Tag Archives: Alex Carr-Malcolm poet

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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Chronos

25 Tuesday Apr 2017

Posted by in NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

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The cruelest price to pay,

to grow old

as you watch me

fade away.

 

To see each fracture,

each crease,

whilst watching from

the earth beneath.

 

Do not let me age

before your eyes,

do not let decay

befall the wise.

 

Take me now

upon your wings

raise me up

to higher things

 

Show me the stars,

and I’ll show you my heart,

my love for you,

will ne’er depart.

 

Chronos by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

photo credit: pinterest – Grim Reaper

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Wind Shear

24 Monday Apr 2017

Posted by in Loss, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

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my tectonic plate has shifted

my heart was in the middle

crushed beyond repair

 

my sanity shifts

along with the slipstream

and a cold front

eclipses

 

Wind Shear by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/183029172332421195/

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Lone

23 Sunday Apr 2017

Posted by in Loss, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

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Of the woman –

mother and father to children;

who plastered walls, repaired teddy bears,

ran a business, ran a home, studied,

got a degree, did all three,

strong, independent, confident.

 

I am glad you are dead

and you did not witness the decay,

of each passing day.

 

Lone by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

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Dolor

22 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in Death, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 3 Comments

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You do not see my heart break
360,000 times an hour,

my stoop becomes more pronounced,

my eyes sink and my cheeks hollow.

 

You do not see each line and wrinkle

from each grief ridden second,

my hair and blood thinning,

as the light departs my eyes.

 

Golden sunbeam hair,

moonbeam eyes and cherry crescent lips,

butterflies in her shoes.

When we walked through farrowed fields,

solis and luna blended into aeons.

 

I am glad you did not stay,

to witness the decay of this life.

 

Dolor by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

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Six Degrees of Sheffield

21 Friday Apr 2017

Posted by in Love, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

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Great city, city of my love,

city of Hendo’s, knives and cutlery,

of Arctic Monkeys, six degrees.

 

The Arts Tower beacon watches over

seven rivers, seven valleys

once clanged with grinding stones.

 

Great city, framed under grey skies,

touring bicycles, freewheeling

rewarded, great city, city of my love.

 

Six Degrees of Sheffield by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/530087818615521613/

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