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Posts Tagged ‘poems’

1969suehomenursingE

I wish you could meet…

131101visitingnanna8E

Pick flowers…

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Knit them toys and jumpers…

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Make cupcakes…

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Have special conversations…

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I try to be you, Mum – every day, for them.

To all the mums out there, have a really wonderful Mother’s Day.

 

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for-rhino-in-a-shrinking-world-lb

Busy doing my tax return and came across an unsaved (!) poem I wrote and submitted (some time ago) to be included in an anthology to raise funds for the preservation of Rhinos.

Harry Owen  the inaugural Poet Laureate for Cheshire (UK) in 2003, moved to South Africa’s Eastern Cape in January 2008, was the editor and now the book is published I shall put my order in.

Even though they didn’t use my poem I certainly want to support their very worthy cause.

Thandi

Imagine slow, deep heart beats

echoing inside a massive hide.

 

Slumberous half-blind grazing.

Open veld rare rhino protected.

 

Unaware evil stalks with intent.

Crack! Stinging rifle shot thrums.

 

Laboring body lumbers to escape.

Laid low, as deadly saw crudely

 

works on pointed bone bleeding

on Africa’s Skin.  Enough death,

 

illegal trade.  This is no noble

harvest to feed the starving poor…

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2012 

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14RoadsidePickUp

It’s that time of year again (photo taken today).   Wish I’d taken photos last year, when I wrote this though…

 

Two Fans

 

Two fans enthusiastically spin amongst

a pile of rubbish waiting for pick up,

roadside.

 

Through wind and rain, even thunder

“Look at me!” but nothing moved.

Clever stack.

 

Unlike No 2’s plant pots. Scattered

colorful rattles voicing the gusts.

Messy!

 

Drive-bys;  inspection opportunists.

Recycling on a budget or business,

who knows?

 

Roadside shopping has rules. Don’t

muddle. Re-stack after inspection.

Carefully.

 

It’s bad manners to sort, scrounge,

accept or reject – pull apart, untidy,

then go.

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

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PROPOSED: Back & front cover of a work in progress.

Reading other blogs often inspires me or reminds me of a poem I’ve written and it’s happened again.

Social Bridge  posted about Co. Waterford and reminded me of wonderful times spent in  Dungarvan  and a tour taken of the Waterford Chrystal Factory.

(Although I couldn’t load the whole video it was nice to hear Jean’s voice.)

The original poem is much longer but here’s a preview from the book  “Sketching in Ireland”  – all a work in progress.

 

“Koffee Korner Kafé”

(An exerpt.)

 

Dungarvan town sleeps in school-time.  King

John’s Castle, ancient bridge and four-storey

moderns overlook calm Brickey’s tidal flow.

 

We trod the cobblestones, leaning forward

in the breeze, audibly aware of intoned

melodies caught in doorways and cars.

The courteous cruise with windows down

 

in the warmth. Walking Market Square, coats

closed, feeling echoes of town center seventeen

hundred.  Butter market, slick with Council men

and spirited characters in United Irishmen Power. 

 

Feeling occupation, execution, all history

held in a narrow staircase, an oft-painted

hidden door to the second floor, leading to

The Koffee Korner Kafé.   (Continues…)

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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1968PassportPhoto

Passport Photo: 15 years old

1990SueBali (2)

1990 Bali Holiday – an amazing surprise 40th birthday gift from my Brother Paddy and sister in law, Grace.

I’m sitting here next to the lake listening to the Magpie’s talk, the Wood Ducks peep, the fountains filter their water. This is the first entry into my new notebook the red (for passion) one with a  teddy bear (you, of course)  playing guitar on the front!  I’ve also got my two passports with me and I thought I’d scan the pictures for you just for a laugh. One was taken before you, when I was 15 (British passport) and  the other way after, when I was 40 for the Bali trip.

