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POSTCARDS: Cinquains

Posted in Writing on February 2, 2026| 1 Comment »

These are the sort of postcards I would leave on the tables at my PoetsCorner@PagesCafe events. Done on my computer, printed 3-up on A4 card. It’s such an easy way to get poetry to the general public. There were never any left… Of course, when I needed bulk copies I would use Snapfish – only when they had a special on. I also place them into books in libraries and bookshops – with permission. NOTE: Cinquain is the style of poem.

#Cinquains #SharingPoems #PoetsCorner #PagesCafe #PoetryPostcards #PoemsToShare #SelfPublished #FrancesMForde

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POEM: True Colours

Posted in Writing on January 31, 2026| 3 Comments »

Freshly picked from my garden... FMF © 2011

True Colours

Like the sea of silk geraniums
On display in Waldecks
Garden Centre Cafe

Consumerism has replaced
our sense of natural beauty.

In the Garden Centre real
geraniums grow but we’d rather
fake it than show our true colours!

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

#PoemTrueColours #Geraniums #FakeFlowers #FloralPoem #Flowers #SilkFlowers #WhoAreWe
#Consumerism #NaturalBeauty

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POEM-Shall I?

Posted in Writing on January 29, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Another from my 1968 Notebook…

Shall I?

Shall I open my mind and let you see 
		
	deep inside my heart - the real me?

Shall I let you wander through the avenues,
		
	float on the waves of solitude?

Shall I let you sample my inner fears,
		
      find out all the reasons for my lonely tears?

Shall I let you see the feelings I surpress,
		
	life affection and love, hate and sadness?

Shall I give away my independence,
		
	my loneliness and oneness?

Shall I be the same as everyone else?
		
        Should I show what feelings I've really felt?

Shall I tell all my secrets to you?
		
        No - there's no telling what harm you'd do
						
			           if you laughed.


Frances Macaulay Forde ©  1972

#My1968Notebook  #BioPoem    #TeenageAngst    #TeenPoem   #LovePoem  #francesmacaulayforde

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POEM: After You’ve Gone…

Posted in Writing on January 27, 2026| 3 Comments »


After you’ve gone…

… a step in the sand remains 
until the sea claims all trace
but the soft perfume of your spirit 
pervades our lives forever.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2011

#AfterYou'veGone  #poems  #lovepoem  #romance  #missingyou  #lostlove  #francesmacaulayforde

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Splendid Blue

Posted in Writing on January 26, 2026| 3 Comments »

Fairy Wrens are my favourite little birds, found in the South West of Western Australia. They really are that colour! (Art: FMF©2025)

Splendid Blue
 
In breeding plumage
his world knows no guns,
only the garden sprays
killing his insect food.
 
Still, he flits and flirts,
happy in his life work.
Seeking shades of brown
and grey among the twigs.
 
There, a most superb mate
waits, quietly seed-feeding
to proliferate their kind.
A species not in danger – yet.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2015

#francesmacaulayforde #poetry #nature #fairywrens #birds #WestAustralia

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Cinquain:Yellow

Posted in Writing on January 25, 2026| 3 Comments »

Cinquain: Yellow

I stand
as life buffets me,
challenging my right
to live with contentment
and achieve my dreams at last



Frances Macaulay Forde ~ 2000
Photo:  Tulips at Araluen by FMF © 2000


#cinquain  #poems  #francesmacaulayforde  #MothersDay  #strength  #Ebooks  #Yellow  #Tulips  #Areluen

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Poem: Raining

Posted in Writing on January 24, 2026| 2 Comments »


Raining


I came home alone

on my own (again)

in the rain.

The room was cold

and bare – empty

without you there.

Mind dull with pain,

face wet and stained,

full of mascara and grief.

Of goodbye – disbelief!

Morning holds

nothing new.

The usual chaos

and boredom.

No you…



Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1972

#FrancesMForde  #HeadingleyLeeds  #Poetry  #1968Notebook  #POEMRaining

1st posted 2014: https://francesmacaulayforde.blog/2014/11/22/1968-notebook/

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Remembering mum.

