Counting Magpies
29 Tuesday Sep 2015
Posted in Poetry, Publications
Author Archives: Worldly Winds
Sugar Rush, poem by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm (MY SWEET WORD Series)
20 Sunday Sep 2015
Posted in Poetry
Thank you Silver Birch Press 🙂
Sugar Rush
by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
I’m whacked out on sugar,
my mood it is high,
I’m giddy and playful,
just look at me fly!
No need to worry,
I’m prepared for the crash,
I have foamy bananas,
in my secret stash!
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is a whimsical poem written about my favourite sweets – foamy bananas. I find them irresistible and sometimes have a secret hoard of them in my writing desk. They are an essential must for writing and editing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Alexandra Carr-Malcolm was born and raised in Chesterfield, Derbyshire (United Kingdom). She now lives in Yorkshire and works as a freelance British Sign Language Interpreter within the Yorkshire region. Alex started keeping journals and writing poetry as a young girl. Only two years ago, encouraged by friends, she set up a poetry blog — www.worldlywinds.com — and was astonished by the positive response to…
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****** Stars ******
09 Wednesday Sep 2015
Posted in Poetry
Stars
I reach up
Pluck the stars from the sky
Put them in my pocket
To keep them safe
Once I have climbed
The lofty mountain
And reached the highest peak
I set them free
To twinkle
And make
The night
Complete
© Stars 09.09.2015
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Picture credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/198721402283579326/
The Steel Snowdrop
05 Wednesday Aug 2015
Posted in Poetry
This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Czech Wikipedia for th week, 2007. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I am a contradiction!
Damaged and fragile,
a smashed up china doll.
Introvert and quiet,
a lone snowdrop,
passed unnoticed –
unwatched and unobserved.
Inside –
a cavern.
Older than time itself.
Deep and hidden,
solid,
like a foundation.
Ever there, ever present,
with a core of steel.
Immovable.
Determined.
A stormy winters night,
brooding and moody,
ethereal, transcendent,
not belonging.
Like a storm cloud passing through.
I am a contradiction,
with a beating
heart.
© Steel Snowdrop 2012
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Thirteen
02 Sunday Aug 2015
Posted in Poetry
With tick after tock
as life leaves the clock,
time is ebbing away,
and tock before tick,
where time starts to slip,
reality shrouded in grey.
The pendulum swings
as the death knell rings
night bleeds into day,
as midnight chimes,
love’s sleep is sublime,
youth has out welcomed its stay.
© Thirteen 13.08.2014
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Picture credit: Picture courtesy of www.commentsyard.com
Tipping Sheep (the right way)
21 Tuesday Jul 2015
Posted in Poetry, Publications
Tags
Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, Alex Carr-Malcolm Tipping Sheep (the right way), Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, poetry, Tipping Sheep, Tipping Sheep (the right way), Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet
Tipping Sheep (the right way) was inspired by my son – in celebration of his 18th birthday today, here it is again! If you would like to purchase a paperback copy of my first anthology by the same name, please contact me on worldlywinds@mail.com
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
Rumi
08 Wednesday Jul 2015
Posted in Heartbreak, Poetry
Tags
I said what about my eyes?
“Keep them on the road”
I said what about my passion?
“Keep it burning”
I said what about my heart?
“Tell me what you hold inside it?”
I said pain and sorrow
He said:
“Stay with it”
by Rumi
Picture Credit
Green Tara – Painting by Devendra Man Sinkhwal, Nepal
Call for Submissions: My Perfect Vacation Poetry/Flash Fiction Series
05 Sunday Jul 2015
Posted in Poetry
Summer is here and people are hitting the road to enjoy some rest and relaxation — and maybe even some cultural enrichment. What’s your idea of a perfect vacation? If you’ve experienced one — tell us about it in a poem or flash fiction (100 words or fewer). Or if you’re still waiting for your dream sojourn, let us know what you envision — in a poem or flash fiction.
PROMPT: In a poem or flash fiction (100 words or fewer), tell us about your perfect vacation — real or imagined. Please send a photo of yourself — at any age — to accompany the poem, and provide a caption for the photo (when, where). (If possible, send a vacation photo.)
WHAT: Submissions can be original or previously published poems or flash fiction. You retain all rights to your work and give Silver Birch Press permission to publish on social…
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Eight Lilies
28 Sunday Jun 2015
Posted in Death, Heartbreak, Poetry
Tags
Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, grief, longing, loss, Mother, mourning, Mum, poetry, Yorkshire poet
It has been ten years since the death of my mother. This is one of my favourite poems dedicated to her. Not a day goes by when she isn’t missed and mourned.
Eight Lilies of remembrance,
stand to mark the way.
Eight lilies, one for each of you,
respect and honour the day;
to show that I still think of you,
though that day is done,
each lily marks a bygone past,
from a lifetime that is gone.
I smell their sweet thick lily scent,
It makes me think of you;
with fondest memories in my heart,
and tears that are now few.
No longer living in my world,
It is as though you’re dead.
The lilies are memorial,
to words still left unsaid.
© Eight Lilies 2012
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Pioneers
20 Saturday Jun 2015
Posted in Childhood Memories, Poetry
Tags
Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, memories, poetry, School days, St Helena Chesterfield, St Helena Girls school, Yorkshire poet
Pioneers
All the past we leave behind,
yet we carry it in our heart,
St Helena girls through and through,
as the years swiftly depart.
Fat knotted ties and skinny ones too,
berets and gingham, dress code rules,
regulation skirts as we kneel on the floor,
cast off our cares as we escape through the door.
Dungeons and turrets, paradise road,
galleries and balcony, put on a show,
keep to the right, single file on the stairs,
spiral up to the library, for she who dares.
Physics and chemistry, biology labs,
bunsens and tripods, asbestos slabs,
the chemical stench and old parquet floors,
roller blackboards and the fume cupboard doors.
Windows that stretched for miles on end,
bring new horizons, a chance to transcend,
safe haven sanctuary for those with an art,
still part of the school, yet worlds apart.
Art school boys installed on walls,
language labs and netball courts,
red brick history commemorates the day,
air raid shelters for those who would stray.
Toilets and cloakrooms, chequerboard tiles,
lurk in the smoke room and hide for a while.
Graffiti on lockers, who loves who?
Hands off! Keep out! Music allegiances too.
Wait at the staffroom, hover at the door,
how long do I wait before knocking once more?
Skulk to the sickroom to skive off P.E.
feigning bad cramps of our weekly monthly.
Boy’s Grammar hockey, excited flirting,
navy blue knickers, unflattering skirting,
frost bitten toes, don’t kick up a fuss,
changing our kit on the P.E. bus.
Home economics and schoolgirl cookery,
who stole the cakes? Antics, skulduggery!
Brown wicker baskets, raise a toast all around,
we never succeeded to burn the place down.
Stoic St Helena with her stained glass stare,
Venus de Milo by the piano chair,
red velvet curtains setting the stage,
assembly lectern for a self-righteous rage.
The corridor of doom led to her lair,
hand on your knee and that inimitable glare.
The end of the lesson, by bell or by gong,
ubiquitous memories of days long gone.
All the past we leave behind
yet we carry it in our heart
St Helena girls through and through
as the years swiftly depart.
© Pioneers 20.06.2015
by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
Photo Credit: school building and St Helena stained glass window – Claire Jones
Worldly Winds 