Three tourists walked by obviously looking for something. So I said, ‘The kangaroos are over there’ (pointing) behind Cowan House, ‘lying around in the shade.’    Well, this lovely lady replied,    ‘Oh thEnk you!’  in a broad South African accent.  Small world hey?  She and her husband Gordon have  ‘…jEst arrIIEEyeved thus morning at 5am from Jo’burg for 5 dayZZ. He and Pete ‘aff  bin frEEnds since grade 5.  We’re goin’ out to dEEnar  tonight.’  She can’t believe how clean it all is… Anyway, they’re having a good look at our lawn mowers, who aren’t actually doing much.     Just lying back, torsos-twisted, scratching their bellies.  Totally unconcerned wild, Grey Kangaroos – and these tourists, just a couple of yards from them.

I’m obviously early for the poetry workshop. My watch has stopped again – it needs a service (another thing on my long list!). Wonder what we’ll tackle this afternoon.  I have no idea of today’s subject – haven’t been for while, far too distracted by you! Hope you’re having a lovely day. I’m being good and giving you ‘space’ (in the nicest possible way). I hope it’s helping with the study. Hmmmmm – poetry – erotic poetry for you. I wonder if I can do it?  First drafts only My Love:

 

1.  Coots

Lakeside, I watch

the Coots bouncing

on top of the water.

 

They throw their heads

with intention and abandon.

Plunging – immersing themselves.

 

I want to bounce,

immerse myself.

Plunge into you…

 

2.  Soixante-Neuf

Normally,

I wouldn’t want you

to look at my bum

at that angle…

 

But then,

you’re not doing

much looking,

N’est pa?

 

3. Your reward…

… is access.

Complete access.

Although the years

have worn – you can see!

I will allow you ~

only you, this viewing,

this exposure

to my most secret self.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

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Hyde Park in February… too hot to be out of the shade.

I’ve just found this beautiful poem on ABC Tales , so when you have a moment indulge yourself.

As a fan of the site for many years, I’ve benefited greatly from comments, encouragement and the sheer joy of reading wonderful words from writers I wouldn’t have read otherwise.

The very first item I posted was on the 15th March 2006 was a short story ‘Write to Romance’.   (I’ve posted loads of poems and stories on ABC Tales since.)

That story has since been read by 874 people (blows my mind!) and earned a ‘Cherry’ from the editors – such a huge boost in confidence.

So I recommend, anyone with stories or poems to share, join this fabulous FREE site and see what others think of your words but importantly,  receive some very constructive feedback from talented and experienced others.

Such a safe and nurturing environment is rare on the net.  I’m often inspired by what I read on there so I’m about to post this poem posted on here  in February, in response to ‘Bee’ and her poem ‘As Autumn Leaves’.

 

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Today, Friday, 21st March 2014 has officially been declared ‘World Poetry Day’.

So where does poetry ‘sit’ in your life and what is your idea of poetry?

Poetry is my way of ordering an idea or response, by moving it out of my head in as few words as possible, to clarify ~ writing the spine of what comes next.

It may stay as a poem, or become a short story, a script for a play or the screen or novel, perhaps even spawn more poems… but poetry is always the key.

Poetry is communicating clearly a strong emotion within me, which combined with the use of metaphor, I hope will find an echo when others read my efforts.

So I thought I’d share my reply to a fun poem Professor Glen Phillips sent and my responding poem (with permission, of course):

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Glen Phillips reading a poem at Poets Corner, Perth Cultural Centre, 2005.

BUT BLONDES PREFER DIAMONDS

(or, Lesson No. 64)

If you think ‘a diamond is forever’,

as advertisements used to say,

(and you’re beautiful) grab whatever

lovely hot rocks come your way!

 

And why not? Centuries of avid men

seeking to turn the head of a cooling lover

resort to this old stratagem well-proven—

how to raise the stakes, get back in clover.

 

So down to the hockshop, make a grand

by selling heirlooms (or grandma’s wheelchair)

and then hare it to the gem store, with hand

on heart, plead a done deal for a big solitaire.

 

Gentlemen prefer blondes, but blondes prefer

rocks and preferably bigger and with more sparks

than those in the eyes of he who would woo her.

