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Supper Club Videos

Posted in Perth City, Poetry, Sounds, Video Poems, Writers, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Glen Phillips, John Ryan, Ken Nicol, Monday Supper Club, poetry in Western Australia, Western Australia, writing on June 13, 2014| 1 Comment »

A couple of weeks ago in my blog posting ‘SOME FOLKS FOLK’ I mentioned the Monday Supper Club with special guest poets Glen Phillips and John Ryan.

My musician Hubby agreed to go because the amazing Ken Nicol, once the guitarist in Steeleye Span, was also appearing…

I previously included a photo or two but now can share my short videos taken that night, so click onto the screenshots and the links will take you to the YouTube performances.

Although I must apologize for my spur-of-the-moment video skills, I hope you enjoy the local glimpses anyway! It’s all about spreading the love 🙂

‘Dryandra Dreaming’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

‘Ice Maiden’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

‘Mid Stride’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

“Wine” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

“My Kentucky Country Roads” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

“Inside a Jarrah Tree” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

‘Stratford’ #KenNicol #FrancesMacaulayForde

“Initial Variations” Instrumental #KenNicol #FrancesMacaulayForde

#FrancesMacaulayForde #GlenPhillips #JohnRyan #KenNicol #MondaySupperClub #SteeleyeSpan

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CRANNOG Spring

Posted in Books, Ireland, Poetry, Short Stories, Writers, Writing, tagged Breda Wall Ryan, Crannog Spring 2014, Frances Macaulay Forde, Ireland, Poem, poems, Rush Quinlan, short stories, writer, writing on June 9, 2014| Leave a Comment »

CRANNOG Spring 2014 Journal

A free subscription was included with entry into their competition, so I’ve just received my copy of ‘CRANNOG Spring 2014’.

Wish I’d read it before entering… The book feels slim but the 88 page volume is packed with clever writing.

The Galway editorial board did a superb job of choosing short stories and poems which affect the reader – and they did.

Like “Worship” by Ruth Quinlan: Your white shoes aren’t white at all. They’re just cream pretending to be white and when you hold them against the Communion dress they look old and discoloured even though you know they’re new.

The words put put me right into the moment of my own Holy Communion (which I haven’t thought about since) remembering the crisp feel of new material and the smell of polished shoes. Wonderful writing.

Or Breda Wall Ryan’s “Crushie” poem: The rain has stopped. Sunlight/veneers a table set between windows. /The year turns.

The journal CRANNOG Spring 2014 is available for Kindle fans or surprisingly cheaper as a printed version.

Certainly well worth the few dollars to enjoy such gifted authors.

#FrancesMacaulayForde #CrannogSpring2014 #RuthQuinlan #BredaWallRyan

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Inspiration

Posted in Africa, Books, Hidden Capacity, Writing, tagged Africa, Frances Macaulay Forde, Hidden Capacity, Inspiration, writing on June 5, 2014| 6 Comments »

So I’m speaking here, directly from my heart, remembering my childhood in Africa and the struggles of my dearest Mum and Dad who died many years ago, who would have been so proud to see my words in print.

I’ve arrived at a time in my life where I’ve finally allowed myself to be utterly selfish.

My children had grown after my divorce into balanced, well-educated adults living their own lives, so I took myself to university.

It was my time to put myself first, my needs first, my dreams, soul and heart first, to follow my bliss.

I finally published the book in Ireland for them and for my brothers, children and extended family, just as much as for myself.

Inspiration

Why do I now prefer writing in my bedroom when I have a perfectly good study – a space cleared for thought?

I feel inspired to dream while I’m awake in here – not there.

Is it because I’ve just coated the room and everything in it a lilac pink?

Is that the colour of my inspiration?

Or does it illicit forgotten memories from my childhood?

The baby-pink bedroom of my spoiled youth, the dear faces of my parents still missed after so many years.

I’ve been through so many colours since then.

But perhaps I need to visit them once again, in my imagination.

Maybe this shade is my mood-connection to the past.

I’m alone now, responsible for the world I live in and my painted walls.

Or could it be something to do with the womb – a protective colour – a safe haven for my dreams.

Help that I need in a harsh world, often too over-whelming for someone totally unprepared or never expecting to be the ‘Bottom Line’.

