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Tag Archives: Alex Carr-Malcolm poet

Child Within

17 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by in Deep Stuff!, Poetry

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I see the child within you,

with your boyish short fair hair.

I hold my arms out to you

I want to show I care.

 

They may have left you

broken, bewildered and abused,

but I will never leave you

feeling neglected, sad and used.

 

You stand there like a ghost child,

one sock up and one half down.

too sad, too shy, too quiet,

Your face a pale, sad, frown.

 

Your little dress is crass and short,

your shoes are scuffed and worn,

your toys are few and far between,

your bear, one eyed and torn.

 

I see you quietly playing.

keep out the grown-ups way,

don’t let them know of what you think,

they cannot make you say.

 

Come  child, sit here upon my knee,

Let me soothe away the pain;

cry out your little heart to me

they can’t hurt you again.

 

Hush child, no need to cry,

I will wipe away your tears.

just hold my hand and follow me,

I can soothe away your fears.

 

Hold strong, my love, rest in my arms;

be still and do not weep.

Listen to my lullaby

I’ll guard you whilst you sleep.

 

Be brave and bide your time Karen,

your future may be bright.

Hold the pain, the memories

take up your pen and write

 

© Child Within 2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

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Parris

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in Poetry, Publications

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Hello!

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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Parrisback

 

Parrisbox

 

 

Sisterhood

10 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by in Poetry

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In memory of a good friend – 1 year today –

For all those that have gone too soon.

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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

Rainbow Fin

22 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by in childhood, Childhood Memories, Children's poetry, Poetry

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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)

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I Am Doing This For You

15 Saturday Jul 2017

Posted by in Childhood Memories, Death, Poetry

≈ 10 Comments

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St Paul's

I remember you…

Your tiny frame full of fearlessness,

teaching the universe,

the ways of the warrior.

 

We met in the church choir;

I was eight and you were six.

I am white and you were black,

already born to fight life’s prejudice.

 

Even then I was frightened;

cancer had claimed so many,

but they were old,

and you were six.

 

Do you remember the wedding?

Suited and booted, in cassock and gown,

you lifted your wig,

and the horror it caused.

 

I was only eight,

but I prayed for days and nights,

that God would give me your cancer,

and let you live…

He never did.

 

I heard your story, at the end,

it hurt for you to be held,

your mummy and daddy wept

whilst you comforted them.

 

You asked them not to cry,

and you said you’d be alright.

You never came back to choir.

Not long after, you died.

 

It was at this very time,

I stopped believing in God,

he never answered my prayer,

your prayer, or theirs.

 

I still remember you…

your tiny frame full of fearlessness,

and how we giggled as girls,

when you doffed your wig to the world.

 

© I am doing this for you 16.06.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit: Dave Bevishttp://www.drbevis.demon.co.uk/CILAAA01.htm

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Karen

12 Wednesday Jul 2017

Posted by in childhood, Poetry

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She wore it and bore it,

like an ill-fitting coat,

a name duly bestowed,

from his mistress’s throat.

 

Obsessed by the curse,

not her familial name,

an unfortunate victim,

of his clandestine game.

 

Dad told her a story,

again and again,

she should have been Phillip,

not a girl, shy, and plain.

 

This was cold comfort,

to be given this news,

as he’d also died young,

singing the sugar blues.

 

The Carpenter’s coat –

she wore that one too,

a mismatched fit,

she shrank from view.

 

She pondered a name,

ambiguous, and strong,

a spiritual death,

yearning to belong.

 

As she grew older and wiser,

and tired of this fate,

tipping the scales,

the deed sealed her fate.

 

The mistress was smug,

as her mother boohooed,

to use her new name,

they still staunchly refused.

 

Karen’s long gone now,

victim, weak, and lame,

too scared of life,

wearing that coat of blame.

 

It still cuts to the quick,

to be labelled as Karen,

a hollow reminder,

a moniker barren.

 

My choice name is Alex,

my phoenix rebirth,

from mouse to lion,

a feeling of worth.

 

I am sorry mother,

we were all taken in,

by the maleficent blarney

and their original sin.

 

© Karen 01.06.2015

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

St Helena’s Reply

30 Sunday Apr 2017

Posted by in Humour, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

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Today has been the last day of NaPoWriMo – I have thoroughly enjoyed participating and enjoyed your responses and feedback.

As Promised – here is St Helena’s reply to yesterdays poem – enjoy!!

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St Helena’s Reply

 

Oh my dear, my poor sweet gal,

I did warn you of the dangers.

In my own archaic way,

I showed you men were stranger.

 

I made the rules, you were no fools!

I had to be quite cunning;

with your lip gloss and your skinny ties,

you were glamorous and stunning.

 

You wore the schoolgirl uniform,

of crimplene and nylon,

thick wool tights, and capes with stripes

polyester shirt with tie on.

 

No coloured hair, no coloured socks,

and shoes fit for the army,

A-Line skirts and gingham frocks,

the blazers drove you barmy.

 

The gym kit was my own idea,

with gore-tex tops – no glamour.

Navy knickers from knee to ear,

nothing stylish to enamour.

 

The school rule drill of measuring skirts,

two inch below the knee line,

needle and thread, we’ll have no flirts,

but still you rolled the waistline.

 

I heard you sing my Pioneer hymn,

and make up your own version,

Pie and Peas, Oh Pie and Peas,

was not an apt subversion.

 

But did you heed all that I said?

No – you were capricious, smart, and rowdy,

I did my best, you passed the test,

and I couldn’t be more prouder!

 

St Helena’s Reply by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

18.02.17

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Baggage

27 Thursday Apr 2017

Posted by in NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

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The day you died

I packed up my stuff

my music, my childhood

I grew up, quick and cold.

Everything gone,

joy, fun, my heart,

some thirty years on

I unlock the chambers

and start to unpack,

it is bittersweet.

Now I can go on,

I find peace,

reconciliation.

The present

becomes the past,

and I step aside,

and I step back,

and continue to unpack

my memories of you.

 

Baggage by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

23.12.16

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Venus

26 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by in Death, Loss, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

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She laid on her back

and stared at the stars;

the shiniest reminded her of you,

but they too are dead.

 

The dead stars shine the brightest

 

Venus by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

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