You good boys, listen, how to get top marks!

 

Glen Phillips ©  July, 2007.

and my response:

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Frances Macaulay Forde reading a poem at Poets Corner, Perth Cultural Centre, 2005.

Lesson No 65

See, diamonds are hard

as everyone knows,

a girl must have metal

for this century’s woes.

 

Getting her rocks off

whether blond, red or brunette

no faking, no waiting – Helen,

woman hasn’t peaked yet.

 

While gentlemen play with image

cream blondes, brunettes achieve.

Red wears stainless steel bands

inscribed with ‘We must believe!’

 

Don’t strive for tabloid wants

look past the surface bling,

there’s more to a woman

tho’ the sparkle is tempting…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde  © 2007

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nest-9

I saw this photo by on the net and was immediately inspired:  nature + telephone pole = home.

(http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/02/massive-bird-nests-built-on-telephone-poles-in-southern-africa/ )

 

RECYCLED

Sociable weaver

birds gather Kalahari

sticks, grass, cotton to

construct home-trees for hundreds.

Out-dated rest-points built to

carry distance wires become

capsules recycled for

mobile families.

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

 

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Perth Skyline, taken from the Mend St Jetty across the fiver in South Perth.

Thought I’d share another poem from my first book written during my on-line courtship, specifically what a poetry editor in Ireland deemed a ‘quirky’ title, to see what you think. 

“Is this the point where you tell me

you’ve been bulls*itting all along?”

 

This comment, at 12.33pm on messenger,

stopped me in my tracks – I had to

question you…

Why say that?  Is this where you are?

Role research? Experimenting on me?

 

I have opened the door for you once more.

You are the love of my life returned

to my room…

‘cos of who you are, who you’ve been.

And who I’ve been – where I’ve been.

 

My labels are cheap, used and tattered.

Yours exciting, money new, and ‘out there’.

Can you ignore…

appreciate the journey, walk the same road

remembering why I react from memories.

 

How did this happen and why now?

The director knows the outcome,

my script done…

Nuances of assistance from higher hands…

mysterious determined effort for lasting love.

 

If the future wanes – dumping my heart…

When I prove not to be what you want…

If my love…

can’t match your carefully constructed,

mental and emotional picture of me today…

 

Rejection!  A resounding slap in the face.

Eternal damnation of idealism – romance.

Proving …

my impossible dreams  have no right

to insert themselves into my reality.

 

I will still love you – hate you first but

eventually settle back to loving you again,

sub-consciously….

I will treasure always you careful words,

your considered approach – all the ‘bulls*it’!

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

From my 1st book of poems ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ Published in Cork, Ireland, 2003.

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Official Participant in the Julie Hedlund 12 x 12 Picture Book Challenge

Soooo excited – I’ve signed up as a Golden Book Member of Julie Hedlund’s 12 month picture book challenge for 2014.

(I find I need deadlines to actually finish fiddling with manuscripts and let them go.)

There’s lots of support and encouragement from fellow participants – many who’re also members of SCWBI.

Julie offers the amazing chance to send a manuscript to an approved agent each month.

At the very least, I’ll have  quite a few new picture book ideas to hawk to local publishers at the end of the year!

 

SUZETTE THE SNAKE

 

Suzette the snake was swish.

                             She slithered with style

                                           and spoke with a lisp.

                                                          Her sensitive stomach

                                                                        seeks special cuisine,

                                                          especially cleaned

                                           in rivers and streams.

                             She swims in salt lakes

              with sensuous ease,

                             sleeps under shade trees,

                                           shivers out in the breeze.

                                                          Skin silvery bronze

                                                                        sun-yellow striped along.                                            

              Speeding through leaves

                                           she startles a feed.

                             Surely her sparkle

                                           and shimmering shape,

                                                          proves beauty is found

                                                                        in a slithering snake!

 

 

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 2001

From my 1st book of poems ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ Published in Cork, Ireland, 2003.

So the gauntlet has been thrown and I must rise to the challenge.

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