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Posts Tagged ‘Ireland’

0304W03IrishYellow

Roadside E30, Co.Cork, Ireland.

 

Fetal naked at fifty.

I’ve followed signs to Yield in Ireland

when I’m used to an Aussie Give Way

 

I put on red lipstick, tell you stories

of Africa when we were both young

and watch my words seduce you again.

 

You remember young Chianti;

full and round, ruby red, peppered

with berries.  I remember

a Hotel in Kitwe – Blue Nun. 

 

You say your taste has matured,

you now prefer an Aussie Shiraz;

sharp, punchy, still youthful

– allowed to ripen with time.

 

I imprint your palate with my being

so no other will satisfy – am absolutely

involved in strong pulsing waves.

 

You suddenly stop

and fold my legs over

so I lay fetal naked at fifty…  

 

you lean forward to whisper

my tongue is sweet.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003 

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #TheBegorrathon  #POEM:FetalNakedAtFifty  #Ireland  #poetry  #romance  #SketchingInIreland

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F1000021

Cork City, 2003.

Irish Month

@FrancesMForde  #TheBegorrathon  #CorkCity  #IrishPubs

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Midleton McDaid's 2 DS

McDaid’s Folk Club

We carefully stepped through

the seated crowd, she smiled

in surprised delight and

pulled you down

to whisper invitingly.

 

I watched the young guitarist finger-pick,

thought about her possessive

hand placed on

your willing arm

and felt sick.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

@FrancesMForde  #McDaidsFolkClub  #Midleton,Cork  #Ireland  #Love  #Jealousy

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141030JesieWalkingHereWEB

Since the net has been playing up, I’ve had time to do all sorts of things, pick up a pencil to draw or read books – such a luxury.

One of the first I’ve chosen is  ‘Walking Here’ by my friend Jessie Lendennie, of Salmon Poetry and THE best bookshop in Ireland, fame.  I’m enjoying it so much and couldn’t resist sharing one of her poems with you.

141030JesieWalkingHereDOC

Jessie and her family are mourning the recent loss of two of her beloved ‘pack’ but I know they still run to that rock pool, whenever she goes walking around the amazing Cliffs of Moher.

F1010025web

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #JessieLendennie  #SalmonPoetry  #WalkingHere  #Poetry  #Ireland

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sligo 1 - Knock Shrine Sligo 1 - Knock Shop Sligo 1 - Knock Shop Paudie Sligo 1 - Knock Shop 3 Sligo 1 - Knock Shop 2 Sligo 1 - Knock Rosary Beads Sligo 1 - Knock Holy Water Bottles Sligo 1 - Knock Grave Markers

Irish Lourdes
Where it is said ‘Our Lady appeared ‘ to Knock faithful,
enterprising vendors parade their wares on sidewalks.
You’ll find a large range of rosary beads
hanging in silent prayer – necklaces of every hue
to match any outfit you choose – posing for photos.
.

1 hour processing while you worship, Extra film,
Holy Water Bottles in the shape of Mary,
small enough to send home with the postcard
or buy a granite headstone for Father, Son,
ready-carved – off the rack, just in case

.
for those times when you are caught unawares…
Plastic floral wreathes, colour matched, some
have see-through domes to protect or preserve,
all kinds of religious mugs, pens, cups, mouse mats…
the soul wonders as eyes boggle in Knock shops.

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

1st published in the Irish American Post  Spring 2007 Vol 7 Issue 3.

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #KnockIreland   #Worship  #IrishAmericanPost  #Ireland  #IrishPoems

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Carol's Cross - Paudie LS

Left Field

Lined up like the Waterford cows,

metal bodies glitter in an Irish field.

 

Their black rubber circles squelch

acres of reconstituted bovine cud.

 

A Friesian audience has gathered

to ruminate on two-legged animals

 

with red and white coats, running

and hurling a stone to each other

 

between showers, near Carol’s Cross.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #LeftField  #Hurley  #Ireland  #Waterford  #poems

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Midleton Main St2

In Ireland with my newly returned love we lived in Midleton, a little village 25 km from Cork City.

He enjoyed showing me around his home of only a few years – but the new home of his heart.

Chatting about the ‘mysteries’ of writing poetry, we’d driven into Robinson’s Tyres yard, littered with used product.

I’d just finished saying I never suffered from writers block and could do a poem about anything.  He pointed and challenged me to write about ‘Those’.

So while he organised for a change of Tyre, I wrote about them:

 

Smooth Skin

 

Off Old Cork road, turning into Midleton

stacks of life-saving re-treads have Buckley’s

chance of reliving their youth. Discarded tyres

 

lay stop-piled high; like Auschwitz bodies

deflated, black, aged-old wheel-rings have

reached the end and their final journey.

 

Unlined rubber circles, low profile cushions

await disposal; melting erasure – incineration.

Their job is complete – no longer needed.

 

The largest lay prepared, neatly size-stacked,

ready and resigned, proudly age un-marked

claiming their fair share of the dumping ground.

 

Smaller circles know their place, are thrown

haphazardly because they’ve lost their grip;

swallowed by take-over tyrants, larger than they are.

 

Tractor workhorses are content to rest, miles-tired,

worn out, knowing they don’t count because the speedy

don’t care – don’t notice how many lines are missing.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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