Knitting with syllables

pen and purl

lexical needles

pattern unfurls

pencils slip stitches

pens purl clichés

scheming skeins

unpicking dreams

slip stitch sibilance

cast off vigilance

trying hard again

to crochet a cardigan

No – not me

I prefer

knitting poems.

© Knitting doublets 16.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Illustration from "Vivilore: The Pathway to Mental and Physical Perfection" (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Karma Milano,

scrawled on a wall,

graffitied in letters,

four foot tall.

3:15 throwies,

an homage on bricks,

tag line, street culture,

for Sheffield six.

Rastafari!

Lovingly sprayed,

on the wall of a tunnel,

devotion displayed.

Gouranga, nostalgia,

for he who dares,

high on a bridge,

black on white squares.

Station slam wildstyles,

pigmented praise,

beatification,

now,  let us spray.

My love affair with Yorkshire,

is strange to the extreme,

the rain comes down in stair rods,

as puddles turn to streams.

Flint faced buildings stand proud,

the natives just the same;

hard with a directness,

reflecting poverty’s pain.

‘Aye up love’, and ‘Ta duck’,

a mantra of the North,

a warmth and loyal passion,

found around the hearth.

Depleted coal face scenery,

Why am I so invisible?

you do not seem to see,

all the things I do for you,

I always meet your needs.

I know that when I talk to you,

I may as well be dead,

you do not hear a single thing,

that I have bloody said!

Is it that you do not care?

I find it hard to conceive,

Poisoned passion

Gooseberry green

Deceivingly disguised

Succulent strawberry

Translucent temptation

Tempestuous temptress

Romantic rhubarb

Tasting trickery

Fruity!

© Fruity 26.11.12

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

fruit (Photo credit: karen H. nickname.{ pooh})

How can it be?

When it is not natural.

Not this way,

from the blind side.

How can it be?

Order?

When it is out of order,

out of the ordinary,

extra ordinary.

You oxymoron,

natural order.

How can it be?

© Natural Order 07.11.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo credit - Near The Sea Shore (Photo credit: Special Angels Photography                         (Tumbleweed))

Farewell cruel world,

I’m leaving you,

it’s not a cold,

I’ve got the ‘flu.

It may well be,

my final breath,

my nose is red,

I feel like death.

Please don’t mourn,

when I am gone,

go on without me…

soldier on!

© Soldier On…  03.11.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit : http://9laughs.com/go-on-without-me/

I see an old lady,

and I think of you -

enjoying her garden,

as so should you

Tinsel and fairy lights,

I really miss you;

coloured stockings hang,

each a memory from you.

Then comes the summer,

and I mourn for you,

for all the lost days,

and the things we can’t do.

When I hear a joke,

I want to tell you,

I’m in a dilemma -

Oh what should I do?

Why is it just me,

that this happens to?

I’m in my posh frock,

peng from head to my toes.

There is just one problem,

the spot on my nose!

It glows like a beacon,

landing the planes,

I really can’t squeeze it,

‘cos I can’t bear the pain!

There’s only one option -