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After a few delays, it is finally here!

Parris – This is my third anthology. This collection of poems is based on mythology, and inspired by the life of Philip Parris Lynott. His music and poetry have inspired me from my teenage years. Some of the proceeds will be donated to the Roisín Dubh Trust

Copies are available directly from me, please message me if you would like details. Alternatively you can purchase a copy from Amazon









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As I lay upon the grass

and gaze into the sky,

I see a flock of starlings

scoot and flit on by.


Starlings are a noisy bunch,

it’s true they cannot sing;

but they are, oh so graceful,

as they dance upon the wing.


As I lay upon the grass,

they swoop and glide on by.

I see a flock of starlings,

have a disco in the sky.


Murmuration 03.08.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Alexandra David-Néel


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A little time back, Elise contacted me and asked if she could post my poem on her blog – naturally I was delighted! Elise is an explorer who is hoping to recreate the journeys taken by Alexandra David-Néel. You can read all about it on Elise’s blog (the link is below).

I first came across Alexandra many years back when browsing the shelves of the Buddhist Centre bookshop. I was taken with her fascinating life and decided to read about this remarkable person.

There were similarities that struck me, and since reading the book I have felt an affinity towards this unique Buddhist. Alexandra seemed to be a woman beyond her time. She was a socialite and a famous opera singer, who became an explorer in the pursuit of learning about Buddhism. She managed to gain entry into countries where outsiders were not permitted, let alone women. She disguised herself in order to gain access to Tibet.


I originally wrote this poem for a series run by Silver Birch Press called ‘Same Name’.

You can see the original posting by clicking on the link below.

Many thanks to Silver Birch Press for publishing my original poem, and thank you to Elise for also featuring it on her blog Woman with Altitude.

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.


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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In memory of a good friend – 1 year today –

For all those that have gone too soon.


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


Happy National poetry day!

Worldly Winds

IMG_2530 (3)

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…

View original post 24 more words

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)

fish bowl


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…

View original post 114 more words