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Posts Tagged ‘poetry in Western Australia’

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Still on the KINDLE kick, my latest upload (probably not available yet as still being processed) is another Poetry Chapbook ~ the third.

(I’ve just added two examples of poems from my ‘Love’  KINDLE uploaded over the weekend,  just like I did for my ‘Rail Tales’ blog post.)

‘The Return of Rainbows’ was also conceived at University as a mature-age student bloodied by life’s battles and as always, finding succor in words.

My seemingly audacious presence provided lots of  fodder to explore the constant challenges and effects of that experience on my life.

 

The Return of Rainbows

Driving down Alexander,

(early morning rush hour)

lecture on documentary film.

Eager for knowledge, I noted

low, broad bands of colour

spanning the sky above Uni.

Ignoring the grey clouds,

I welcomed the return

of rainbows to my life.

 

Instinct

There’s no place for love

at this time in my life.

I envy those who achieve

the balance of need.

 

Opportunities ignored

in the interest of safe-ness,

flying toward my ability’s

determined focus.

 

Children gone in their own

living-dreams direction,

lessons learnt and heeded.

My job’s complete.

 

Is this my way of avoiding

the ‘empty nest’  syndrome?

Gath’ring materials for comfort

as I settle into old age?

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

(I’m about to upload some short stories next.)

#ReturnOfRainbows #FrancesMacaulayForde #McAlpineBellPublishing

 

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KINDLE edition #francesmacaulayforde

 

Well, that’s it – I’ve just published my first KINDLE book on Amazon of a previously printed  “Rail Tales ~ notes from the Currumbine Line”  and naturally, had to buy the first copy.

“Poetry and stories written while travelling on the Currumbine Line between the City of Perth and the Northern Suburbs in Western Australia.”    

It’s live and available right now so I’m pretty pleased.  (It certainly wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be but I managed.)

Here’s another of my favorite short poems from the book:

 

Rail Trail

parallel bars ride the sand

silver bullet steered by hand

expressed in kilometre-d speed

human flotsam to concrete greed

 

 

…and a (very, very) short story I hope you’ll smile at, remembering I was riding the rails when I wrote it.

 

The Great Escape.

Head back, eyes closed. I savor the cool, quiet efficiency of train travel.

I’m alone on this journey.  It is obviously not a popular time to commute.

Silence.  Then a scuffle, a soft knock below me and to the left, makes me

open my eyes. There it is again.  Are there mice on this train?  

It sounds like old crackle-y paper. Rounded, moving haphazardly

in all directions.

I hope the security video can’t see me climb onto the seat. 

Where is it? More importantly – what is it?

Feeling foolish, I gingerly step down. Then cautiously kneel and bend over,

eyes level to the carpet, bum up. 

Oh, it’s O.K. Panic over. Breathe again.

It’s only an onion, enjoying the freedom of riding on the train. 

Do you think it’s got a ticket?

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

#BOOKRailTales   #FrancesMacaulayForde

#McAlpineBellPublishing

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A couple of weeks ago in my blog posting ‘SOME FOLKS FOLK’  I mentioned the Monday Supper Club with special guest poets Glen Phillips and John Ryan.

My musician Hubby agreed to go because the amazing Ken Nicol, once the guitarist in Steeleye Span, was also appearing…

I previously included a photo or two but now can share my short videos taken that night, so click onto the screenshots and the links will take you to the YouTube performances.

Although I must apologize for my spur-of-the-moment video skills, I hope you enjoy the local glimpses anyway!  It’s all about spreading the love 🙂

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‘Dryandra Dreaming’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

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‘Ice Maiden’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

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‘Mid Stride’ #GlenPhillips #FrancesMacaulayForde

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“Wine” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

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“My Kentucky Country Roads” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

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“Inside a Jarrah Tree” #JohnRyan #FrancesMacaulayForde

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‘Stratford’ #KenNicol #FrancesMacaulayForde

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“Initial Variations” Instrumental #KenNicol #FrancesMacaulayForde

#FrancesMacaulayForde   #GlenPhillips     #JohnRyan   #KenNicol  #MondaySupperClub  #SteeleyeSpan

 

 

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‘Pauline’: Jessica McCallum 2002 #jessicamccallum #francesmacaulayforde

Call Waiting

 

I killed you!

