1st day of a new year…

So I thought I’d start with some favourite flowers (everywhere at the moment) and another poem from my old notebook, this time from 1986 when I found myself having to face the end of my marriage with two young children:

LOVE

Love, when you’re young

is so special ~ a promise

for eternity that has no limits.

 

Heart, soul and mind

devoted to just one person,

~ so innocent and pure.

 

The second time around

can be as good but you

must remember youth

~ how you felt so long ago.

 

And it’s possible to be unlucky

but the third and fourth and fifth

time can be learnt all over again.

 

You just have to be resilient!

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 1986

Those two young children turned out to be my saviours ~ they taught me so much, kept me going when I wanted to just lay down and give up.  I am so proud of them both; they have given me the ultimate gift ~ beautiful grandchildren.  

And for those of you who suffered, like I did, it IS possible to love again although it took me 17 years of being on my own to believe it.  

Even though I actually predicted a second time for myself, in this poem, I didn’t believe it at the time ~ I think I was trying to give myself hope… in 1986 I swore off romance and love for good!

After 28 years the man I was in love with (and should probably have married) in 1975  and on another continent (Africa) found me ~ we’ve just celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary.

So with my returned love and a family full of love, I look forward to what 2016 will bring.  I know it’s going to be all good!  

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #FrancesMacaulayForde  #Happy2016  #Poem:Love  #1968Notebook

 

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The Bluebird

The Bluebird © Australian Ballet’s “The Sleeping Beauty” 2015 (from Facebook page) Photo: Kate Longley

The Australian Ballet

Page Liked · September 20 ·

“The magic of the Bluebird … The Bluebird Pas de deux is one of the definitive moments of The Sleeping Beauty – there can be no Beauty without Bluebirds! Principal Artists Ako Kondo and Chengwu Guo dance this sensational pas de deux in The Sleeping Beauty!” Photography Kate Longley

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  Sue Forde Coughlan Always a favourite: of many favourites… may I share my ballet poem? The Prima Ballerina

  She lives in a world of fairy tales,
  all fantasy, happiness and woe.

  Floating across the stage in tulle,
  fine silk or organza.,

  softly pirouettes through the mist,
  or dies upon the snow.

  This is the world of Ballet
  of the Prima Ballerina.

  So lithe and slim, so beautiful,
  so graceful and serene.

  On stage, supremely untouchable
  yet so frail behind the scenes.

  She’s the Queen of the ‘Corps de Ballet’,
  the star with the golden feet,

  dancing her way through ‘Petruska’,
  ‘Swan Lake’ or the ‘Nutcracker Suite’.

  The audience, transfixed with awe,
  watch silently, as in a dream,

  for gripped by suspense and beauty
  – such as they’ve never seen!

  They observe the scenery so real,
  the superbly made costumes,

  but their eyes are fixed on the ‘Bluebird’
  and all it’s fine blue plumes.

  And when the ballet is done,
  And encore after encore taken.

  And baskets and bouquets
  of flowers dispensed….

  There’s a feeling of despair and longing
  at the end of such unforgettable enchantment.

  Frances Macaulay Forde © 1968

  Like · Reply · 7 · September 20 at 10:30am

#FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #AustralianBallet   #AB:SleepingBeauty   #TheBluebird  #Ballet  #Beauty  #POEM:ThePrimaBallerina

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Sharing Africa.

© Sean Austin posted this photo on Facebook today, with these words:

“The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire…”

2015 © Sean Austin

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #AfricanSunsets  #AfricaMyHome  #POEM:AfricanSky   #1968Notebook  #Elephants  #Sunset  #Poetry

 

 

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Somnolent

Mum 1960’s

 

My sister-in-law has inspired me by following the theme of  ‘Ageing’  today.

Like her, I love old photos and treasure the few I have of my parents and family.

So I’m sharing this one of my mum with our dog “Quenten Quinebell Quickstep III” taken in Northern Rhodesia in the 60’s – who I naturally, miss every day I’ve been without her.

If I could, I’d plant a kiss on her soft cheek and tell her I love her again;  then I’d call her great-grand children, who’d come running in to say ‘Hi Nanna’ with their infectious excitement, just like they do with me.

I know she’d love her sweet daughter-in-law Saowanee and be so proud of her tall, handsome grandson James and his gorgeous family.

She’d immediately see both of us in my beautiful daughter Jess and love to hear all about her artistry and dreams now she’s old enough to chat.

Somnolent

Last night I was with you, sitting on the settee.

You were reading with your glasses on, drinking tea.

Dad had grown tired of the TV play and was asleep,

snoring loudly with a cushion tucked under his feet.

The scene was so dear and clear as I’ve seen,

But this morning, I work up, so it was a dream…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1968

 

@FrancesMF4orde  #FrancesMacForde  #1968Notebook   #POEM:Somnolent  #poetry  #family  #loss  #aging

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Dial up.

Jessica McCallum © 2000

Phonecall

I don’t believe

in forever

anymore.

 

I know

you don’t have

room in your life

for love

or me.

 

But friendship

is a two-way street.

 

I needed

to know

that somebody

cared…

 

that you cared.

