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Remembering – Parris

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Death of a Minor

It is a stormy night, and I have just driven home over the Woodhead Pass – one of the inspirations for this poem. It seemed apt to repost.

Worldly Winds

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I remember the daily grind through the Peaks;

from Hillsborough to hospice.

Morphine induced twilight hours,

brittle brown heather hair,

cascading watery cataracts,

crashing, weeping, winding.

I know each bend like the veins in my hand;

the outcrops and falling rocks.

Spray from the lorries,

thrown up, muddy teardrops,

sliding down the windscreen,

breaking limits, breaking hearts.

This is the road to hell.

© Death of a Minor 24.05.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo credit : photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/romeo66/2101025633/”>Romeo66</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>

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Dorothy

Ohhh I remember it so clearly!

Worldly Winds

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They called you ‘big Dot’,

and I was ‘little Dot’,

you hated that.

Remember when,

on Christmas Eve,

chickenpox struck

with great malaise?

Granddad came to visit me,

and how he laughed,

and how he teased,

‘spotty Dotty’, he would say.

Remember the day, he came to play,

in his best green polka dot shirt?

‘Who’s spotty now?’

I shouted out loud.

You hit me,

it hurt.

© Dorothy 14.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Slán Abhaile

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Yesterday I attended the funeral of my Buddhist teacher Urgyen Sangharakshita along with over 1200 other Buddhists. It was a beautiful, poignant, moving ceremony. I have never experienced anything as immense in my lifetime. Despite the heavy downpour of rain, the birds still sang, and the wind played in the autumn trees. By the time the procession to the burial ground took place, the sun came out and lifted the heavy skies.

I cannot adequately put into words my gratitude to Bhante. I met him twice, once at a shared meal at the Sheffield Buddhist Centre, and later in Birmingham (2011). He guided  and inspired my Buddhist practice, and encouraged me to take my writing seriously. Without his guidance and teachings I doubt I would be where I am today.

How do I say thank you, and how do I say goodbye? I started to write this poem on the way down to the funeral and finished it on the way back. This poem relates to the loss of significant people in my life – Safe Home Bhante Urgyen Sangharaksita, go well.

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Slán Abhaile

 

How do I say goodbye?

When I am living at the speed of life,

the eggshells I am walking on

pricking at my soul.

Remote and inaccessible,

with drawbridge raised to love,

how do I say goodbye?

The Trinity and Trilogy

conjoined in parse asymmetry,

seem so insignificant.

 

How do I say goodbye?

 

Slán Abhaile by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

10.11.18

War Child

Copies still available either on Amazon or available direct from me ☺️

Worldly Winds

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Good news!

The paperback version of Counting Magpies is imminent! I will also be releasing a limited edition edition. The limited edition will contain three bonus poems and will be signed by my own fair hand. If you choose, I will also hand write one of my poems of your choice inside the book.

In the meantime here is a poem from Counting Magpies – a sneak preview!

Click on the picture of the book to take you to Amazon.

War Child

War child, far child,

not in my back yard child,

foul flies, infesting eyes,

freely grief is advertised.

Blasé news, propaganda views,

stretchered to the blues and twos.

Feuding plans, dividing clans,

charity absolving man.

Splitting heads, landmines, legs,

rubberneck, the child who begs,

behind the eyes, traumatized,

rape and murder legitimized.

Arms and gear, year on year,

dealers, spreadsheets, profiteer,

bankers, warlords, politician,

making schisms, capitalism.

War…

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