I took away your power to insult.

Never again will your strident, insistent beeping
intrude on intimacies between friends.

No. I struck you off.

I pressed the buttons that devoured you.

I ended your reign of terror.

Then Pauline rang
‘A new baby? Wond….’

Beep – Beep!  Beep – Beep!

You didn’t die!

From happy jubilation
brain switches,
buttons pressed,
retreating  “Call me back.”

I lost the war.

I don’t blame Pauline.

Rudeness is forgiven under pressure
from the mighty  “I wonder who it is?”

Someday I’ll explain
and  continue my campaign
for courtesy.

I died a little.

Aren’t I important too?

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

(Another from my book  “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey”. )

#HiddenCapacity   #francesmacaulayforde

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I love how sometimes a poem ends up taking you to all sorts of places you don’t expect.

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‘Dance’ by Jessica McCallum at His Majesty’s Theatre, 2009. #jessicamcallumartist

My poem “My Life as a Sari” has appeared alongside beautiful artworks.

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POETRY POSTCARD available from Jessica McCallum

An excerpt published on a postcard.

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#IndigoJournal

And published in the INDIGO JOURNAL of West Australian Writing, Vol 3 published by INDIGO books and received lovely comments.

Fremantle Press have recently become on-line partners with the original publishers of the journals and have always been tremendous supporters of those who write in Western Australia, quietly promoting and encouraging new, emerging and established writers by putting their money where their mouth is.

As a result of my inclusion in the journal, Fremantle Press also interviewed  me about my writing and particularly, this poem.

 

My Life as a Sari

 

Securely tuck your fears under elastic

at the centre of your waist with your left hand,

and with your right, hold the remaining

metres of spun silk – your future, facing inside.

 

Measure the drop of the fall

and it’s finely stitched edge

for correct positioning against heels.

 

Wrap yourself in the gossamer fold,

swirling the diaphanous film behind

but stay level and wedge the top border

into your petticoat.

 

Like a bride preparing herself,

you are now ready to pleat.

 

At a distance from the last fixing,

hand-measure the delicate veil,

embroidered with details

important to who you are

toward the middle of your body.

 

Some may need five pleats, some six.

Less is more. Another judgement held on show

– a statement of size, however graciously it moves.

 

Securely fix the perfumed fanning

and grasp what is left, bring it back around

to wrap warmly and return to the front.

 

These days, you can choose to gather all loose

ends onto your left shoulder, secured with a jewel.

But many prefer to throw the remainder

over, remembering to hold an arm half bent,

letting the end float freely – the beaded

edge skimming the inside of your wrist.

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2009

#francesmacaulayforde

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Here’s an experiment: I’ve been playing around with You Tube and have made a short video of my poem ‘Dieback’.

Every time we travel down South of Perth, I’m reminded of the poem I wrote in 2006 and was published in the Poets Union Anthology.

This terrible disease affects our native Jarrah and Tuart trees, spread by spores which infect the tree, eventually leaving it stripped and exposed.

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PROPOSED: Back & front cover of a work in progress.

Reading other blogs often inspires me or reminds me of a poem I’ve written and it’s happened again.

Social Bridge  posted about Co. Waterford and reminded me of wonderful times spent in  Dungarvan  and a tour taken of the Waterford Chrystal Factory.

(Although I couldn’t load the whole video it was nice to hear Jean’s voice.)

The original poem is much longer but here’s a preview from the book  “Sketching in Ireland”  – all a work in progress.

 

“Koffee Korner Kafé”

(An exerpt.)

 

Dungarvan town sleeps in school-time.  King

John’s Castle, ancient bridge and four-storey

moderns overlook calm Brickey’s tidal flow.

 

We trod the cobblestones, leaning forward

in the breeze, audibly aware of intoned

melodies caught in doorways and cars.

The courteous cruise with windows down

 

in the warmth. Walking Market Square, coats

closed, feeling echoes of town center seventeen

hundred.  Butter market, slick with Council men

and spirited characters in United Irishmen Power. 

 

Feeling occupation, execution, all history

held in a narrow staircase, an oft-painted

hidden door to the second floor, leading to

The Koffee Korner Kafé.   (Continues…)

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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