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Archive for the ‘Writers’ Category

Read (only) some of my favorite WA Children’s Writers:

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SHAUN TAN:   Author,  Illustrator, Animator etc…

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DIANNE WOLFER: Author

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NORM JORGENSEN:  Author  JAMES FOLEY: Illustrator

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MEG McKINLAY:  Author

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WENDY BINKS: Author & Illustrator

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MARK GREENWOOD: Author

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Frané LESSAC:  Author & Illustrator

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GABRIEL EVANS:  Author & Illustrator

to name just a few,  so many more on  SCWBI WA.

Speak Up

It takes more than placement to tell a story. 

More than illustration or clever juxtaposition

to speak to our children.  The voice of our words

connects while young eyes search for meaning,

only then are hearts able to hear our stories.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2015

 

@FrancesMForde   #FrancesMacForde  #SCWBI-WA    #ShaunTan  #DianneWolfer  #NormJorgensen  #JamesFoley  #MegMcKinley  #WendyBinks  #MarkGreenwood  #FraneLessac  #GabrielEvans  #WritingForChildren  #Illustrators  #Poetry  #WAWriters

 

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Lynne Leonhardt © 2015

 

The White Gate

The path is Agapanthus strewn

freedom for women colours;

green and purple heads bob

in the Freo Doctor, interrupted

by blossoms which match the gate.

 

Hung upon squat solid upright stone,

it swings inwards, inviting entry

to this secret garden, lusted with

love, Christmas feasts, familial

fecundity, rapturously shared.

 

Reluctantly closed until next year…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2015

#LynneLeonhardt  #POEM:TheWhiteGate  #Poetry  #Nature  #PerthWriters

 

 

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For lovers of books, bookshops will always entice.

I’ve mentioned my favorite bookshop, nestled in Ennistymon, County Clare, Ireland is also a Literary Centre, run by Jessie Lendennie, publisher of Salmon Press.  A meeting place for those in the poetry scene in Ireland where Jessie is both necessary and influential.

Across the oceans, here on the Cafe Strip in Fremantle, Elizabeth’s Bookshop has long been a place to fall into soft couches with a favorite tome and lose yourself for a while.

MillPointCaffeBookshop in South Perth serves coffee and is a favorite haunt for a writer friend who literally immerses himself in words, while he creates.

While Boffins Bookshop in Williams Street in Perth City specialize…

The Boffin

Bookshops are like lovers,

they numb in black & white

then seduce you with colour,

 

titillate and tempt your soul

until you finally let go,

find the courage to close

 

the book ~ pages which leave

you gasping  The breath of air

on your face feels like a slap.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2004

Finalist “Inner City Life” Literary Competition 2004.

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #Bookshops  #POEM:TheBoffin    #SalmonBookshop #SalmonPoetry  #Elizabeth’sBookshop  #MillStBookshopCaffe   #BoffinsBookShop   #Writers   #Poetry  #Poems   #Books

 

 

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I’ve just read this Christmas story on Facebook posted by Cathy Buckle who keeps the world up to date on the state of Zimbabwe – from her P.O.V.

It came from ‘Brunette on a Bicycle – Inspired tales from Zimbabwe’ and brought a lump to my throat so I am compelled to share the whole story with you and hope you understand the good people (those I remember) of Zimbabwe a little better.

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QUOTE:  It’s Christmas Eve and today’s story from Zimbabwe is a message about levels of gratitude and the questions we should really be asking ourselves……