Posted in Writing, tagged family, fiction, life, Love, writing on January 21, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Remembering my dearest Mum on what would have been her birthday, posting a poem I wrote in honour of her when I was studying for my Creative Writing Degree.

A Found Memory
Fossil: Dry. Smooth? Not smooth – rough.
Light! Weighs nothing. I move my finger
to slip over the top end and find smooth.
A clean cut. A harsh chopping off.

A crack has appeared. It’s old,
dirt-encrusted, making the fissure
stand out from the beige of light
and dark mottled skin.

This portion of dead twig has been displaced,
into my warm, clutching hand.
It is bowed, perhaps with the weight
of brilliant blossom in fertile times.
But with age and exile,
the object bears no hint of past profusion.
No scar of leaf or flower.
Only grooves in dry, brittle skin.

Viewed from the smooth top,
a solid golden core betrays its strength.
Marred by a red blemish - perfect oval,
tree blood showing the pain of dissection.

Where did you come from, my severed arm?
You stood in proud grandeur.
High, looking down on sheep
grazing green grounds beneath.

Your ghostly mother, her children
housing nests, hollows, where new life begins.
Waving in the sweeping wind. Bowing
to earth’s elements. Dressing for season’s ball.

A young boy climbed your sturdy limbs
seeking adventure, chasing the sun
to knock a parrot’s nest – not caring
about fragile eggs of new families.

You remind me of my mother.
Her honesty. Loveliness.
No frills - just lines of age.
Her purpose obvious. To bear fruit.

The golden core of subtle strength was always known.
The ability to bend when winds buffeted.
Fissures evidence damage – results of force
against will or ability. Life wasn’t always easy.

My mother has been gone for a long time now,
but hugging this piece of dry, light branch,
comforts me. The memories of mother.
The naturalness of her protection.

I remember her hands at the end.
Dry, mottled, beige and brown.
Clutching mine in death. Cold.
The heat from my warmth
trying desperately to infuse life.

NOTE: 1st appeared in 'Hidden Capacity ~ a poet's journey" Pub. Ireland 2003.
#francesmacaulayforde #afoundmemory #dearestmum #poemformum #memorypoem #poetry #parentslove
36s

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Bagdad Ballet

Posted in Writing on January 16, 2026| 3 Comments »

Even though I wrote this about the Iraq War in 2003, the sentiment is still relevent – Peace for all.

Bagdad Ballet

A young boy sits, comfortable on his mother’s shoulders,
smile-excited in the sunshine, taking part in a parade.
He proudly thrusts the finger-sign of peace forward, 1,2.
Nice to see in an Iraqi child – family, bombardered by
‘Shock and Awe’ the night before. Forgiving. But the visual
is blitzed as it flashed onscreen, by the plastic Sten gun
held aloft, background-brandished in the child’s other hand.

Do you think the young lad plays in secret tunnels, knows
where to hide, where doubles walk to keep the myth alive, so
Saddam appears safe, un-dead, ahead of the big game plan…
the magic tricks to keep awake illusions of still-controlled-city.
Streetlights burn in defiance of invaders largesse. Traffic moves
through the night while bright glows explode in distant thunder.
Shelling shock waves shatter windows and shower shrapnel as

we sit on green comfy sofas, presumed warm and safe inside,
miles away, enjoy sunshine day protest for peace in Shannon.
How long before they come knocking on my door? Paybacks.
News channels have started their adverts again, war-ratings
down, who’s funding the theatre – the performance rhetoric
carefully scripted, now? Permission is NOT granted – You are
not allowed to speak for me or kill in my name! Stop War Now!

Frances Macaulay Forde 2003

#NoMoreWar #PeacePoem #POEMBagdadBallet #Slava Ukraini #PoemsForPeace #WarNoMore #POEMSlavaUkraini #DancingInKyiv #PeaceForUkraine #NYResolutions #FightOnHeroes #NoMoreWar #PrayForPeace #PeaceForAll