Smooth Skin

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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Poetry Postcard: I need you…

 

I started doing poetry postcards when I ran Poets Corner @ Pages Cafe as a giveaway on each table.  I figured if people were kind enough to sit and listen, they deserved a keepsake.

I’m still in the habit and find them useful as giveaways at readings and book events.   I get them printed – often for free, when VISTA PRINT  do ‘specials’.

This one has the first (the very first) oil painting I ever did, on it.  My dad gave me a set of oils for my 12th birthday and a small tester board.

I haven’t done more than a handful since but this first attempt at oils, was always my favorite.

The poem was written for my returned love; every time he turns to carry on with his everyday… I miss him this much.

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde   #PoetsCorner@PagesCafe  #POEM:INeedYou  #ExploringPossibilities

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Diary entry ~ April 2002.

Passport Photo: 15 years old

1990 Bali Holiday – an amazing surprise 40th birthday gift from my Brother Paddy and sister in law, Grace.

I’m sitting here next to the lake listening to the Magpie’s talk, the Wood Ducks peep, the fountains filter their water. This is the first entry into my new notebook the red (for passion) one with a  teddy bear (you, of course)  playing guitar on the front!  I’ve also got my two passports with me and I thought I’d scan the pictures for you just for a laugh. One was taken before you, when I was 15 (British passport) and  the other way after, when I was 40 for the Bali trip.

Three tourists walked by obviously looking for something. So I said, ‘The kangaroos are over there’ (pointing) behind Cowan House, ‘lying around in the shade.’    Well, this lovely lady replied,    ‘Oh thEnk you!’  in a broad South African accent.  Small world hey?  She and her husband Gordon have  ‘…jEst arrIIEEyeved thus morning at 5am from Jo’burg for 5 dayZZ. He and Pete ‘aff  bin frEEnds since grade 5.  We’re goin’ out to dEEnar  tonight.’  She can’t believe how clean it all is… Anyway, they’re having a good look at our lawn mowers, who aren’t actually doing much.     Just lying back, torsos-twisted, scratching their bellies.  Totally unconcerned wild, Grey Kangaroos – and these tourists, just a couple of yards from them.

I’m obviously early for the poetry workshop. My watch has stopped again – it needs a service (another thing on my long list!). Wonder what we’ll tackle this afternoon.  I have no idea of today’s subject – haven’t been for while, far too distracted by you! Hope you’re having a lovely day. I’m being good and giving you ‘space’ (in the nicest possible way). I hope it’s helping with the study. Hmmmmm – poetry – erotic poetry for you. I wonder if I can do it?  First drafts only My Love:

 

1.  Coots

Lakeside, I watch

the Coots bouncing

on top of the water.

 

They throw their heads

with intention and abandon.

Plunging – immersing themselves.

 

I want to bounce,

immerse myself.

Plunge into you…

 

2.  Soixante-Neuf

Normally,

I wouldn’t want you

to look at my bum

at that angle…

 

But then,

you’re not doing

much looking,

N’est pa?

 

3. Your reward…

… is access.

Complete access.

Although the years

have worn – you can see!

I will allow you ~

only you, this viewing,

this exposure

to my most secret self.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

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Courting On-Line

A photo taken by my daughter at Hillary’s Boat Harbor to show my returned love what I looked like after 28 years (very, very hard to do).

When my returned-love found my name on the net after so long, the computer was both my friend and my enemy, forming a safe barrier to hide behind until I found the courage to step into love again.

Computer Messenger

.

Banter that backfired because

literal interpretations got lost

in considered connotations,

(re-read a thousand times)

of what went way-back-when…

.

Juxtaposition of judgements.

Hastily harnessed how-comes?

Stopping me still, seriously!

Making me question us both.

.

My passionate banshee tears

initiated by tactile responses

to words type-tapped carefully.

Sometimes in casual jest

to test my reactions?

.

Is it natural to anticipate

disaster – dismissal and defend?

Not normally for me – I search

for more of your positive essence,

confirmation of my impressions.

.

I want you – all of you – now!

Every nuance of normality

shared secretly, sensually…

But other stuff too – thoughts,

reasons, why you do what you do…

.

I can’t ‘see’ the whole of you

touch your skin – breath you in.

Sense your hands on my breasts

holding me, stroking me softly.

I want – I need – I crave to.    

.                                                                                              

Insecurity inserts itself

firmly forcing doubt-feelings

to well and grow without witness,

until you answer; you calm; you claim,

.

cover my heart and soul with caring.

Linger in my love, lay there

until we’re both sweetly exhausted

by this power, this perpetual passion

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

From my 1st book of poems ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ Published in Cork, Ireland, 2003.

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #HiddenCapacity  #Romance  #LovePoems  #Poems

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ReUnion

The love of my life playing keyboards when we first met. (“Paper Lace” 1973 Kitwe, Zambia.)

Saying goodbye before taking my broken heart to Australia. (Kitwe Club, Zambia 1974)

My man found my name on the net, flew from Ireland to Australia and hugged me in Perth, West Australia, 2002.

Our Wedding Day wiped 30 years away. (Hillarys Yacht Club, Perth, Western Australia 27 th Dec 2003)

ReUnion

–

stepping softly

you trod the path

to my front door

–

never rang the bell

played favorite songs

over and over until

–

senses on overload

surrounded by romance

you kissed me quick

–

my heart pumped electric

zinging over barriers

erected years ago

–

breaths of pain

barely contained

welcomed as veins

–

formed highways

joined the chorus

to wash with heat

–

a thrumming melody

echoes of words

rhymed with roses

–

thorns ignored love

posies fresh and blood

red for us young again

–

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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