This softness, which evokes feelings and comfort, allows my mind to wander and explore, knowing I’m enclosed and private, separated from others who see too much.

Or is it the large mirror with its elaborate edge reflecting my thoughts surrounded by soft, gentle, allowing colour?

I look at myself in the frame and from the ‘truth’ of distance – an inner truth?

Is that what empowers my exposure?

Is distance enabling me to write such secret, forgotten feelings in my journal?

My teenage bedroom was a similar pink – total colour – enshrining girlishness and innocence… protection, before adulthood and reality hit me.

#francesmacaulayforde #HiddenCapacity #Inspiration

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Wordless Wednesday: Blarney

Posted in Ireland, Wordless Wednesday, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Ireland, Wordless Wednesday, writing on June 4, 2014| Leave a Comment »

#francesmacaulayforde

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‘Call Waiting’

Posted in Books, Hidden Capacity, Poetry, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Hidden Capacity, Jessica McCallum, Poem, POEM: Call Waiting, poems, poetry, poetry in Western Australia, words, writer, writing on June 3, 2014| 2 Comments »

‘Pauline’: Jessica McCallum 2002 #jessicamccallum #francesmacaulayforde

Call Waiting

I killed you!

I took away your power to insult.

Never again will your strident, insistent beeping
intrude on intimacies between friends.

No. I struck you off.

I pressed the buttons that devoured you.

I ended your reign of terror.

Then Pauline rang
‘A new baby? Wond….’

Beep – Beep! Beep – Beep!

You didn’t die!

From happy jubilation
brain switches,
buttons pressed,
retreating “Call me back.”

I lost the war.

I don’t blame Pauline.

Rudeness is forgiven under pressure
from the mighty “I wonder who it is?”

Someday I’ll explain
and continue my campaign
for courtesy.

I died a little.

Aren’t I important too?

(Another from my book “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”. )

#HiddenCapacity #francesmacaulayforde

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“My Car”

Posted in Books, Hidden Capacity, Poetry, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Hidden Capacity, Poem: My Car, poems, poetry, words, writer, writing on June 2, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Cover ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ #francesmacaulayforde #HiddenCapacity

One from my book: ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poets journey’, Pub. 2003, Ireland.

My Car

Red used to be my favourite colour.

I’d just get Tinkerbell (my 1983 Mitsubishi Colt)

cruising nicely at sixty kilometres an hour

then red.

I’d have to slow down.

Pump the brakes.

Change gears gingerly in case her clutch drops out….

An old girl now, she needs TLC…

takes her time to build up speed,

then I see red. (Or orange.)

Bugger!

But, once she’s there (sixty K.’s) she sings like a bird.

I think it reminds her of her youth.

I’ve tried dressing her up (covering the rust).

The silvers don’t match and I know she feels the shame.

The petrol pump makes her feel better.

Once I insert that nozzle,

she almost smiles.

Her seat greets me tenderly

and we smoothly swing away,

high on fumes.

Yesterday,

a young man washed her windows.

She sparkled and purred.

Yes. Red used to be my favourite colour.

Now mottled shades of silver have loyal appeal!

#HiddenCapacity #francesmacaulayforde

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“My Life as a Sari”

Posted in Art, Dance, Love, Perth City, Poetry, Theatre, WA Writers, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Fremantle Press, Indigo Journals, Jessica McCallum, Poem, Poem: My Life as a Sari, poems, poetry, poetry in Western Australia, Western Australia, words, writer, writing on May 29, 2014| 1 Comment »

I love how sometimes a poem ends up taking you to all sorts of places you don’t expect.

‘Dance’ by Jessica McCallum at His Majesty’s Theatre, 2009. #jessicamcallumartist

My poem “My Life as a Sari” has appeared alongside beautiful artworks.

POETRY POSTCARD available from Jessica McCallum

An excerpt published on a postcard.

#IndigoJournal

And published in the INDIGO JOURNAL of West Australian Writing, Vol 3 published by INDIGO books and received lovely comments.

Fremantle Press have recently become on-line partners with the original publishers of the journals and have always been tremendous supporters of those who write in Western Australia, quietly promoting and encouraging new, emerging and established writers by putting their money where their mouth is.

