Memory Lane

Worldly Winds


electric guitars

trysts in cafe bars

balmy summer days

memory’s a deep purple haze

thirty years of I love you’s

Pearl teardrops soak through

LP’s and RP’s

Creme Eggs and Smarties

he’s not you

that much is true

and I’m not her

old flames


© Memory Lane 14.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit:



View original post


I am doing this for you II

Worldly Winds


I am doing this for you,

and for those who never made it,

those who fell by the wayside,

and those who simply gave up.

I am doing this for you,

so I can hold your hand

and be a bigger vessel,

to hold the pain and tears.

I am doing this for you,

to be the one gone forth,

because by doing it for you,

I am doing it for myself too.

© I am doing this for you II 09.04.2015

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo credit:



View original post


Worldly Winds


Matchmaker trees,

trunks of knobbly knees,

arthritic twigs,

that creak in the breeze.

A splutter of leaves,

yellowed nicotine trees,

the breath of a smoker,

lets out a wheeze.

We’re dying, they weep,

as autumn does creep,

within crispy veins,

as they lay down to sleep.

© Trees 28.09.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Ash Tree in Fall (Photo credit: hz536n/George Thomas)

View original post

Mother Came to Stay

For my mum, 14 years gone.

Worldly Winds


It’s been ten years long,

since you passed away,

and then you decided,

you’d come to stay.

I was shocked,

when I saw you;

you know,

I adore you.

You never announced,

you’d arrive today,

you bounced straight in,

in your usual way,

announced to me,

you’d come to stay,

gave me a start,

unpacked your bags

and moved into my heart.

© Mother Came to Stay 08.04.2015

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit:



View original post

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


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=””>Romeo66</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a> <a href=””>cc</a>

View original post