Poetic Sounds

1974: When we were young…

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POEM: Before you…

FMF Art © 2011

An extract from my next poetry collection: ‘Exploring Possibilities’.

 

Before you returned, I slept in a bed

without creases.  Only pulled up the sheets

to straighten.  Now I love my wrinkles. 

Today following signs to Yield in Ireland,

I’m used to an Aussie Give Way while 

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

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.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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If you’re alone…

…you’re not really.

There are millions, just like you who either don’t acknowledge this day as anything to do with ‘love’ or find themselves alone either by choice or by circumstance.

So no – you’re not alone.

And if you feel you need a greeting – say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ to yourself.

Take all those images, sayings and special touches applied to this day – turn them around to face you.

Take yourself out and do something that makes you feel wonderful – because you must be.

We are all worthy of a celebration every day of the year – not just today.

I’ve seen all of these movies and couldn’t resist sharing these quotes because I know, if you want love it will find you… eventually – if you let it.

Committed Skin

I crave committed

skin.  Pale, pink tones

of a fragile heart.

Silky strands tantalize.

 

Forest of words

– thoughts, forcing

forward movement

careful continuation of

 

soft, subtle actions.

Reassurances

given, refusing

to provide any more until…

 

absolutely sure,

when our surfaces

eventually meet

– rub together in love-making,

 

no other skin will suit.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

1^st pub: ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ MMB Publishing, Ireland, 2003.

 

 

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Senses

Senses

hear

tender words
questions answers
your current reality

see

furtive glance
visual dance
clever hands and fingers

touch

tentative press
to shy flesh
still clothed in other loves

smell

breathe you in
where’ve you been
through all my loves and life

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007

From my book “Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey” published in Cork, Ireland, 2003

 

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Husbands, Divorce, 30 Years on…

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Trust…No Love…Love.

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Color-gist

Color-gist

 

black and white

colored exposures

torn to pieces

carefully measured

 

moulded

miniature portraits

fruit thrown

into a large ceramic bowl

 

it was blue then

I found a bucket

without holes

poured hot water

and glue

 

something to bind

some lemon rind

for freshness

rose oil for fragrance

newly delicate and soft

 

stirred the pot

a witch’s brew

deliberately changing

my past and future of you

 

snowflakes of my tears

softened over

three days/years

 

stewed quietly

to mush

crushed

 

until I no longer

recognised

pieces of wedding,

parties anything

 

dresses I wore

to make myself more

beautiful for you

 

a fleeting betrayal

of a heart filled

with love

 

with lies

happiness arrows – spies

your other women

who were my friends

 

thorns on the rose of my myth

 

 

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 2003

 

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Exile

Exile

 

Colour my life with rainbow hues

happiness yellow,

warm pinks,

cool, distant blues

and the green of Ireland.

 

I miss you in my life.

 

I want to touch your skin.

I want to make you  smile

make your eyes twinkle

with lust – amusement

at my clever words

 

and electronic kisses…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2002

(Poem No 30 in ‘Exploring Possibilities…’ section of ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’, by Frances Macaulay Forde, 1st published in Cork, Ireland, 2003.)

 

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POEM: Beach Babe

 

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#Romance

 

 

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POEM: All Washed Up

All Washed Up

 

Two rubber gloves hang discarded

Cling to the plate rack of pine

Empty and turned to the tiles

Waiting for a water ball

 

Two rubber gloves hang discarded

No purpose for us to observe

Sadly exhibiting usage both

Hear the dishwasher call

 

Two rubber gloves hang discarded

Colours faded and fingers worn

One springs a hole in the thumb

Its partner hears the bin fall

 

One rubber glove hangs discarded

Pale and lonely for its pigeon pair

Lost in the drain of life’s chaos

Single; no purpose at all

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2006

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