Driving home yesterday after a last minute Christmas run on the dreaded shopping mall with my two daughters I was wondering how to stretch the last remaining cash among the things that still needed to be purchased and planned for. Then we saw this man (in the picture) on the road.
Dear people of the world let me introduce you to Sole. Or is it Soul? I never asked him how to spell his name. We know him, this vagrant-looking man. He has been working on our road for the past week. This is a typical road in Zimbabwe during the rainy season when the torrential rains open up craters in the tarmac which are intermittently and un-enthusiastically repaired by the City Councils. Enter Sole and many men like him. They forage for bricks and stones, use broken buckets or torn boxes to bring sand and soil to their road of choice, prop up their sign and then work begins. The sign is always hand written and varies from “Voluntary work PLZ help” to “I am not a thief I am a worker plz support me”
They chip and fill and scratch in the dirt, they pack pieces of brick into the pothole like a jigsaw puzzle and then add stone and sand and finally pack it all down with rich red earth and begin work on the next hole. In the photo you can see the fruits of Sole’s labour in the filled pothole next to him, his pile of work material, his sustenance for the day in the Mazoe orange bottle (tap water) and the state of the road with many more holes to fill. When he first came to our road last week I stopped to chat to him, to thank him for his help and to pledge him $1 per day that I found him working there. A typical scenario for a man like this is that he might earn $5 in a day which will feed him for a week so he stops work for the week, until the money runs out. I thought my promise of $1 a day might keep him out there a little longer, in the limelight and hopefully the target of other grateful drivers charity and generosity.
After the second day he recognizes us and waves as we go past. This was Day 4. And as Sole painstakingly rebuilds my road I am grateful that each day my car can roll easy over a little bit more of it.
Yesterday as Sole came into view I slowed the car down for the usual $1 and typical Shona greeting “Maskati Sole maswera se?”
“Maskati Madam taswera” (or something like that!!!)
By now, on this Facebook page, I must come across as a “bleeding heart” woman destined to distribute her hard earned money $1 at a time but that is not the case.
The point I want to make is the wonderful positive unshakeable outlook of my country’s people. Like the post about the vendors, here we have a whole voluntary workforce of impoverished destitute people yet are they begging? No. Are they thieving? No. Are they having a nervous breakdown while their family rushes around them in support? No. They do not have the luxury of a support network and the very nature of Zimbabwean people has been hailed as their biggest downfall. We do not have an aggressive people who rise up in rebellion like the Mau Mau, Hutus or Tutsis, we don’t even have a people who are comfortable to protest their living conditions or human rights but we do have a very brave people who stand up for each other but have been left cowering under a tyrant’s regime so alien to this same nature. They have been criticized and castigated as not warlike enough, not motivated enough, yet Zimbabwe is one of the lowest crime country’s in the world. I have a friend who was robbed at gun point once a few years ago. The thief apologized to her for any trauma , explained that his children were starving and when she asked for her Grandmothers ring back for sentimental reasons he sympathetically sifted through the pile of jewelry to find it for her. This is the nature of crime here unless politically motivated.
Another common sight on our streets are the dustbin foragers. Starving people who have no other option but to sift through our trash to try to find food or usable or salvable items. They are wonderful recyclers these dustbin people. They take the plastic bottles and glass jars to refill with wares and resell them. And on the occasion that I might have handed over my $1 to one of these their humble gratitude and unfailing “God bless you madam” is absolutely illuminating in graciousness. If I was foraging in a dustbin and someone arrived in a car to hand me a paltry $1 would I be so magnanimous in gratitude? I’m not sure I would have that grace….
Yes life here is hard. But when I start to feel sorry for myself or my kids because I can’t take them on a skiing holiday or even to the beach then I just have to drive past Sole and his brethren and acknowledge the immense and humbling gratitude with which he receives his daily dollar. The girls and I left Sole yesterday and then Cami piped up “Mum I have a really big T shirt that I think would fit him, should I give it to him?”
We arrived home on our newly leveled road and the girls dived into their cupboards while I raided the food pantry. The bag Sole is holding in the picture is the offering from a household of women including shirts, socks, a towel, blanket and food for a good Christmas meal and a few days more. Who am I to worry about whether I have the right dress for Christmas Day or if I have enough stuffing to fill the turkey? At the end of the day Sole is no different to me, he shows up for work in the best clothes he has and does the best with what he has at that time. And at some point in that day the Universe blesses him with a drive past from a harried mum who takes a moment to try and make his life a little better for a day or two.
Isn’t that what life is all about? Yes there are so many different levels of it but if one just gets up and goes out to work with the tools and ability one has then the Universe cannot help but respond, whoever you may be.
This then is my Christmas Eve message. It is a Zimbabwean story and a proudly Zimbabwean message. We may be governed by tyrants, victims of the highest unemployment records in the world but we take our responsibility for this. This is or country and I’m proud to say that these are our countrymen and women. From Sole through to the business moguls who have built empires here. We have an entire older generation of men and women who couldn’t leave when the many crunches came, many of our pensioners live frugal lives far removed from their earlier years. Life is hard for them too. But across this diverse Zimbabwean people neither the unemployed nor the businessman nor the pensioner look for unearned assistance. We don’t whine and blame and wait to be saved by the World Bank or the U.N or the human rights agencies. (Well I might whine a bit…!) Whoever we are we get up and go out, we do our very best with what we have and at the end of the day that’s enough. Whether it’s enough to feed us for that day or take our dream holiday, it’s enough. But it is the people like Sole (or is it Soul?!) and the dustbin people who show me this. I don’t look at them as vagrants and potential thieves, I see them as people just like me, making the very best of a very bad circumstance and I am uplifted. If they can do it, so can I. And if I can make a difference, no matter how small, in a single life with my single dollar then this is what I must do. It is not charity, it’s simply recognition for the sweat and labour of that person who is trying to make my life better too…..This is what it means to be human. And critically, this is what it means to be Zimbabwean.
This is my message. Send it global. And have a very special, very Happy Christmas.
Linda xx   :UNQUOTE

 

@FrancesMacForde  #CathyBuckle  #InspiredTalesFromZimbabwe  #BrunetteOnABicycle #ChristmasStory

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Blue Duck, Cottesloe Beach, 2004

The Blue Duck

3…   container ships queue on Fremantle’s

horizon – Gage roads.

