Moving on...

You know what it's like - the net.  It's insidious... before you know it you have way too many 'blogs' and can't find the time to service all of them.  So I'm moving on to just one - my WORDPRESS blog.
http://francesmacaulayforde.wordpress.com
See you there!

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?





(Sketch of Pauline by Jessica McCallum)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This seems so dated now ~ I was annoyed at the automatic installation of 'Call Waiting' by our local Telco and thought it so rude! It was during a call to my good friend Pauline it really hit home!
Not knowing how to take it off and considering whoever I was speaking to first had (telephone) right of way, I wasn't going to interupt them or cut them short because someone else was ringing! Basic courtesy - right?
Now of course, all sorts of applications are old hat - we easily remove it and being unaware of the new call, can ignore the seduction of an unknown caller!

Cynical Cinquains

.

1. She lay
prostrate. Waiting.
Will he stay a while when
their beating hearts have calmed down?
Never.


2. You glow
with love for me.
Accepting all I give,
never questioning if I love.
I don’t.


3. Tears fall
like rivers of
pain. Rejection will hurt.
Just touch him and say goodbye to
your heart.


4. It glows.
The safe ribbon
of light, meandering
on toward home. But my path was
unlit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A French style of poem which I was introduced to during a workshop and found fascinating.
These are all around the subject of love lost or found... wanted or needed... rejected or accepted: twists and turns found in most people's love lives - real or imagined.

This style of Cinquain has a very strict line structure and metre.

1 st line: 2
2 nd line: 4
3 rd line: 6
4 th line: 8
5 th line: 2 ~ with a twist!

Have a go - it's great fun!

2. 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, their 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 to old age?

___________________________________

Here I question my right to attend university at the age of 48.
Am I being selfish or is it time to be selfish having devoted the necessary years to my children. I know they've grown up well, I've done my job and now I've decided it's my turn...
A HUGE decision - a brave decision considering I was frowned on by friends and some family who considered it a foolish risk.
But I needed to step out - look forward to the next phase, past 'empty nest' and before 'old age'.
Accepting it's up to me to fill my life and feel fulfilled and at last, I've got the time to consider how I could do just that: feel fulfilled.
I'm saving my soul - feeding the inner me, taking my time back like a young teenager with the world at her feet, I'm striding out into a brave new world.
I just hope no-one noticed amongst all those clever, just out of school 18 year olds, just how old I was :o))

The Return of Rainbows

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.

----------------------------------------

This piece introduces the first section of my book 'Hidden Capacity ~ a poet's journey' called "the Return of Rainbows", taken from my chapbook of the same name, written in my first year of University at the age of 48.

It's a cerebral celebration of how I felt when exposed to a wealth of knowledge and the company of learned people. Surrounded by 18 year olds fresh from school, I was sometimes intimidated, always excited and thirsty - I wholeheartedly recommend a return to study for anyone who is thinking about it.

This poem came to me literally whilst driving to University, down Alexander Drive and the sky was full of threatening rain clouds. But I was so full of anticipation of what I was about to learn in my Documentary Class, I ignored all the greyness around me and only saw rainbows returning to my life after some very hard and heart-breaking times...

Inspiration

Inspiration 1 - THE RETURN OF RAINBOWS

Why do I now prefer writing in my bedroom when I have a perfectly good study - a space cleared for thought? I feel inspired to dream while I’m awake in here - not there.

Is it because I’ve just coated the room and everything in it a lilac pink? Is that the colour of my inspiration?

Or does it illicit forgotten memories from my childhood? The baby-pink bedroom of my spoiled youth, the dear faces of my parents, still missed after so many years. I’ve been through so many colours since then.

But perhaps I need to visit them once again, in my imagination.

Maybe this shade is my mood-connection to the past. I’m alone now, responsible for the world I live in and my painted walls.

Or could it be something to do with the womb - a protective colour - a safe haven for my dreams. Help that I need in a harsh world, often too over-whelming for someone totally unprepared or never expecting to be the ‘Bottom Line’.

A softness, which evokes feelings and comfort, which allows my mind to wander and explore, knowing I’m enclosed and private, separated from others who see too much.

Or is it the large mirror with its elaborate edge reflecting my thoughts surrounded by soft, gentle, allowing colour?

I look at myself in the frame and from the ‘truth’ of distance - an inner ‘truth’? Is that what empowers my exposure? Is distance enabling me to write such secret, forgotten feelings in my journal?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the first lines of this first piece, I've arrived at a time in my life where I've finally allowed myself to be utterly selfish. My children had grown after a divorce into balanced, well-educated adults living their own lives, so I took myself to university.

It was my time to put myself first, my needs first, my dreams, soul and heart first, to follow my bliss.

So I'm speaking here, directly from my heart, remembering my childhood in Africa and the struggles of my dearest Mum and Dad who died many years ago and who would have been so proud to see my words in print.

I published this book for them and for my brothers, children and extended family, just as much as for myself.