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Tag Archives: Alexandra Carr-Malcolm poet

The Sheds

01 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by in Poetry

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This was filmed at Cromford Mills, Derbyshire. Here I am reading one of my poems from the collaborative anthology, ‘Spinnning a Yarn Weaving a Poem’. This was part of a Sheffield Community Heritage project focusing on cotton and the cotton industry.

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The Sheds

I was six when I was taken,

gripping tightly, my father’s hand;

the stifling dusty air clung,

monster machines clanged and protested,

a full-on battle between Metal Giants

and the cotton industry age.

 

Mop-capped and gowned in gingham,

women gesticulated a pidgin patois,

a sign of the times,

amidst the deafening din,

looming in the sheds,

weaving profits for capitalists.

 

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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New Anthology – Parris

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in Poetry, Publications

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Hello!

I hope you are all having a lovely Easter break. My latest anthology – Parris is available either directly from me, or via Amazon. (The link is below.)

This anthology contains poetry about love, loss, and longing. The title Parris comes from Philip Parris Lynott, poet, songwriter, musician, and front man of Thin Lizzy. His writing, music and life story inspired me from being a teenager. There are references to his songs and life, blended with a good dollop of mythology!

Please feel free to contact me or leave a message below if you would like a copy.

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amazon.co.uk

Alexandra David-Néel

23 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by in Buddhism, Poetry

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Alexandra

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).

https://www.womanwithaltitude.com/single-post/A-Poem-about-Alexandra

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.

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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.

https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2016/02/01/alexandra-david-neel-poem-by-alexandra-carr-malcolm-same-name-poetry-and-prose-series/

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)

22 Sunday Oct 2017

Posted by in Children's poetry, Poetry

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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.

worldlywinds@mail.com

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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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St Helena

29 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

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A plea to St Helena – tomorrow you will see her reply!

St Helena 

Feast Day – August 18th

Born – 248, Drepanum, Bithynia, Asia Minor

Died – 328, Constantinople, Roman

Shrine location – St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome Italy

Patron of – Archaeologists  converts, difficult marriages, divorced people, empresses, Helena, the capital of Montana

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St Helena

 

Sisters stepped into a world

of red brick education,

grammar girls all Brodie primed,

watched over by St Helena.

 

You guarded us along the path

of teenage angst and dangers,

we sang your hymns of Pioneers,

of heroines and strangers.

 

Abiding by your arcane rules,

your holy cross you carried,

yet did you think of us as fools,

when one by one we married?

 

Did you laugh at our ideals

of romance and forever?

or were you ‘my dear’ forever near,

was it you who left the feathers?

 

One by one we fell apart,

as men they slowly went,

one by one each broken heart,

we had to learn to mend.

 

St Helena you did not say,

that life would be this tough,

I never thought I’d see the day,

when I’d scream enough’s enough!

 

Oh if I could turn back Father Time

and do it all again,

I would not moan, or whinge, or whine,

I’d love a million men!

 

St Helena by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

18.02.17

Absentia

28 Friday Apr 2017

Posted by in Childhood Memories, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

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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 make them turn tricks,

to pay their way?

Or did you prey on school girls

to make your day?

 

Absentia by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

2016

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Fortune Favours Few

08 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in Deep Stuff!, Loss, NaPoWriMo17, Poetry

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the inky tears

spilled like no other day

a familial, a god, and a princess

left on a journey

which we could not follow

 

all the love in the world

would not return them to us

all the prayers in the world

went unanswered

 

for we know not why

when mortals die

and we can’t turn time

there’s no reason or rhyme

that we are left

behind

 

Fortune Favours Few – December 2016

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

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We Three

28 Wednesday Dec 2016

Posted by in Childhood Memories, Death, Grief, Loss, Poetry

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I originally wrote this poem for a project I am working on at the moment. Last week I found out a good friend had passed away, and this poem seemed a fitting tribute to a gentle, kind, and dear friend. Go well good friend – go well.

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We walked on the beach,

my friend, the dog, and me;

looked out to the seas,

and plotted our dreams,

my friend, the dog, and me.

 

We danced on the beach,

my friend, the dog, and me;

we thanked lucky stars,

couldn’t believe where we are,

my friend, the dog, and me.

 

We strolled on the beach,

my friend, the dog, and me,

we sat in the dunes,

reflecting on tunes,

my friend, the dog, and me.

 

We stood on the beach,

my friend, and me;

wondering where the time had gone,

and how life had moved on,

my friend, and me.

 

Looking back at the beach,

just me;

the gulls mourn the song,

of where it all went wrong,

just me — and my memories.

 

© We Three October 2016

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm