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Archive for April, 2016

It’s been a while since the Writers Ask Writers group has posted, but we couldn’t let the opportunity to celebrate two new releases go by! The main characters in those new novels—Georgia in Sara Fo…

Source: Writers Ask Writers: early inspirations

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‘Water over Stone’ by Laura Jan Shore published by Interactive Press, Brisbane in 2011.

I have so many books, it’s time again to clear space for my new ones.  If I buy new shelves, it won’t solve the problem – I have a very small home. So.

Faced with such a hard job and before I give my copy to someone else to enjoy, just as my poetic friend and colleague Glen Phillips gave me this one, I hope to convince you to buy your own copy.

Opening stanza includes my favourite tree;  a Jacaranda:Leaning up against this gnarled tree,/bark shredded/and dangling like loose skin,/’ .

After 44 life-exposing pieces, I found the last poem didn’t seem to fit with the journey, but seemed to be included to placate someone else…

Personally, the book ended nicely for me just before the last with my favourite car, although not a car in this last stanza of  ‘Jaguar’:  ‘ …and the laws of balance snap/the tender neck/of my desolate/youth.’

But it’s all about the page 44 for me and the stand-out poem by Laura Jan Shore from ‘Water over Stone’.

Embracing The Wind

Whipped to a froth, surf

suds the shore.  

Wings churn as the crown, blown back,

surrenders and shifts course.

 

The echo of your words clatter

with dry leaves against stone.

The gum tree groans.  Parrots cuddle

three pairs in the banksia.

 

Air tangles my hair, clutches at

my clothes and like your strong hands

curved around my waist, shoves me

towards the rocky point.

 

Unresisting, I rush headlong

into swirls of sand

chafing my ankles like the harsh

intimacies of our long marriage,

grit between my teeth. 

 

Eyelids at half-mast, arms akimbo

my tousled thoughts

rinse clear.

 

This spring quickening

all biff and bluster

unfurls my ragged nerves.

 

None of the houses we’ve built

can shelter us from these gusts,

so unlatch the door and join me

in this great whoosh – 

 

see how the crow glides now,

wings outstretched

sustained by the wind?

 

Laura Jan Shore © 2011

(Laura’s latest books are available from Dangerously Poetic Press.)

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #POET:GlenPhillips  #POET:LauraJanShore  #BOOK:WaterOverStone  #POEM:EmbracingTheWind   #Poetry  #GuestPoet  #MyBookshelf  #ShelfPoems

 

 

 

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The Immortal Jukebox

Thom Hickey one of the blessed 50s baby boomer generation, was born in London into an Irish family and formally educated at catholic schools and Cambridge University.  More importantly he was infor…

Source: Author

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From my inbox: a poem; agent advice on being an ‘Influencer’; the presence of food in writing.

Folcum Park

klout-influence-matrix

The Family Recipe

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #PoetreeCreations  #FolcumPark   #SoutherlyJournal  #TheFamilyRecipe  #Poetry  #Writing  #FoodInWriting  #AgentAdvice  #Influencers

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R.I.P. Prince.

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That Inward Eye

Lovely.

SOCIAL BRIDGE ~ Jean Tubridy connecting with you from Ireland

Daffodils

The mere sight of daffodils brings me back to those precious evenings from January to September in 2010 when Father and I chatted, laughed, drank tea,  listened to music, sat in companionable silence and enjoyed poetry together.

As he drifted off to sleep I would always return  to William Wordsworth’s The Daffodils  and without fail Father would join in with me when I reached the last stanza:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

There is much that flashes upon our inward eyes but some things linger there as our anchors of love.

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Burns Beach – Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

Some may know I was the resident poet at a local cafe for 6 months as part of a program with Poetry Australia during 2013.  Going through my notes of meetings, I thought I’d share these.  I presume the married owners were in dispute about who was the boss:

30th May 2013:  THE POETRY READING.

After rushing around Joondalup frantically trying to source a small amp to use at the reading and $167 later, I was 10 minutes late for set-up with the advertised event due to happen in 20 minutes.  It was pouring and I looked like a drowned rat.  The hubbub in the cafe was loud because every customer was squashed into a small space with the heater turned up high.

As I lugged the amp and my bag of books etc in, I rushed to my usually reserved table to find it occupied.  “Good Morning, are you ladies here for the poetry?”

Frowns; “No.”

“Oh, OK, sorry – it’s just that’s usually my table but I see they’ve reserved this one for me.” and smiled.

I bend to my task of plugging in the amp and about to test the microphones (one for me and one for my guest poet, Rashida Murphy) when a sour faced woman approached (looking quite similar to one of the ladies at the 1st table).

“I am the owner and I don’t want my customers disturbed.”

“Sorry?”

“You can’t use that – I don’t want my customers disturbed.” pointing to the amp with a nasty smell under her nose.

“So you don’t want me to do the reading?  It’s been advertised for three weeks and this was all arranged…”

“I don’t want my customers disturbed.”

“OK, but a media statement went out and the newspapers mentioned they may attend.  I have no idea what they look like so if anyone asks would you mind apologising?”  I’m not really good at sarcasm.

I think that did it – and she walked away.

The atmosphere had changed and you could have cut it with a knife.  I’d never seen that ‘owner’ before and the wait staff who usually looked after me so well, were obviously feeling bad.  They knew how much time and effort I had put into the event, not to mention the advertising with brochures and posters.

The whole experience was to offer customers a chance to share their words as well – many had expressed real interest and said they secretly wrote poems.  I wanted to hear some, so was very disappointed.

I packed up the amplifier and made some frantic phone calls to say it was cancelled.  Thank goodness the international poet I had invited had been unavailable; I would have been mortified to have her arrive with my friend, the Professor of Language and Literature at Edith Cowan University – and both unable to read!

So, with my face bright red, I took a deep breath, did my usual and placed a poetry postcard on each table inside and out, smiled and chatted when customers expressed interest.

One chap outside greeted me with “Hello, Poetry Lady” and a big grin.   He said he’d been looking at my face for three weeks and seemed quite happy about it – not ‘disturbed’ at all!

I couldn’t get hold of Rashida in time, but she was good about the cancellation and we thoroughly enjoyed catching up and reading poems we’d worked on since our last chat.

7th June 2013 Update:

Yesterday although I was at Burns Beach Cafe, I was outside, distracted by photographing the waves crashing, so walked in a couple of minutes late. There stood the manager,  Lynda waiting to let me know there were two ladies waiting to see me – locals Maureen and Ginny.

They said they’d just completed a 6 – week poetry course at a near-by writers group and had heard about me from Maureen’s hairdresser who picked up one of my poetry postcards from the cafe. 

20 minutes into our poetic chat Maureen remarked ‘how much (she) had learned from me – already!’ We’d shared our work, critiqued a poem or two and did a short exercise which we promised to write and bring back to critique next week. 

Our session ended just short of two hours because they were off to attend a prose class. They’ve promised to come back next week and every week they can…

And they did, for the rest of my residence!  We even met each month for 6 months afterwards at Ginny’s house to talk about her book and Maureen’s play.

#FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #BurnsBeachCafe

 

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