Rainbow Fin

10 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in Daily life, Humour, Loss, Love, Poetry

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fish bowl

 

 

 

 

 

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)

 

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Striking the Blues

08 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by in Anger, Deep Stuff!, Loss, Poetry

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Pit head silhouette

 

 

 

 

 

 

Iconic charming history,

repeats the sad refrain,

as, once more, we get screwed over,

we sing along again;

the blues echo a doleful tune,

and strike the same discord,

man mines the depths of misery,

bank on, fools, gold reward!

We steel ourselves with loyalty,

patriotic to the ends,

whilst red skies scream solemnity,

we bend our plastic friends.

Ironic charnel history,

repeats the shame, refrain,

prepare to get screwed over,

as we sing along in vain.

 

© Striking the Blues 08.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Pit head silhouette (Photo credit: alastairb)

 

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Awakenings

05 Saturday Jan 2013

Posted by in Buddhism, Deep Stuff!, Poetry

≈ 11 Comments

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Lotus Bloom

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh fragile temple

Oh temperate soul

Let me be silent

And master control

 

© Awakenings 05.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Lotus Bloom (Photo credit: Chris Hunkeler)

 

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04 Friday Jan 2013

Posted by in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

A tribute…

Worldly Winds's avatarWorldly Winds

black rose 1

The last of the summer rays

blush gently on my cheek.

Tears fall like dew from the morning rose.

 

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

 

I wear my heart upon my sleeve,

I also wear my rose.

Both are there for you to see.

 

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

 

The last rose of summer cries.

The heart beats deathly slow.

The sun has set beneath the skies.

 

The flower blossoms,

the flower blooms.

Slowly it fades

as petals fall

one by one

the spirit

is gone.

 

 

© Black Rose 2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

black rose 1 (Photo credit: Melinda Taber)

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04 Friday Jan 2013

Posted by in Poetry

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dagdapublishing's avatarDagda Publishing

You can find us all over various Social Media networks, because we are social hounds. And, we would like you to join us in our little corners of Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr. Because we love you.

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Eternal Flame

02 Wednesday Jan 2013

Posted by in Deep Stuff!, Longing & Waiting, Loss, Love, Poetry, Waiting and Longing

≈ 7 Comments

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Passion

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cremate me in your

fires of passion,

burn my soul

indelibly,

memories will

a story fashion,

of how we

loved,

and used

to be.

 

© Eternal Flame 02.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Passion (Photo credit: -RejiK)

 

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02 Wednesday Jan 2013

Posted by in Poetry

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dagdapublishing's avatarDagda Publishing

Hey all. Another quick update. Submissions have been going well for our next anthology “Western Haiku: a Collection”. However, we are looking for more. So, if you want to get your poetry out there, drop us an email with a selection of Western Haiku (three short lines, not constrained to the traditional 5:7:5 structure of traditional Haiku, however traditional Haiku will be considered and included). All subjects are welcomed, we’d like to see what you’ve got.

Send your best work to our email address: dagdapublishing@hotmail.co.uk

Also, check our current publications. We have two anthologies out already, both Ebook and print, and we’d love you to have a copy. Follow the links to purchase. With your support we can continue to bring out the best new and undiscovered poetry out there.

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Love Stories

31 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by in Deep Stuff!, Longing & Waiting, Loss, Love, Poetry, Waiting and Longing

≈ 12 Comments

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Polski: Rycerze Okrągłego Stołu i święty Graal...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The greatest love story,

never told,

needn’t be,

the ones of old.

Living in lands,

cloaked with dreams,

where archetypes rule,

and tears become streams.

When day becomes night,

and Knights rule of old,

where the greatest love stories,

are never told.

 

Pick up a pen,

and brandish your sword,

battle your daemons,

and pen your words,

look to your heart,

for stories held close,

let the midnight ink glisten –

stars dancing with ghosts.

May rainbows arc brightly

and clouds cloak bad dreams,

shooting stars sparkle,

and waltz with moonbeams.

 

© Love Stories 31.12.2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Polski: Rycerze Okrągłego Stołu i święty Graal. Malunek z XV w. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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The Morning After

30 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by in Daily life, Humour, Poetry

≈ 11 Comments

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A teacup on a saucer.

 

 

 

 

 

My pillow is lumpy,

my bed is a mess,

I cannot sleep,

at my own behest.

One sherry too many,

the room spins around,

I want to get off now,

and worship the ground!

The sheets are all clammy,

the air is so close,

as I wriggle and squiggle,

with cramp in my toes.

As I take a deep breath,

just one course I can see,

to admit my defeat,

and make a strong pot of tea!

 

© The Morning After 30.12.12

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

A teacup on a saucer. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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The Carved Wooden Train

28 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by in Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

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Trem de madeira - HDR

 

 

 

 

 

In the attic corner,

long forgotten, hidden,

cardboard box calling

secrets forbidden?

 

A blue teddy rattle,

and a carved wooden train,

toys of a bygone,

buried like pain.

 

You said they were mine,

then you threw them away,

history hiding,

a game that you’d play.

 

I ponder that day,

reminiscing the past,

of the train and the rattle,

who played with them last?

 

© The Carved Wooden Train 28.12.2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo credit: Trem de madeira – HDR (Photo credit: Paulo Henrique Zioli)

 

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