Pioneers

20 Saturday Jun 2015

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, Poetry

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, memories, poetry, School days, St Helena Chesterfield, St Helena Girls school, Yorkshire poet

Pioneers

All the past we leave behind,

yet we carry it in our heart,

St Helena girls through and through,

as the years swiftly depart.

Fat knotted ties and skinny ones too,

berets and gingham, dress code rules,

regulation skirts as we kneel on the floor,

cast off our cares as we escape through the door.

Dungeons and turrets, paradise road,

galleries and balcony, put on a show,

keep to the right, single file on the stairs,

spiral up to the library, for she who dares.

Physics and chemistry, biology labs,

bunsens and tripods, asbestos slabs,

the chemical stench and old parquet floors,

roller blackboards and the fume cupboard doors.

Windows that stretched for miles on end,

bring new horizons, a chance to transcend,

safe haven sanctuary for those with an art,

still part of the school, yet worlds apart.

Art school boys installed on walls,

language labs and netball courts,

red brick history commemorates the day,

air raid shelters for those who would stray.

Toilets and cloakrooms, chequerboard tiles,

lurk in the smoke room and hide for a while.

Graffiti on lockers, who loves who?

Hands off! Keep out! Music allegiances too.

Wait at the staffroom, hover at the door,

how long do I wait before knocking once more?

Skulk to the sickroom to skive off P.E.

feigning bad cramps of our weekly monthly.

Boy’s Grammar hockey, excited flirting,

navy blue knickers, unflattering skirting,

frost bitten toes, don’t kick up a fuss,

changing our kit on the P.E. bus.

Home economics and schoolgirl cookery,

who stole the cakes? Antics, skulduggery!

Brown wicker baskets, raise a toast all around,

we never succeeded to burn the place down.

Stoic St Helena with her stained glass stare,

Venus de Milo by the piano chair,

red velvet curtains setting the stage,

assembly lectern for a self-righteous rage.

The corridor of doom led to her lair,

hand on your knee and that inimitable glare.

The end of the lesson, by bell or by gong,

ubiquitous memories of days long gone.

All the past we leave behind

yet we carry it in our heart

St Helena girls through and through

as the years swiftly depart.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit: school building and St Helena stained glass window – Claire Jones

Sisterhood

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, Love, Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, Chesterfield, Crooked Spire, love, memories, poetry, School days, Sisterhood, St Helena Chesterfield, St Helena Girls school, UK poet, Uk poetry, writing, Yorkshire poet

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.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit:https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/340373684311568750/

Puzzlewarehouse.com

This poem is inspired by and dedicated to Ann Proctor, Belinda Foncree, Rebecca Hewitt, Josie Davies and Lynn Ankrett – Five amazing ladies, we weather the worldly winds together❤

Memory Lane

21 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by Worldly Winds in Heartbreak, Love, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, cafe bars, deep purple haze, electric guitars, heartbreak, longing, love, memories, memory, napowrimo, Passages Dagda Publishing, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, writing, Yorkshire poet

electric guitars

trysts in cafe bars

balmy summer days

memory’s a deep purple haze

thirty years of I love you’s

Pearl teardrops soak through

LP’s and RP’s

Creme Eggs and Smarties

he’s not you

that much is true

and I’m not her

old flames

inflamed

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/240238961343388899/

The Hula-Hoop of Hindrance

19 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by Worldly Winds in Buddhism, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, childhood, childhood games, childhood memories, habits, hindrance, hula-hoop, memories, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, writing, Yorkshire poet

I saw it in the playground,

when I was only three,

the hula-hoop of hindrance,

resting by a tree.

It was pretty, pink, and sparkly,

with unicorns and glitter,

it even had, ‘go faster’ stripes,

so I could hula quicker.

I put it ‘round my tiny waist,

and hula’d round the yard,

little did I realise,

that it would make life hard.

I learned to love my hula-hoop,

though I was only four,

when I went to bed at night,

I’d leave it by the door.

I realised when I was five

(and also at aged six)

that I had been quite naïve

my hula habit fixed

This went on – my dearest friends,

throughout my adult life,

attachment to my hula-hoop,

caused me so much strife.

When cooking in the kitchen,

and trying to eat my dinner,

my hula hoop got in the way,

and I just grew much thinner.

and when I met my boyfriend,

I’d hula-hoop for joy,

but holding hands whilst hula-ing,

well… the romance is destroyed.

Showering or getting dressed,

at work, at home, at play,

my pretty, sparkly hula-hoop,

was always in the way.

When I went upon retreat,

there was no problem there;

for there were many hula hoops,

that we could swap and share!

Then, Maitripala gave a talk,

about the hula habit,

if we can see the gateway….

the freedom’s there, so grab it!!

The moral of this story,

is not too clear to see,

but if you choose a skipping rope,

you can set yourself free.

One day I hope my hula-hoop,

will rest against that tree,

and if you choose to have a go,

it’s going, gratis, free!!

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture Credit: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/122723158565563869/

picture from childhood101.com

Threnody

22 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Death, Loss, Poetry

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm Threnody, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, death, grief, memories, memory, poetry, Threnody, UK poet, Uk poetry, writing, Yorkshire poet

Do not grieve when I am gone,

I would not want it so.

