Isradella

ISRADELLA

 

Isradella waits

for ghosts of lovers past

to homogenize

 

Perfect recipes of want

ingredients elusive

beg materialize

 

Abundant beauty falls

shorter than ideal

too rarefied

 

Hope ever lives in one

who strives for vision

so eulogized

 

Reality proves tepid

in life-dreams eye

and Isradella cries

 

Disbelieve the sellers

unattainable perfection

and real-eyes

 

Love no longer exists

the world’s forgotten

to individualize

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2000

Poem No 19 ‘Return of Rainbows’ in ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ pub Cork, Ireland, 2003.

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #BOOK:HiddenCapacity  #BOOK:ReturnOfRainbows  #POEM:Isradella  #LovePoems  #Poetry

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Exile

Exile

 

Colour my life with rainbow hues

happiness yellow,

warm pinks,

cool, distant blues

and the green of Ireland.

 

I miss you in my life.

 

I want to touch your skin.

I want to make you  smile

make your eyes twinkle

with lust – amusement

at my clever words

 

and electronic kisses…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

(Poem No 30 in ‘Exploring Possibilities…’ section of ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’, by Frances Macaulay Forde, 1st published in Cork, Ireland, 2003.)

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #BOOK:HiddenCapacity  #POEM:Exile   #ExploringPossibilities  #WrittenInIreland  #LovePoems  #Romance

 

 

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Sunrise driving…

Artwork © Jessica McCallum

ROAD RIBBONS TO FOREVER

still cold the orb lay low

quick glimpse then hidden

motor climbing to drown

crow’s haunting early wake-up call

blades of light chop dust and dirt

wheels trundle

bodies bounce

over troughs and ridges

 

silent stands of hewn wood

strangled by checked metal string

strung as divided zones

of labour or fields of food

for slow-moving wool-balls

unaffected by those

who pass once in a changing

between ghost gums

wind-dancing

 

don’t press the soft start

for raucous interruption

no technological intrusion

to spoil the quietness

of morning impressions

 

but watch silently

anticipating adventure

 

time seems to slumber

in camera shots

too fast moving past

before fully absorbed

an erect neck now tired

of turning back with regret

high sun and heat

decreasing

petrol gauge as low horizon

never nearer not revealing

road ribbons to forever

 

our slumberous gazes

glazed with scenes

of shadows lit

by white-moon shafts

squinting at the yellow

twin-tunnelled path

flexing muscles cramped

shivering with want

the first new glimpse

of home

 

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1999

1st published  ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’, Ireland, 2003.

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #Poem  #Poetry  #WesternAustralia  #SunsetDriving  #HiddenCapacity

 

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Bar of Grief

Upturned bottles once lined with military order

on dusty, termite-rotten shelves. Fingerprints,

clear spaces of use, caught by the shafts of daylight

through pin-holes where nails have been.

 

A puddle of spilt pain, beneath an upturned bench.

Life, wasted in boozy stench lies forgotten,

punished for excess, while determined creatures

march with hunger towards rotten snacks.

Dirt’s secret world survives in semi-darkness.

 

Corrugated walls, rusting-red and brown. Drips

where rain had been, left tracks as if guiding

to the next place. A dark, dank, mud-bed

suitable for long soft round things

to slither and slide through eyes now closed.

Still focused on nightmare dreams, gone before.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1998

 

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