2…   life guards in red and yellow patrol

Cottesloe Beach.

1…    blue writer drinks inspiration from

a white cup and rolling surf.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2004

 

@FrancesMForde   #BlueDuckCafe   #CottesloeBeach  #Surf&Sea

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Newly released Christmas Books.  Now we’re well and truly into November, the shops (and the net) have started their Christmas campaigns and everywhere I turn, I see tinsel.

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We’re sending out invites for our usual family Christmas Party and hubby and nephew are practicing their guitars for the carols.

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I do LOVE this time of year – just wish my purse felt the same.

This year, I shall be going back to making most of my pressies – sewing or cooking or writing…

But wait!

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I HAVE a book which would make the PERFECT Christmas Gift for littlies:  “Santa’s Swim”  – although I only have a few paperback copies left.

My inspiration was a little Santa Statue from on top of our Christmas cake and my daughter asking for it.

When I was growing up in Africa it was a favorite ritual for Mum and I to make the Christmas cake.  As I got older, I confess, a lot of the hilarity came from tasting the whiskey before adding to the fruit.  Such great memories, now my Mum is no longer available to hug!

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‘Santa’s Swim’ is inspired by treasured memories, of Nanna and her Christmas Cake and Santa, who presided over it.  When Nanna dies, young Mandy wears the little statue on a string to keep Nanna close.  On the beach, one day,  the string breaks and unknown to Mandy, Santa goes for a swim.  Now Santa’s lost, will Mandy ever find him again?  And does it mean she’s lost her Nanna too?

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 Buy the Book:  $15 each with FREE postage in Australia.

#FrancesMacaulayForde”  #BOOK:Santa’sSwim  #ChristmasBooks  #Children’sPictureBook  #Nanna&Christmas  #Grandparents  #LosingNanna

 

 

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There’s no place for love at this time in my life.

I envy those who achieve the balance of need.

Opportunities ignored in the interest of safe-ness,

flying toward my ability’s determined focus.

 

Children gone in their own living-dreams direction,

their lessons learnt and heeded.  My job’s complete.

Is this my way of avoiding the ‘empty nest’ syndrome;

gathering materials for comfort as I settle to old age?

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

(1st Pub. “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”, Ireland 2003)

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HiddenCapacity  #LovePoems  #Romance

 

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Love is like taking a bus…

In my car, the seat belt secures,

holding steady against the bumps and sways,

harnessing against the change in equilibrium,

but I am on a bus – The Love Bus.

The corners are killers – no seat belt – no you!

 

I need you to steady my seat – hold my body still,

temper my impetuous reactions to change.

I need to be wrapped in bonds that secure,

sort out my floundering in an unfamiliar sea.

When the waves crash – you are prepared.

We are standing, weight evenly balanced,

 

both feet planted firmly in our future.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

(1st Pub. “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”, Ireland 2003)

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HiddenCapacity  #LovePoems  #Romance

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You just want to see

how I eat ice creams.

Do I take bites,

or enclose the cream?

Covering the teeth,

protecting

the delicate surface.

Sliding softly

over the peak,

held delicately

in my hand,

fingers wrapped,

guiding.

I lick around

in long strokes

working my way

to the tip, then

short tasting licks.

Quick flicks

that tantalize.

Swirl my tongue

round and round.

Over the top

occasionally.

Taking the whole,

fitting perfectly,

smoothed by

the shape of my mouth.

A little nip before release

and I swallow the cream

with a smile…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

(1st Pub. “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”, Ireland 2003)

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HiddenCapacity  #LovePoems  #Romance

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I lie in my bed and sail unfamiliar seas.

I am lost with no map, no guidance.

I still marvel because you love me.

 

Is the breeze which finds your sheets

as warm and strong – comforting,

as the sweet breathe of  this new life?

 

A promise of new love – remembered love.

Your pursed lips blow photographed kisses

across 10,000 miles. My wounded heart

 

responds – leaps in hope – wallows in want

too scared to expect love. Yet, convinced

by your confident words that all my dreams

 

are possible…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

(1st Pub. “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”, Ireland 2003)

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HiddenCapacity  #LovePoems  #Romance

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