Beautiful!

 

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!

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Dieback

Here’s an experiment: I’ve been playing around with You Tube and have made a short video of my poem ‘Dieback’.

Every time we travel down South of Perth, I’m reminded of the poem I wrote in 2006 and was published in the Poets Union Anthology.

This terrible disease affects our native Jarrah and Tuart trees, spread by spores which infect the tree, eventually leaving it stripped and exposed.

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March madness!

First there were two…

Then there was one..

And finally none.

Well, am I glad that’s over!  March is MAD for us and our ‘day’ job.

So many festivals and working 7 days a week for the last 6 weeks has done me in – we both needed to just veg totally today, and I did!

So I apologize for not posting much lately but thank you so much for reading.

This week, I’ll catch up on your blogs and find something (hopefully) of interest to share with you.

Yesterday we were at a Food & Wine Festival in  Mindarie Keys,  10 minutes up the coast from us.

Turning around to face the sea breeze, I spied two little birds sitting on a wire, behind.  A bit like us this month, barely hanging on but doing what we must.

(I wrongly presumed they were winging their way back to Northern Climes but have now identified them as native Hooded Robins, who also live in Australia.)

 

two 

 

little

birds paused

full-fronting the sea breeze

two wanderers grip fine wire

then gone

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

 

 

 

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Mwambeshi Memories

As I’ve mentioned before, although born in Northumberland, I grew up in Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) in the 50’s and 60’s.  I was privileged to have had a protected, idyllic, worry-free childhood.

My Mum & Big Brother on the farm in Garneton… 1960’s

Mwambeshi Memories

Days gone by when safety wasn’t an issue, I remember a little stream that beckoned a group of friends in Garneton.  How many times did we saunter – some on bikes – some walking, along the dirt track under the power lines with the warm sun tingling on our shoulders?

I don’t remember being fashion-conscious only comfortable cotton in the hot sun.  I don’t remember being boy-conscious (that came later).  I just remember loving the escape from home, the walk through the bush, the baking sun and cool, crystal clear water as it hit hot skin.

We laughed a lot; we talked endlessly and carried our innocence and open hearts on our sleeves.  God – I miss those days!

How many competitions did we have?  Shoes off, stripped down to cossies, we’d race over the hot beige sand and stones burning our feet, to the other side of the bridge. 

The bravest would dive into the swiftly running current, going deep, eyes open, avoiding the banks to stay under as long as possible.  The current would propel us under the bridge until the air threatened to burst our lungs, spewing water when your head broke the surface. 

We’d look around to see who had won. Who had stayed under the water the longest and let the current take them the furthest away from the bridge?

We always sat on the Garneton side, a natural pool which opened up to allow swimming and splashing in comfort.  The Marlow’s farm was on the other side of the bridge and further upstream we could hear the cows every now and then. 

Later, I remember a story that a crocodile had taken one of the cows from the bank.  That croc lived in our Mwambeshi – the stream we swam in every day we could!  I don’t remember swimming there much after that.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

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Koffee Korner Kafé

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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New moon… New Month.

A pair (female on right) of Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos in my Jacaranda. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

Those Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos ‘kissing’. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

New Moon

 

Last night, a sliver of silver low on the horizon, above the sea;

The moon visible through the clear sliding door of my patio

but couldn’t wish on it, not through glass – bad luck!

 

So eyes-down  I opened the door, stepped out bare-feet on concrete 

past the patio setting, minding the balls Sonja has strewn

and stood, out in the cool (now Autumn) air and wished.

 

Can’t tell you what I wished for or it won’t come true – it’s not for me.

I am lucky in love.  My family are healthy and happy, I have you.

All that I need.  So how could I possibly ask for more, for me?  

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

 

If you’ve got time, read more about these magnificent Carnaby’s but also, have a look at the best photos I’ve ever seen of them, up close, taken by Grace and posted on Perth Daily Photo today.

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Diary entry ~ April 2002.

Passport Photo: 15 years old

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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