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Beyond Cinderella

Illustration for Charles Perrault's Cinderella...

Illustration for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella from Histoires ou Contes du Temps passé: Les Contes de ma Mère l’Oye(1697). Gustave Doré’s illustrations appear in an 1867 edition entitled Les Contes de Perrault. Second of three engravings (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As she whispers to herself,

her shouts become shadows,

and heartbeats chime thirteen;

the pain in her chest is not surpassed,

by the memory of just before midnight.

Why did she stay? When all about said,

run, flee, escape, (or) you’ll rue the day.

Holding a bouquet of disdain,

she will mourn the bride,

and hide the pain.

 

© Beyond Cinderella 01.02.13

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


A Winning Formula

Five lights on, and we're about to go!

Five lights on, and we’re about to go! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have you ever played, ‘Train Grand Prix’?

I’ll tell you how it’s done – you see…

the morning commute becomes fast and fun,

the connection being, Formula One.

 

Alight the train – the game does start,

from A to B, before depart.

See your quarry, each the best,

overtake them on your quest.

 

…and on the inside Ayrton Senna,

lady redcoat, hair of henna,

overtaking Jenson Button,

Miss prim and proper, lamb as mutton.

 

Outside geezer, old and grey,

Lewis H has had his day!

Student alert, mean and clued,

move over Hunt don’t be rude.

 

Sebastian Vettel is in my way,

deftly dodged with no delay,

Stirling Moss with the wheelie case,

watch out fool, I’ll win this race!

 

In pole position, take the lead,

aboard the train at high speed,

connection caught and what a blast,

Train Grand Prix – do not be last!

 

© Train Gran Prix 22.01.2012

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

Illustration from "Vivilore: The Pathway ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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)

 

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Worldly Winds:

A reblog from Worldly Winds – Graffiti :)

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

Graffiti Defender

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

A spot of heaven,

anarchic art,

a ghost of a shadow,

let us depart.

 

© Culture Vulture 20.12.12

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit – Graffiti Defender (Photo credit: SheffTim)

 

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Hazelhurst

Hazlehurst

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

© Hazelhurst 04.12.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


Worldly Winds:

Reblog from Worldly Winds – a place close to my heart.

Originally posted on Worldly Winds:

Yorkshire

 

 

 

 

 

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,

ghost towns from the past,

mine the depths of politics,

betrayed by bluest lass.

 

Coal-dust mottled snowscapes,

contrast the wuthering heights,

bleak outstanding wilderness,

the slag heap moors by night.

 

My soul belongs in Yorkshire,

with Brontë, Hughes, and Moore,

this northern heart keeps beating,

‘til death doeth close the door.

 

© Yorkshire 30.11.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Yorkshire (Photo credit: gollenr)

 

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