Begorrathon: Vaccuming

St Mary’s Road, Midleton, Cork. 2003

Vaccuming

 

With every pull toward your body

you expect obedience.

Expect each tiny micron of dirt

to be sucked up and away.

Look at the attention you give stairs…

 

How do I become like stairs?

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

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Clare Road Repairs

 

Clare road repairs

 

On a hill, Celtic crosses and angels wings

gather.  We approve the view, weed and go.

 

Suddenly, unattended in a quiet Irish lane,

Temporary traffic lights blink red.

 

Surrounded by green fields, we’re forced

to queue like country others, and reflect.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

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Begorrathon: Tempting Yeats

Sligo, Ireland 2003.

Red Lipstick.

 

Standing in reverence of a mighty giant

his Nobel words remembered, this fan notes

 

exaggerated bat-like shoulders enhance his

thoughtful gaze – watching the Horseman?

 

Others have stepped up on Galway stone; held

those long, thin legs as they balance head bent

 

to leave a lipstick imprint of their awe for him

on the space his left hand nonchalantly indicates…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2015  

 

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Begorrathon: Epitaph.

Forde’s Pub, Cork, Ireland, 2003.

 

Whilst my man wooed me, I joined the original Middleton Writers group (now defunct) who welcomed me with open arms.

Also joined Munster Literature Centre and never missed a Wednesday workshop hosted by Cork/Irish literati.

The appropriately (for me) named Forde Pub, was our usual lunch break venue.

 

Epitaph for Gregory O’Donoghue

 

Seasoned, some will remember boozy lunches,

Tuna sandwiches peppered with slurred words

plated on sliced lettuce arranged ‘just so’…

Guinness frothed and creamy with subtext.

 

An Irish summer warm with purpose shared

eloquently with a visiting Australian at exclusive

Wednesday morning workshops obstinately

overseen each week, by a recalcitrant at MLC.

 

Since his silence, reverence is a poetry prize

keeping his name associated with his life love.

His canon forever in the library and his portrait,

eyeing the new wave with his silent critiques.

 

This writer will remember clever poetic reviews,

evaluating layers of old knowledge like a river

flowing effortlessly from the master to his student

and inspiration needing a break, at Forde’s Pub.

 

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

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Knock, Knock…

       

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.

 

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