Plant both feet firm in life’s joy,

and let my spirit go.

Take Mother Earth and dance with her,

and pass the day with Father Time,

for when you hear the linnet sing,

Know that it comes from my beating heart.

When you see the cherry blossom,

confetti falling at your feet,

Know that I celebrate your life,

in each and every way.

When you see the warm spring showers,

or harshest winter rains,

know that they are my tears of joy,

for your each and every day.

When you feel the summer’s breeze,

or brave a storm wind night

Listen out!

For I may call your name,

to remind you I’m about.

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture credit: Torfi007 Pixabay

Heirloom

25 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, Poetry

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm Heirloom, Chesterfield market, Grandma, Heirloom, loss, love, memories, poetry, pottery, purple vase, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

There it sat, in all its hideous glory,

a bulbous, iridescent, purple pimple,

with burnished orange tongues licking,

lasciviously savouring the purpleness.

It was a product of the swinging sixties,

and T. Rex glam rock seventies.

An affront to pottery, a frivolous folly;

a vase of distinction, all in the worst possible taste.

Not Spode, Wedgewood or even Pearsons,

She bought it from the market,

proudly placed on top of the mdf bookcase

with glass sliding doors.

They laughed, teased, insulted

the garish, gaudy, clay monstrosity.

Moved from shelf to side, hidden,

it was always restored to centre stage.

Too overpowering to hold delicate blooms,

too selfish, not wanting to be outshone,

it beamed and blinked on the mantle,

in the flickering light of the TV.

House move to house move it survived,

always her pride – in the room left for best,

until she died,

then wrapped in yesterday’s old yellow news;

locked away, denied, a taboo.

One day – somehow, remembered fondly,

revived, the story of Grandma’s vase,

unlocked, unpacked, grieving done, decades gone,

it sees the light of day, and has its place in the sun.

Handed to me, a keepsake, a memory,

an heirloom from Chesterfield market,

it now sits comfortably – retro;

proudly wearing its purple and orange coat,

a model of perfection – ahead of its time.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

I Am Doing This For You

15 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, Death, Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alex Carr-Malcolm poetry, childhood memories, Dagda Publishing, death, faith, memories, Yorkshire poet, Yorkshire poetry

I remember you…
Your tiny frame full of fearlessness,
teaching the universe,
the ways of the warrior

To see the full poem click on this link

Photo credit: courtesy of Ancestral Archives of Derbyshire

Death of a Minor

24 Saturday May 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Death, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Alex Carr-Malcolm poet, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, Alexandra Carr-Malcolm poetry, cancer, death, grief, heartbreak, hospice, loss, memories, Mother, Mum, pain, Peak District, poetry, sorrow, tears, UK poet, Uk poetry, Woodhead Pass, Yorkshire poet

I remember the daily grind through the Peaks;

from Hillsborough to hospice.

Morphine induced twilight hours,

brittle brown heather hair,

cascading watery cataracts,

crashing, weeping, winding.

I know each bend like the veins in my hand;

the outcrops and falling rocks.

Spray from the lorries,

thrown up, muddy teardrops,

sliding down the windscreen,

breaking limits, breaking hearts.

This is the road to hell.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo credit : photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/romeo66/2101025633/”>Romeo66</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>

Hazelhurst

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in Childhood Memories, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, childhood home, memories, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

I could never live,

in a red brick house,

with frilly nets,

that pucker and flounce.

With rooms so square,

shaped like a box;

oh no! not me,

give me stone and rocks.

Victorian aged,

with features so old

flag stone floors,

that strike up the cold.

Stone inglenook fires,

glowing embers and coal,

black basalt hearth,

to bear my soles.

Mullioned windows,

shutters and sash,

transom light, stained,

carved fine mountain ash.

A long sweeping drive,

to a panelled oak door,

proud portico porch,

chequerboard floor.

Orchard and lawns,

domed topiary box,

walled kitchen garden,

growing herbs, veg, and stocks.

That’s my dream house,

from my sepia past,

how I long to be there,

and remain everlast.

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall

21 Monday Apr 2014

Posted by Worldly Winds in NaPoWriMo, Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alexandra Carr-Malcolm, memories, Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall, napowrimo, poetry, UK poet, Uk poetry, Yorkshire poet

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall,

it’s like you never left at all,

with brass plaque small,

upon your bench,

stating Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall.

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall,

I never met you at all,

but in my mind,

you were gentle and kind,

and enjoyed the flowers,

that climbed the wall.

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall,

did you hear the birds that called,

enjoy the butterflies at play,

watch the sunset every day,

as I’m seated on your bench,

it’s like you never left at all.

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall,

it’s like you never left at all,

a small brass plaque bears your name,

upon that seat that once cradled your frame,

the song thrush calls for you again,

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall.

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall,

and though your name in letters small,

your memory will still remain,

through winter snows and summer rain,

as I sit upon your chair,

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall.

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Worldly Winds

~ It's not easy being me!

Tag Archives: memories

Pioneers

Sisterhood

Memory Lane

The Hula-Hoop of Hindrance

Threnody

Heirloom

I Am Doing This For You

Death of a Minor

Hazelhurst

Miss Eileen Leckonby Hall

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