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Posts Tagged ‘words’

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A pair (female on right) of Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos in my Jacaranda. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

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Those Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos ‘kissing’. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

New Moon

 

Last night, a sliver of silver low on the horizon, above the sea;

The moon visible through the clear sliding door of my patio

but couldn’t wish on it, not through glass – bad luck!

 

So eyes-down  I opened the door, stepped out bare-feet on concrete 

past the patio setting, minding the balls Sonja has strewn

and stood, out in the cool (now Autumn) air and wished.

 

Can’t tell you what I wished for or it won’t come true – it’s not for me.

I am lucky in love.  My family are healthy and happy, I have you.

All that I need.  So how could I possibly ask for more, for me?  

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

 

If you’ve got time, read more about these magnificent Carnaby’s but also, have a look at the best photos I’ve ever seen of them, up close, taken by Grace and posted on Perth Daily Photo today.

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 RRCockatooChorus

Artwork: Jessica McCallum © 2000

Although actually written at university and included in my chapbook  ‘Return of Rainbows’, this poem was first published in ‘Peace & Freedom’ Magazine,  in London, 2001 with my daughter’s artwork.

Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos  are a highly endangered species of native birds only found in Western Australia.  Because of us, these noisy birds who possibly mate for life and can live 40 – 50 years, are in great danger.

Later the poem was included in my first book  ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’  published in Cork, Ireland in 2003.

COCKATOO CHORUS

“We’ll meet in the eucalypts down by the lake.

Discussion is needed – you have to partake!”

Black clouds flew from the oval, park and golf club

to raucously weigh down trees out in the scrub.

“Juicy larvae and insects prove harder to find

all the spraying and logging – ground being mined

has taken our homes, our gathering sites.

Together, in numbers we’ll fly up for our rights.”

.

From once sacred ground now suburbs, they flew.

From gum-tree nesting hollows, so precious and few

hundreds gathered early, in loud morning debate –

the Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoo parrot’s fate.

Discussed at great length in the eucalypt trees

for young; less food, meant less ability to feed.

“Stop clearing, spraying – playing with our lives!

If we die, what hope have you got, to survive?”

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2000

Peace & Freedom Mag'CockatooChorus' 001

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Hyde Park in February… too hot to be out of the shade.

I’ve just found this beautiful poem on ABC Tales , so when you have a moment indulge yourself.

As a fan of the site for many years, I’ve benefited greatly from comments, encouragement and the sheer joy of reading wonderful words from writers I wouldn’t have read otherwise.

The very first item I posted was on the 15th March 2006 was a short story ‘Write to Romance’.   (I’ve posted loads of poems and stories on ABC Tales since.)

That story has since been read by 874 people (blows my mind!) and earned a ‘Cherry’ from the editors – such a huge boost in confidence.

So I recommend, anyone with stories or poems to share, join this fabulous FREE site and see what others think of your words but importantly,  receive some very constructive feedback from talented and experienced others.

Such a safe and nurturing environment is rare on the net.  I’m often inspired by what I read on there so I’m about to post this poem posted on here  in February, in response to ‘Bee’ and her poem ‘As Autumn Leaves’.

 

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Today, Friday, 21st March 2014 has officially been declared ‘World Poetry Day’.

So where does poetry ‘sit’ in your life and what is your idea of poetry?

Poetry is my way of ordering an idea or response, by moving it out of my head in as few words as possible, to clarify ~ writing the spine of what comes next.

It may stay as a poem, or become a short story, a script for a play or the screen or novel, perhaps even spawn more poems… but poetry is always the key.

Poetry is communicating clearly a strong emotion within me, which combined with the use of metaphor, I hope will find an echo when others read my efforts.

So I thought I’d share my reply to a fun poem Professor Glen Phillips sent and my responding poem (with permission, of course):

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Glen Phillips reading a poem at Poets Corner, Perth Cultural Centre, 2005.

