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.

© Alexandra Carr-Malcolm 2013

*****

Todays featured poem from Alex is a tale of tragedy. Shot through with imagery of sadness, death, depression and the elemental force of nature, Alex weaves a story of heartbreak and loss. A clever use of alliteration courses through this, piece, and the imagery invoked tell of the emotional storm of the subjects loss. A worthy piece, deserving of several reads to delve into the meanings within.

Leave your thoughts below on this…

The moon and the vine.

I show the shadows of your life;

you grow, and you smother.

I hide, my shadows cover

what I ought to be.

Do you not see the chill of my light,

reality shown cold and bright?

Tranquillity is my solace,

loneliness my best friend.

Leave me to counsel the stars,

and I will leave you to clothe the earth.

 

© The Moon and the Vine 24/03/2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

You took my dreams;

 

The swallows of my autumn years,

and banished them without a care.

You defiled and destroyed their virgin flight,

ones that remained have migrated to the winter sun.

 

So hopeful and fresh in the youth of their summer state;

but summer soon passed, and I did not see it happen.

The leaves of youth have fallen and…

the sorrow of winter tears cover them in frost.

I still hear their distant cries,

and the smell of their season.

 

I have their memories and the calls of their summer song.

So long departed, so far away, but…

I still feel the warmth of their summer.

Goodbye my Swallow friends, may you find

your dreams on a distant shore.

Dreams that are not mine, but can be lived,

once more…

 

© The Swallow’s Farewell 27/03/2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mossy skin of stark stone walls,

a breath of clouds in a cold October sky,

the haunting call of the hovering kestrel.

The bleak love affair with the unyielding Peaks.

 

The tangled sheep huddled against the cold North wind,

wool kissed barbs of boundaries breeched,

the wandering yew abandoned on the verge of betrayal.

The dark love affair with the relentless Peaks.

 

Sca Fell, Peaks probe the gloomy skies,

the bursting spring cascades to punish rocks beneath,

purple rinse resilience of old heather hair.

The stark love affair with the unwieldy Peaks.

 

Shadows play hide and seek with rocks and hills.

The mournful cry of an old church bell

calls back the congregation of fallen sheep,

to worship the affair with pagan Peaks.

 

The low slung fog smothers both road and fell,

hushed tones hold the secrets of the…

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