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MOBILES

 

Trendy shades that click to match.

Invisible.

Except for what looks like a hearing aid

turning us all into

business buskers barking at buildings.

 

And it’s natural to turn

when someone says ‘Hello’.

 

You even get a choice now.

Number display.

Answer or reject.

Interruptions.

(Blasted ‘Call Waiting’.)

Choose to ignore the insistent beeping

and inevitably

others can’t resist the burning question.

 

Favourite songs are ruined forever

by ringing interpretations.

 

Courtesy has gone out the window.

Lunch breaks deleted.

Performances interrupted.

Moving movie moments spoilt.

 

Availability questioned

by “This mobile is turned off”.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2001

(First published ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’, 2003, Cork, Ireland.)

 

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #PHOTO:SunGazing  #POEM:Mobiles  #CellPhones  #Poetry  #HiddenCapacityFMF

 

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© 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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Image---Umbrella-Concept-Panel7

Concept drawing from ‘Raincheck’ Exhibition © Jessica McCallum 2010.

Umbrella Sea

I look down

umbrella sea

snaking between

shiny metal towers

separate

still me

 

a strong wind

searching for red

among the grey

pushing risk

frisking

steering

toward decision

 

do I leap

air-dance Nike-like

raindrop  steps

merge the blue  

sky-reach

take a chance

with you

 

I am Luke

sky walker

sweet talker

calculated

risk taker

love maker

 

potential heart beaker

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2010

#FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #POEM:UmbrellaSea  #ARTIST:JessicaMcCallum  #EXHIB:Raincheck  #Poem  #Umbrella  #Love  #Heartbreak

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An old map of Zambia.

 

Journey from Victoria Falls to the Copperbelt.

They say that once you’ve crossed the Zambezi, you’ll always return.   

You’ll come back to this country, for its beauty you’ll yearn.

 

How many times has that theory been proven so true,

we’ve said goodbye to our friends, packed up and left you.

Only to come back in a few years time, to the river,

winding  its way through this country so fine.

 

The Victoria Falls with enormous gorges,

rushing water as if from a thousand rivers,

 rainbow of colours, the noise of the falls,

the excitement of watching those solid water walls.

Cruising down river on boats with game guards,

watching for hippos or crocs in their paths.

 

Sunsets on Lake Kariba as birds all rise

over game that runs free on either side

of a lake that’s so big it has waves like a sea…

Sundowners on the terrace looking over the water,

watching the sun’s death at seven and a quarter…

 

Driving through the escarpment, that range of hills forming a border

between two countries, a vital road link that’s little-used now

as they quarrel over things that don’t matter somehow.

 

Bowling along the road to Lusaka and the Copperbelt.

Across the Zambezi again, while the heat melts.

 

Arrive in Lusaka at lunchtime to see

the streams of traffic in that busy city,

then on through the maise fields and sugar cane,

up to Kabwe where it’s stacked ready for the trains.

A long empty stretch and you reach Kapiri

– if you blink a lot, you’ll miss it completely.

 

Straight flat roads to drive ‘til you’re bored.

The turn-off at Fisenge to get on the right road

and you’re on your way to Kitwe and the Rhokana Mine

– the Hub of the Copperbelt and a town that’s fine.

 

One of the largest and best-equipped mines around

where they hurl the copper-bearing ore up from the ground.

Under the surface, the tunnels are huge

– all white tiled and sparkling – nothing crude.

 

Perfectly safe for all the workers below,

stepping into the cages as they go,

down in the depths to seek the country’s life-blood.

Working long hours earning money to buy food

 

for their many children and wives,

who’ve gone without for most of their lives.

Now wages are better – conditions more fair,

good health and happiness no longer so rare.

 

Neat houses and gardens well-tended line the streets.

Lots of shady park benches where gossipers meet.

A way of life that can’t be compared; peace

and quiet, beauty in the sunshine, fresh air…

 

Days to laze and lots of time to contemplate

how good life can be, before it’s too late.

Relax, while you’re young, enjoy the sunshine and happiness of home

surrounded by friends you’re never alone.

 

Make a point of crossing our Zambezi River  sometime

– take a long, long holiday – come see this fabulous country of mine!

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1973

 

@FrancesMForde  #Nostalgia  #LovePoemAfrica  #Zambia  #NorthernRhodesia  #POEM:VicFallsCopperBelt

 

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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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Mytwosentences 72.

My newest blog follower Edward Roads posts 2 sentences with a photo – which I find both  innovative and inspiring.   His latest has reminded me of a poem which I thought I’d share, both are about the unspoken:

 

Priority Seating

 

Chivalry’s not dead.

Young man offers an older

person his seat, but

not the young lady. He stands

silently, matching her sway.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

Published  in “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”, Ireland 2003 &  “Rail Tales” Perth, 2013, AVAILABLE from AMAZON.

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#FrancesMacaulayForde  #PrioritySeating  #Poem  #RailTales  #HiddenCapacity  #WAWriter

 

 

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GRILLD_WEBSITE_HOMPAGE_BACKGROUND_MASTER_1460x1079px7

 

Sister-in-laws and I met for a coffee and burger at Lakeside in Joondalup a while ago – I wrote this on the napkin.

 

Grill’d

 

Life moves at such a pace

But we don’t.

 

We have to order our hamburger

without the bun.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde  © 2013

 

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HealthyBurgers  #Poem

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