Passive Tense

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I was Karen

abused, neglected

parents rejected

left to my own devices

dens and hens

rose petal potions

solitary, singular

deep and morose

other worldly

a living ghost

Karen lingers

haunting

the host

 

 

Passive Tense by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/357191814167282919/

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Moros

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In the midst of life

we are in death

clinging to tracts

as we let go of breath

 

 

Moros by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/381820874641860209/

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Spite

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Crisp wrinkled leaves
blow hither and thither,
falling over each other
chattering, no wisdom;
but never listening,
bitter, backbiting breezes,
carry their words;
whilst the trees,
keep their counsel.

 

Spite 2016
by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/474003929508703969/

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The History Shoes

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A pair of old slingbacks, she coveted for ages,

all shunkle and sparkle with cute kitten heels,

memories of spinning, between parent and child,

a lifetime of pavements and intricate steps,

champagne parties, bedrooms and strange chaps,

each step a memory, matured, and sublime,

they’ve travelled a journey and still –

how they shine!

The History Shoes – March 2017

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit : https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/622059767250473435/

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Fortune Favours Few

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the inky tears

spilled like no other day

a familial, a god, and a princess

left on a journey

which we could not follow

 

all the love in the world

would not return them to us

all the prayers in the world

went unanswered

 

for we know not why

when mortals die

and we can’t turn time

there’s no reason or rhyme

that we are left

behind

 

Fortune Favours Few – December 2016

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Out of Reach

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I am beyond tears,

numb, sad, in grief.

 

Somehow the world limps on

sputtering bile, hate.

Maybe I should pray to a god?

Maybe I should pray

that the meek will inherit…

but inherit what?

Not this damaged earth.

 

Maybe they will play

amongst the stars,

looking down,

willing us,

to reach out

and reach up.

 

We can be so much more.

 

Out of reach 2016

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Lost

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Missing poster reads;

Lost: My mind

Description: Ineffable

Reward if found

 

 

Lost – 2016

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Balloon

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You are the only thing

holding me to this earth.

You are the balloon

to my string.

 

You are the closest thing

to God like, that I know.

With four paws and a wet nose,

you are merely dog like.

 

 

Balloon – 2016

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Descendants

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I am coming down the stairs,

I am five, six, or seven,

the lime green woodchip walls clash

with the grey flowery stair runner,

the coat pegs too high.

 

Even standing tippy toes on a chair

I cannot reach.

 

The Bakelite radio spews pop

from it’s gaping mesh mouth,

“Where’s your momma gone?”

chirps out.

 

Fear grips my guts,

as the tinny tune provides a rhythm,

for him to polish his shoes.

 

 

 

Descendants – March 2017

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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Bedknobs

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Perched one on each post,

their shifting shadows,

creeping ever closer,

along the plucked camberwick bedspread.

Four Carrion eyes –

catching my breath,

the silence before the scream,

breaks the precocious dream.

 

 

Bedknobs – March 2017

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/441493569708322678/

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