiting Poetry Series)

Worldly Winds:

*happy dance*

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

I am waiting for my turn.
Playing the game,
forever stuck.
Do not pass GO,
do not collect £200.

I am waiting to see the blue Angel,
to battle the red square,
stroll down Park Lane
and stay a while…
at the Mayfair.

I am waiting for my Chance,
my, Get Out of Jail Free,
the bank error in my favour,
to win second place in – anything,
my inheritance.

I go back three spaces,
make general repairs to my green house,
pay my taxes – that’s fine,
for Doctor’s fee – read prescription.

I’m done with waiting!
Do I pay a £10 fine,
or take a Chance,
or do I wait –
two die?

IMAGE: “Monopoly Board Game” by Tek Image. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alexandra Carr-Malcolm was born and raised in Chesterfield, Derbyshire, UK, and now…

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2014 in review

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Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,800 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 7 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Other Side of Me

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

Punch and Judy's Carribean Vacation





Do you know,

the other side of me?

Where the grass is greener,

and the soul is darker.


Do you know only,

my second face?

Not like the rest,

the one I keep for best.


Do you know,

if this is sunny side up

heads up, tales down,

turn that frown

upside down?


I think you know,

Little Miss Sunshine,

but have you met Judy

within or without?


Do you know,

the essence of me?

Not that of vanilla,

of sugar and spice,

but one of fear.


Do you know,

the other side of me?

Where the grass is greener,

and the soul is darker.


© The Other Side of Me 2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Punch and Judy’s Carribean Vacation (Photo credit: _william)



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Carole Withany

Worldly Winds:

Due to a request – here’s one I wrote earlier ;)

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

I have a friend,

Carole with an, ‘e’,

who always,

courted tragedy.

She is the one,

that you will know,

skirt tucked in pants,

she crossed the road.

With flashing earrings –

Disco diva,

at party time,

you dare not leave her.

Across the floor,

her stuff she’ll strut,

with loo roll fluttering,

from her foot.

She plays the bagpipes,

I swear it’s true!

With cheeks bright red,

she’ll kill a tune!

If she were a colour,

I have to say,

shocking pink,

would make her day!

You know the saying…

Why’s it me?

That comes from my friend,

Carol Withany.

We all will know,

a Carole Withany,

she is the best friend,

that could ever be!

© Carole Withany 23.08.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

View original



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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









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