Calculating Cuddles

30 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in NaPoWriMo, Poetry

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, humour, mathematical equations, mathematics, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

Cuddling you,

is like a mathematical equation.

All elbows and angles,

spoonerisms and square brackets.

Just as a

parent he sis-

te-math-ically

square routes,

and exponentially

asterisks the mattress,

to become algebra

beyond my comprehension;

yet squared and integrated,

your obtuse, hypotenuse,

is surely a sine

that we can tessellate,

calculate and co-ordinate,

affirmative action,

and solve

an alternative angle,

between curves.

The geometry of

cardinal em-braces,

satisfies the

conjugated,

conjugal,

bed.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

The Grand Challenge Equations: San Diego Supercomputer Center (Photo credit: dullhunk)

La Danse de la Mort

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, dance of the dead, dance with the devil, naive, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, winter, Yorkshire poet

And ‘though you didn’t know it,

whilst young and naive,

you danced with the devil,

on that snowy winter’s eve.

You may ask how I know this,

as we danced ‘round the hall,

for whilst he lay sleeping,

‘twas I stole his soul.

As it all becomes clearer,

‘twas I that was naive,

as you danced with the devil,

on that cold February’s eve.

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured in dance: an early moving picture demonstrates the waltz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hazelhurst

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, childhood home, memories, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

I could never live,

in a red brick house,

with frilly nets,

that pucker and flounce.

With rooms so square,

shaped like a box;

oh no! not me,

give me stone and rocks.

Victorian aged,

with features so old

flag stone floors,

that strike up the cold.

Stone inglenook fires,

glowing embers and coal,

black basalt hearth,

to bear my soles.

Mullioned windows,

shutters and sash,

transom light, stained,

carved fine mountain ash.

A long sweeping drive,

to a panelled oak door,

proud portico porch,

chequerboard floor.

Orchard and lawns,

domed topiary box,

walled kitchen garden,

growing herbs, veg, and stocks.

That’s my dream house,

from my sepia past,

how I long to be there,

and remain everlast.

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Watch “Distant Lands: Gav Roberts – Spitting in the Steel” on YouTube

26 Saturday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

One of my favourite spoken word poets. I love this one 🙂

Serendipity

25 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Deep Stuff!, Muse, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, metaphysical, napowrimo, poetry, serendipity, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

Slowly, silently,

now the moon,

eclipses all but you,

reclining in serendipity’s arms,

as diamonds glinting

eyes of stars,

fledglings nesting

in my heart,

and nought can

sever souls

apart

Serendipity 04.05.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Orphan

25 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Death, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, death, heartbreak, loss, Mother, poetry, sorrow, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

When you were wrenched
from me by Death,
the unceasing rain drenched
my very being;
the nights of winds wild,
unsettled my soul.
No longer a child,
your heart left a whole.
Dreams half formed and turbid,
barbed and bound with
memories coherent and vivid,
reliving the dying embers of life,
orphaned words held hostage
to overwhelming inadequacies.
Reviling flames of rage,
and the significance of
the underlying situation;
a futile recreation.

Violets

22 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Heartbreak, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, domestic abuse, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, violets, Yorkshire poet

His pint glass half empty,

he’s nursing the blues;

always bitter, never mild,

flat cap and scuffed shoes.

She hoovers the house,

with stars in her hair,

sings to her muse,

thanks god he’s not there.

As he sits in the pub,

nursing his woes,

the footy is lost,

as the last whistle blows.

In her Primarni dress,

she scrubs hard the floor,

heart in her mouth,

dreads the key in the door.

He shuffles on home,

with her heart in his boots,

a belly of beer,

and a loin full of fruit.

She accepts his gift,

with the grace of a Queen,

a necklace of violets,

blacks, blues, and greens.

He broods and he dreams,

cultivating his grudge;

she’s stolen his youth,

this old, plain, drudge.

She lies stock-still

as the stars in the air.

He can no longer hurt,

what is no longer there.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

English: Violets by the coast path This year seems to have been particularly good for violets. This is part of a bank also scattered with lesser celandine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)