Tipping Sheep (The Right Way)

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I’ve not shared this one in a while – A poem inspired by my son whilst he was on his Duke of Edinburgh Expedition many years ago!

Copies of the book are still available from me – £5 plus postage. Please email me if you would like a copy.

worldlywinds@mail.com

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With face of delight,

my son runs to me –

I’ve tipped up a sheep,

he shouted with glee.

 

My face drops with horror.

Well how could this be?

Am I the worst mother,

has he learned nothing from me?

 

“Calm down Mother!”

my son reassures.

“It’s not as you think,”

with derision he snorts.

 

“We walked in a field,

(in the group we were five,)

saw a sheep on its back,

with legs waving at sky.

 

It soon came apparent,

from what we could see,

that the sheep was so stuck,

‘twas a strange sight to see.

 

We tried hard to lift her,

but to no avail,

she was fat, wet, and smelly,

the weight of a whale.

 

Then out of the blue,

an idea did occur,

we spread out our groundsheet,

to roll her on there.

 

With one mighty tug,

we pulled the sheet up,

and the sheep it did tip,

(the right way up!)

 

So, off with a wobble,

and a, ‘baa,’ of delight,

the sheep she then trotted –

it was quite a sight!

 

So you see Mum, it’s true,

the things I did say,

we tipped up a sheep.”

(Thankfully – the right way!)

 

 

©Tipping Sheep (the right way) 2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Sisterhood

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In memory of a good friend – 1 year today –

For all those that have gone too soon.

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Six sisters sailed into the world,

wide eyed and Brodie primed,

each on a quest and unprepared,

Pioneers before their time.

 

Some went in search of a rare red rose,

and others, too soon, gone;

they failed to find their mustard seed,

that would take them safely home.

 

Watched over by St Helena,

throughout their autumn years,

past lives and loves, and trials above,

spring cherry blossom tears.

 

Procrustean lives, we onward strive,

to be the crème de la crème,

through all the tears and ebbing years,

we’d do it all again.

 

Decades gone as life moves on,

has it been for the greater good?

The Cardinal flight, with the Spire in sight,

where we seal our sisterhood.

 

© Sisterhood 13.05.2015

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Absentia

Happy National poetry day!

Worldly Winds

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It took two bus rides to get to Matlock.

Panda eyed from stress and tears,

sofa surfing for days on end,

dirty, tacky, no baths,

just a lick and a spit at a strange sink.

Sat in a faceless office,

corporate men in their three piece suits,

reeking of gout, and blue with smoke,

lascivious, avuncular, pat on the hand.

You are sitting on a goldmine, one smirks.

Find yourself a rich sugar daddy.

Janis Joplin sings Summertime in my head,

as the fluorescent tubes buzz in harmony.

Parents in absentia,

humiliation and fear sting,

all this to get an education,

no give and take – no grant.

Decades on – I got my education,

With two kids in tow,

all off my own back, not needing

honey traps or gold spider’s webs,

I look back – I want to say –

I pity your wives and daughters!

Did you…

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Rainbow Fin

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I had a fish called Rainbow,

the ugliest you’ve seen,

he was almost transparent,

showing heart, and spine, and spleen.

 

He seemed to live forever,

a hoopla prize, most fair,

he grew quite big and chunky,

and swam without a care.

 

He wasn’t a rare beauty,

neither rainbow,  nor a jewel,

but my little girl’s heart loved him,

he was strange, and bold, and cool!

 

He swam around in circles,

gliding through his castle scene,

and he didn’t seem to mind much,

when neglect turned his bowl green.

 

Then, one day, to my distraught cries,

and my childhood at an end,

I found him quite lopsided,

my poorly rainbow friend.

 

He’d lasted ‘til his teen years,

it was a sad old day,

when I said a few old holy words,

and flushed him clean away.

 

Goodbye! my quirky rainbow friend,

I loved you ‘til the last,

‘tis fondly I remember thee,

you remind me of my past.

 

© Rainbow Fin 10.01.2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

fish bowl (Photo credit: Dean McCoy Photography)

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The Waiting Room

A grim poem for the weekend!!

Worldly Winds

Eyeing up the empty seat,

she sat next to me,

a sweet little old lady.

She drew a breath, and talked non-stop.

My daughter-in-law says I’m nasty,

I’m not, I’m just proud.

She tells me about her childhood,

the blitz bomb that blew her fat aunt into the air,

one foot above her fireside chair.

My daughter-in-law says I’m evil.

How dare she, I’m just particular!

She tells me of her Airedale dog,

although, untaught, he did great tricks,

he’d eat with the cats, and begs when he sits.

My daughter-in-law says I’m a       b-i-t-c-h.

I don’t like her much either.

She tells me of the girls and boys,

wartime friends, of climbing trees,

broken wrists, skinned arms, and knees.

My daughter-in-law says I’m cold and cruel.

I’m just stand offish.

Then she’s back in the present,

to the pigeon on the bird table.

Suddenly a Goshawk…

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