As a result of my inclusion in the journal, Fremantle Press also interviewed me about my writing and particularly, this poem.

My Life as a Sari

Securely tuck your fears under elastic

at the centre of your waist with your left hand,

and with your right, hold the remaining

metres of spun silk – your future, facing inside.

Measure the drop of the fall

and it’s finely stitched edge

for correct positioning against heels.

Wrap yourself in the gossamer fold,

swirling the diaphanous film behind

but stay level and wedge the top border

into your petticoat.

Like a bride preparing herself,

you are now ready to pleat.

At a distance from the last fixing,

hand-measure the delicate veil,

embroidered with details

important to who you are

toward the middle of your body.

Some may need five pleats, some six.

Less is more. Another judgement held on show

– a statement of size, however graciously it moves.

Securely fix the perfumed fanning

and grasp what is left, bring it back around

to wrap warmly and return to the front.

These days, you can choose to gather all loose

ends onto your left shoulder, secured with a jewel.

But many prefer to throw the remainder

over, remembering to hold an arm half bent,

letting the end float freely – the beaded

edge skimming the inside of your wrist.

#francesmacaulayforde

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Miss you, Mum

Posted in Love, Poetry, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, Mother's Day, Mum, poems, poetry, writing on May 10, 2014| 7 Comments »

I wish you could meet…

Pick flowers…

Knit them toys and jumpers…

Make cupcakes…

Have special conversations…

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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‘Write to Romance’

Posted in Romance, Short Stories, Writers, Writing, tagged anthology, Frances Macaulay Forde, Peter Cowan Writer's Centre, short stories, Urban Scrawl, Western Australia, Write to Romance, writer, writing, writing in WA on April 18, 2014| 1 Comment »

‘Urban Scrawl’ an anthology of member’s stories published in 2000 by Peter Cowan Writer’s Centre.

The illustration for my story ‘Write to Romance’.

“Write to Romance” appeared in ‘Urban Scrawl’, a collection of member’s writing put together by Peter Cowan Writers Centre in 2000 and was the first of my short stories published in Australia.

As I have quite a few snippets of story on my computer ‘shelves’ I’m very interested in putting together a collection for an eBook to publish online as soon as possible.

Watch this space.

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Beautiful!

Posted in Short Stories, WA Writers, Writing, tagged Frances Macaulay Forde, very short story, Western Australia, writing on April 9, 2014| 3 Comments »

Jean of ‘Social Bridge’ mentioned she’d like to see more stories… so here’s something written a while ago but which still makes me smile – I hope it does you too!

BEAUTIFUL!

“Because I don’t want to go on my own.”

I shamelessly begged my sister-in-law to come with me on my assignment to write about something beautiful: Take a bunch of flowers and walk down a street full of massage parlors.

“Even if you’re supposed to – I’m definitely NOT going in – OK?”

“All right – just come with me, Grace. We’ll walk down the street… make a few observations… then go – I promise!”

“Unless we get propositioned!” Giggling, we both felt more relaxed about the whole adventure.

“Turn right here – William Street. 530-something. 415… There’s a parking. Quick! Mind the police car.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Where’s 395?”

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we wandered up and down the street. Noted the scruffy and garish buildings, the smells, the people rushing about and wondered what they were up to – especially the police car, which was still parked outside a place, called ‘The Site – Girls – Girls – Girls’.

One building stood out amongst the colorful, boxy, chaos. Cream walls, dark brown trim and roof and neat gardens with two stately palms waving gently in the breeze, which breathed ‘class’. Aphrodite’s. A brass nameplate and large numbers on the wall ‘395’ for those ‘in the know’. The door discreetly open and inviting custom.

Of course, curiosity got the better of us – we couldn’t resist and after passing the entry twice, walked in. The little old lady behind the counter gave a non-committal nod and pressed a button.

A door to our left opened and another (very elegant) little old lady also smiled a greeting.

My companion’s mouth had dropped three inches so I smiled, “Is this a restaurant?”

With a pitying look Madam replied. “No – it’s a brothel!”

Well, I shot out of there, leaving my compatriot chatting about how lovely the room was.

And that was just BEAUTIFUL!