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Posts Tagged ‘Frances Macaulay Forde’

1974SueBlondStreaksEmail (2)

Wardrobe Mistress

.

I stood in front of the wardrobe

we shared and stared and stared.

.

I had just seen her with overalls down

below her knees, your familiar bare bum

.

tensed. It’s thrusting only previously

seen in awkward twisted mirror-glimpses.

.

Your shirts and tees hung between pink

bright lime, purple, olives, shady greens

.

of twirling gypsy skirts. My bohemian

scarves draped over one of your two suits;

.

70’s-wedding brown and grey work-familiar.

There’s nothing I recognize now. No, no

.

clothing will suit or fit my new body, the

slimmed down me. So I’ll abandon the large

.

wardrobe jammed with memories of lilac picnics,

winter barbecues, summer crocheted maternity

.

smocks… the shirt I hand-made for our first

anniversary and leave the idea of kisses

for it’s new mistress…

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2000 

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Eros strikes again!                   (Hear the poem)

.

Valentine’s Day.  You

pierced me with the past,

.

forced me to recall

feelings suppressed…

.

and reminded me

of my ability to love…

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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HeartsPinkRedSmall

Well, I’ve done it!  I’ve learnt how to record my 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day and humbly offer them for your (hopeful) enjoyment:

No 1 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Sleep’

No 2 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Vacuuming’ 

No 3 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Water Bird’

No 4 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Committed Skin’

No 5 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Before You’

No 6 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Turning the Page’

No 7 of 7 Poems for Valentine’s Day:  ‘Loose Lettuce Leaf Factory Tour’

(Illustration: Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003)

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Loose Lettuce Leaf Factory Tour

.

The busload waited for another to park,

not Gingin locals

but a global arc

.

of foreign accents, ages and looks,

my concentration torn

from my favorite book.

.

I grabbed my novel – another boring tour,

the sign caught my eye

promised so much more.

.

Avenues of squashed, boxed green,

piled high like trees

wait to be cleaned.

.

Whilst gentle fingered plastic hands

maneuvered each leaf

to remove the sand,

.

bits of mulch, a sleepy slug or two

its entrails smudged

was stuck like glue.

.

Full mouth askew with unbidden distaste,

my eyes clashed with

a gently smiling face.

.

Heart skipped to a stranger’s look

as he read the title

of my romance book.

.

Like turning loose leaves under

ice cool water sprays,

my heart was plundered

.

in a thousand ways…

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2009

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Turning the Page

.

You were focused

on study so I

waited,  peeking

through the crack,

watched you turn

a page, rushed

to kiss you quick.

.

I twirled to leave,

let you get back to

reading but you held

my gaze, turned

the page again and

again, and again

.

until I kissed

you again and

again, and again…

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

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Before you…

.

I slept in a bed without creases

only pulled up sheets to straighten

smooth – no effort at all

ready for the next Dreamtime.

.

Now I love my wrinkles…

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2006

 

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Committed Skin

 

I crave committed

skin.  Pale, pink tones

of a fragile heart.

Silky strands tantalize.

.

Forest of words

– thoughts, forcing

forward movement

careful continuation of

.

soft, subtle actions.

Reassurances

given, refusing

to provide any more until…

.

absolutely sure,

when our surfaces

eventually meet

– rub together in love-making,

no other skin will suit.

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

1st pub: ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ MMB Publishing, Ireland, 2003.

 

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Image

Water bird

.

Lakeside, I watch

the Coots bouncing

on top of the water.

.

They throw their heads with

intention and abandon, plunging

– totally immersing themselves.

.

I want to bounce…

.

Immerse myself…

.

Plunge into you….

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

1st pub: ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’  by Frances Macaulay Forde, Ireland, 2003.

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Image

Vacuuming

.             

With every pull

toward your body

you expect obedience. 

Expect each micron of dirt

to be sucked up and away. 

Look at the attention

you give stairs. 

.

How do I become like stairs? 

.

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

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Image

Sleep

I can

only consider

soft eyes

repose

calm, sweet face

small breaths

’til I realize

they’re mine. 

I breathe

and contemplate

the alternative

only when

someone asks…

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

Published in ‘The Word Is Out’ Issue 2 ~ Sept ‘06

 

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