 

I guess I dialled

the wrong number.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1968

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #Poetry  #1968Notebook  #POEM:Phonecall

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40 deg today…

I’ve probably posted this from my 1968 Notebook before but I’m remembering (and wishing for) the pool we had in our Kitwe backyard.

African Sky

heat of the day

cool of the night

clear blue sky

such a beautiful sight

trees so green

(greener than I’ve seen)

earth rich and brown

rain pouring down

to make the hour cool

like diving in the pool

when the heat gets you down 

 

then the coolness of night

with stars shining bright

but before they appear

comes the scene held so dear

there’s no more exquisite sight

than day changing to night

and the reds and the golds

which appear in the folds

of the African sky

when night is nigh

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1971 

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #POEM:AfricanSky  #1968Notebook  #Sunsets  #AfricanSunsets

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The Prima Ballerina.

 

 

Vincente Romero © 2007-2009

 

As I’m focused on picture books for children through my 12 x 12  challenge, I’ve also just enrolled in a class on The Art of the Picture Book illustration class with Shadra Strickland.

(Of course, I could never be as good as Vincente Romaro who’s paintings I’ve just discovered!)

So for a ‘tester’ project, I’m going to use a poem I wrote many years ago (and I mean many) in the early 60’s called “The Prima Ballerina”.

I hope to show you how I adapt it to a PB and slowly, how I have a go at illustrating it too…

 

The Prima Ballerina

She lives in a world of fairy tales,

all fantasy, happiness and woe. 

 

Floating across the stage in tulle,

fine silk or organza.,

 

softly pirouettes through the mist,

or dies upon the snow. 

 

This is the world of Ballet

of the Prima Ballerina.

 

So lithe and slim, so beautiful,

so graceful and serene. 

 

On stage, supremely untouchable

yet so frail behind the scenes. 

 

She’s the Queen of the ‘Corps de Ballet’,

the star with the golden feet, 

 

dancing her way through ‘Petruska’,

‘Swan Lake’ or the ‘Nutcracker Suite’.

 

The audience, transfixed with awe,

watch silently, as in a dream,

 

for gripped by suspense and beauty

 – such as they’ve never seen! 

 

They observe the scenery so real,

the superbly made costumes,

 

but their eyes are fixed on the ‘Bluebird’

and all it’s fine blue plumes.

 

And when the ballet is done,

And encore after encore taken.

 

And baskets and bouquets

of flowers dispensed….

 

There’s a feeling of despair and longing

at the end of such unforgettable enchantment.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1968

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #1968Notebook  #POEM:ThePrimaBallerina  #poetry  #Ballet

#Children’sPictureBooks  #Illustration  #TheArtOfPictureBook  #ShadraStrickland  #12x12Challenge

#ARTIST:VincenteRomaro

 

 

 

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1968 Notebook: ‘unknown’

In the 

silhouette

of your

beauty,

your dreams

be

hidden,

Why?

Maybe

your dreams,

are

mine!

(Written in the back of my 1968 notebook ~ author ‘unknown’.)

@FrancesMForde  #1968Notebook  #Romance  #Poetry

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1968 Notebook

  

Raining

I came home alone

on my own (again)

in the rain.

The room was cold

and bare – empty

without you there.

Mind dull with pain,

face wet and stained,

full of mascara and grief.

Of goodbye – disbelief!

Morning holds

nothing new.

The usual chaos

and boredom.

No you…

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1972

@FrancesMForde  #Headingley,Leeds  #Poetry  #1968Notebook  #POEM:Raining

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‘Trucker’s Moll’

In Rosemary Canavan’s book of poems ‘Trucker’s Moll’, her dedication is “for my mother who started me off”.  I can relate.

 

My mum also encouraged my youthful angst in my 1968 handwritten notebook, long before keyboards ruined my ability to wield a pen and ink, by putting a little (accountant’s) tick of approval next to poems she liked.  Done in pencil – I hope it never fades… I treasure those little marks.

Rosemary’s poem on page 61 ‘Flowers in March’ was written on St Patrick’s Day in March 2003.

 

I too sat newly arrived in Ireland, watching that same parade on the television,  in March, 2003 and wrote on the same theme.

Baghdad Ballet       

                                                              

A young boy sits, on his mother’s shoulders,

smile-excited in the sunshine, taking part 

in a parade. He proudly thrusts the finger

-sign of peace. Nice to see in an Iraqi child

 

– family bombardered by ‘Shock and Awe’

the night before, apparently forgiving.

But the visual is blitzed as it flashes onscreen,

by the plastic Sten-gun held aloft, back-

 

ground brandished in the child’s other hand.

Do you think the young lad plays in secret tunnels,

knows where to hide, where doubles walk

to keep the myth alive, the magic tricks

 

to keep awake illusions of a still-controlled-city.

Streetlights burn in defiance of invaders largess.

Traffic moves through the night while

bright glows explode in distant thunder

 

shower shrapnel. We sit on green comfy

sofas, presumed warm and safe inside,

miles away watching the performance

on TV young Liam wears red and white,

 

holds his defiant hurely high – a warrior

enjoying the sunshine day parade

– a protest for peace in Shannon…

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #RosemaryCanavan  #SalmonPoetry  #JessieLendennie   #SalmonBookshop  #CliffsOfMoher  #Poetry  #IrishPoet

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