I'm Sally Murphy, an Australian author of over 40 children's books. I'm also the slightly crazy mother of six beautiful kids. You'll find bits of me buried somewhere in every one of my books. I love reading, writing, and speaking about reading and writing.
View my books or hire me to speak at your school, festival, or writers group.
If you are in or around South West WA, or fancy a day trip, I will be holding my first live author event for a veeerrry long time, hosted by the wonderful Collins Booksellers in Victoria Street Bunbury. Here’s the details:
I would love to see YOU there (and YOU and YOU too!)
I love January. As you might have guessed if you visit here regularly I am a beach person and a water person and January here is peak summer. It’s hot and fine and I can walk on my precious beach every day and swim swim swim, in beach or pool. If you haven’t seen my beach, here’s a reminder of just how gorgeous it is:
And yes, its often that deserted, though this morning I encountered perhaps 20 other walkers, fishers and swimmers. When we were in lockdown last year I was lucky to be able to keep up my walks, because this beach is a kilometre from my house, and I continue to share glimpses and videos through Instagram, in the hopes others who perhaps aren’t so lucky find some of the joy I feel.
The other thing I love about January is time. My day job, at a university, is less full-on in January and I have extra time to devote to my writing and research. And, this year, that means poetry – and lots of it! I am working on trying to get an annotated bibliography of Australian verse novels for children and young adults finalised. This project, with three other wonderful volunteers (including Kat Apel), will, when it’s done appear on the NCACL site as a resource for teachers, parents, researchers and anyone with a passion for verse novels. As part of this most of my reading so far this year has been verse novels – some new to me, some revisited. It’s felt luxurious to spend so much time reading poetry, and considering it work.
I’ve also been writing new poetry, and working on a new verse novel, as well as revisiting some of my unpublished poems with hopes of finding homes for them.
In short, I’ve been swimming in poems, and loving it. Which leads, of course, to my poem for this poetry Friday (you did know this was going somewhere, didn’t you?). I wanted to bring together the two things my January has been all about – the water, and poetry – and here’s where I ended up:
Drowning
I’m drowning in poetry
onomatopoeia
bubbles and burbles
through my lungs.
I’m drowning in poetry
rhythm
beats and sways
through my veins.
I’m drowning in poetry
rhyme
keeps time
with my heart.
I’m drowning in poetry
metaphor
is my life force
my every breath.
I’m drowning in poetry
alliteration
measures my movement
swimming saves me
I’m drowning in poetry
and that’s okay with me.
Pound me with poems
make me a victim of verse.
(Poem copyright Sally Murphy 2021)
I was pretty happy to see that this week’s Poetry Friday host is the amazing Sylvia Vardell and that she is sharing a sneak peak of poetry to be published in 2021. I can’t wait to swim though more of those titles. Head over to her post to also see what other poetry goodness is being shared this Friday.
It’s Poetry Friday and I am thinking, not for the first time, about stairs. This time, I’m celebrating that MY stairs – the stairs that take me down to the beach – are reopen, after being closed for months and months because of storm damage. Although I could still walk on the beach by driving about ten minutes down the road and accessing the beach from a different point, I have missed my spot, and have never been more happy to climb a set of stairs than that first time last week.
Thinking about stairs almost always leads to me this childhood favourite, from A. A. Milne:
Halfway Down
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn’t any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I’m not at the bottom,
I’m not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn’t up
And isn’t down.
It isn’t in the nursery,
It isn’t in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
“It isn’t really
Anywhere!
It’s somewhere else
Instead!”
(by A. A. Milne)
I had forgotten this, but when I searched for a link to A. A Milne this morning, I found Robin the Frog’s version of this poem, and had to share. I remember loving this as a child – although Robin sounds so sad, and I feel the poem is more joyful.
Looking at the picture of my stairs you might forgive me for stopping and sitting half way, but I don’t. Sometimes, though, on the way back up, I do stop and stand and take one last deep breath of that air and that view – there isn’t any other view quite like it.
The Poetry Friday Roundup is live now at Teacher Dance. Head over there to step your way through more poetry goodness.
Happy hoppy Friday. Why hoppy? Because today I’m going to share a poem with a little hopping involved. Spring has well and truly arrived in my part of the world and this means that, whenever I can get away with it, my shoes are well and truly off. But there are times when one wishes, very much, that the shoes were on – and that’s what my poem is about.
The Hot Concrete Rap
My shoes are there
But I am here
They are too far
They are not near
I need those shoes
I need them now
I must fetch them
The problem’s how
To get from here
To over there
To fetch those shoes
I need to wear
Without the concrete
Hurting me
The hot concrete
That I can see
The sun is hot
The ground is too
There’s only one thing
I can do
I must hop
From here to there
To get the shoes
I need to wear
I hop on left foot
Then on right
I hop hop hop
With all my might
My shoes are here
And I am too
And now each foot
Is in its shoe.
Now, hop on over to the Poetry Friday Roundup where, coincidentally, Susan has posted a poem about a different kind of hopper.
2020 has been a quiet year for me, in terms of visiting schools, because Covid 19 led to most of my bookings being cancelled, and also to me being super busy at my day job.
However, I am determined that things will be different in 2021. I plan to get out and about and visit YOU (if you’ll have me) – in person or virtually. So, if you are keen to have me visit, drop me a line. And, if you get in quick, you might even get me for Bookweek – which, in 2021, will be August 21-27.
Speaking of Bookweek, the CBCA has announced next year’s theme. It’s a good one – drum roll please – ba da bad bad bad bad da ding:
Old Worlds, New Worlds, Other Worlds
So many possibilities in those six words.
If you’d like a little me in YOUR world during Bookweek, or any other time, hit me up. I can talk to any age group, on my latest book, Worse Things, or any of my other titles. I can run writing workshops, perform poetry, talk to parents, run teacher PD, tap dance (okay, maybe I’m making that up, but I will give almost anything a try).
Over to you! I look forward to seeing you soon.
Earlier in the year, I was walking along a city street with my family when my eyes were drawn to a flash of gold in the otherwise bare branches of a tree ahead. I knew instantly, when I realised it was a lone leaf, that I had to record it. When I looked for the best angle I realised that the windows of the building behind amplified the bare tree, making that gold really pop out. Snap, the photo was taken.
But later, when I tried to write a poem to match the photo, I drew a blank. Writing has been slow for me this year, and I just could not find the words to match the image. So, the phot0 sat on my computer and my phone, waiting.
Then, last Friday, the wonderful Carol Varsalona, asked if I had anything to contribute to her Abundant Autumn Gallery and I remembered my photo. I knew it was time! The photo came out and over the next few days, I started playing with ideas. I ended up with not one, but three possible poems for my image.
First this :
Rare treasure
Last leaf
Reflects, resplendent.
Then this:
Last leaf reflects
Saying to herself
‘I look grand in gold’.
But, the one I finally settled on was this:
Golden dancer
Pauses, anticipating
one final pirouette.
I’m hoping it captures that image I have (though didn’t get to see) of that leaf finally letting go and spiraling down to the ground.
Sometimes, a poem doesn’t come until it’s ready . You can’t force it – you have to leave it leaf it alone until it’s ready. Thanks for helping it along though, Carol.
For more Poetry Friday goodness, pop over to see the Roundup, hosted by Janice at Salt City Verse.