BUT BLONDES PREFER DIAMONDS

(or, Lesson No. 64)

If you think ‘a diamond is forever’,

as advertisements used to say,

(and you’re beautiful) grab whatever

lovely hot rocks come your way!

 

And why not? Centuries of avid men

seeking to turn the head of a cooling lover

resort to this old stratagem well-proven—

how to raise the stakes, get back in clover.

 

So down to the hockshop, make a grand

by selling heirlooms (or grandma’s wheelchair)

and then hare it to the gem store, with hand

on heart, plead a done deal for a big solitaire.

 

Gentlemen prefer blondes, but blondes prefer

rocks and preferably bigger and with more sparks

than those in the eyes of he who would woo her.

You good boys, listen, how to get top marks!

 

Glen Phillips ©  July, 2007.

and my response:

2005_0914PoetsCorner14th0057a

Frances Macaulay Forde reading a poem at Poets Corner, Perth Cultural Centre, 2005.

Lesson No 65

See, diamonds are hard

as everyone knows,

a girl must have metal

for this century’s woes.

 

Getting her rocks off

whether blond, red or brunette

no faking, no waiting – Helen,

woman hasn’t peaked yet.

 

While gentlemen play with image

cream blondes, brunettes achieve.

Red wears stainless steel bands

inscribed with ‘We must believe!’

 

Don’t strive for tabloid wants

look past the surface bling,

there’s more to a woman

tho’ the sparkle is tempting…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde  © 2007

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St Paddy's Day in Cork, at the parade, 2003

St Paddy’s Day in Cork, at the parade, 2003

Spending 14 glorious months in Co Cork  and having the opportunity to attend a real Irish St Patrick’s Day Parade on Patrick Street in Cork City; my Irish Hubby and I always raise a glass to our Irish roots.

It turns out (after much family history research) both our families come from Co Cork, about 10 miles from each other ~ but we actually met in the middle of Africa!

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My gorgeous Hubby and I celebrating in Oz. 2008.

Inevitably, I can’t help thinking of my dear old Dad who was so proud of his heritage who cannot have  his usual Guinness today ~ we lost him 31 years ago.

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My Dear Old Dad on holiday in South Africa 1966.

Unconditional

That moment

when I realized

you weren’t asleep,

I couldn’t cry. 

 

I wanted to,

thought I should,

but I couldn’t shed tears

for all those years

when I was loved

unconditionally. 

 

When I knew

no matter what I did

or said, you would always

love me – be there for me.

 

Put a plaster on my hurts,

fix me up with kisses, give

words to make me feel better. 

 

I’ll never forget your strength.

 

How your arms encircled me,

the safeness of a oak tree,

dense, caring and complete. 

I need that care now! 

 

I need to feel safe again,

to sail into your harbour of care,

find you there, waiting

 

with open arms, accepting

all my faults, all my mistakes

and letting them go. 

 

You always helped me

move on to new adventures,

strengthened by your love.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

 

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Climbing The Gloucester Tree 2005© Sean McClean

A Facebook friend lost an ex-uncle in life’s battle recently, Len Buckeridge.  

He was a tall poppy in this ‘small’ town where many of his courageous achievements for our capital city and state were judged by bigots.

But he left many a legacy thousands will wonder at and enjoy every day and probably never know who was responsible.

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Spectacular Perth Arena, built by Len Buckeridge’s BGC

Tall Tree Tanka

Unfortunately

too many enjoy trying

to fell tall trees

when they should be hugged.

We need to learn to look up.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

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nest-9

I saw this photo by on the net and was immediately inspired:  nature + telephone pole = home.

(http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/02/massive-bird-nests-built-on-telephone-poles-in-southern-africa/ )

 

RECYCLED

Sociable weaver

birds gather Kalahari

sticks, grass, cotton to

construct home-trees for hundreds.

Out-dated rest-points built to

carry distance wires become

capsules recycled for

mobile families.

.

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

 

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