sallymurphy.com.au

Sally Murphy, Australian author

Christmas Lunch

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Another Christmas poem from my file. Here’s to all the people who are hosting Christmas get togethers this year, and are a little stressed trying to get it right.

Lunch

It’s Christmas

and Granny and Granpa

and Nanna and Pop

and Aunty Sue

and Great Uncle Bob

and old cousin Mal

and the cousins

Timmy and Steph

Lexie, Louise and Leticia,

the twins,

Baby Belle (who sleeps all day in the pram)

and the  Smiths next door

and Mrs Harris (who has no family of her own)

and Cheryl from down the road

are all coming for dinner.

Mum’s stressed.

 

(Copyright Sally Murphy)

 

Too Many Sleeps: A Christmas Poem

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Yet another Christmas poem from my archive – this one first appeared on the Poetry Tag blog.

Too Many Sleeps

Run, days, run!

Stop dragging leaden feet

And scurry, hurry, flurry

To Christmas Day.

Hop, days, hop!

From one to next to next

Quicker, slicker, ticker

To Christmas Day.

Skip, days, skip!

With speed Santa would envy

Racing, pacing, chasing

To Christmas Day.

Glide, days, glide

Like runners on a sleigh

Dash, slash, smash

To Christmas Day.

(Copyright Sally Murphy)

 

 

Christmas Tree

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Another  Christmas  poem – today it’s a shape poem.

 

(Copyright Sally Murphy)

An Australian Christmas Song

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To add to yesterday’s end-of-school-year poem, here’s another from my files, which I’ve posted on my blog before.

 

We sing of jingle bells and snow

Of warm red suits and ho ho ho

But none of this is quite the way

When it is Christmas here below

 

Downunder in good old Aussieland

It’s time for sun and surf and sand

It’s hot, not cold, it’s summertime

And summer treats are in demand.

 

Hard work for reindeer in this heat

Hot roofs would burn their tender feet

And racing through the summer skies

Would soon see them feeling beat.

 

And as for Santa in fur and such

He’d soon feel overdressed a touch

Being snug and warm in blistering heat

Is not likely to impress him much.

 

Santa needs roos for the job

Of sleigh-pulling – an Aussie mob

To get him moving all around

From Sydney town to Iron Knob.

 

His suit, too, needs an overthrow

A new outfit, from head to toe

Some boardies, a singlet and some thongs

Would seem to be the way to go.

 

So let’s not sing of snow and ice

Instead I’ll give you this advice

Roos, utes and summer are the go

For Christmas songs that sound real nice.

 

So ripper, bonza, beudy strewth

Though you might think my song uncouth

It’s true blue and its ridgy didge

To sing a song that tells the truth.

 

(Copyright Sally Murphy)

 

An End-of-School-Year Christmas Poem

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We all know Christmas is coming, but today I’m sparing a thought for all the kids across Australia (and their teachers!) who are plodding their way through the last week(s) of the school year. Having been there many times – as a child and as a teacher, I know it can be both exciting and exhausting in equal measure.

Anyway, here is a poem from my files to hopefully make you smile.

Christmas is Coming

Christmas is coming.

We’ve stopped learning stuff at school

except how to sing Jingle Bells

while standing straight and tall

so the folks can get good piccies

at speech night;

and how to get glitter to stick

to a polystyrene ball

to hang on the Chrissie tree.

And how to make a gazillion cards

one for Mum

one for Dad

and two for the grandmas.

And how to carry homeaAll those scrapbooks

And artworks

and dead textas.

And how to concentrate

on all this

even though it’s 40 degrees

and our classroom isn’t airconditioned

and all we really think about

is that Christmas is coming.

 

( Copyright Sally Murphy)

Poetry Friday: Mail

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I’ve been thinking about mail, inspired by sending off my first poem card in the Poetry Friday Summer Poem Swap, where friends send poems to other friends via snail mail (and yes, while I’m deep in winter, it’s a summer swap, because most of the participants are in the Northern Hemisphere).

I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated by the idea of people I couldn’t see writing and sending letters to me. As a child it was mostly things like birthday cards from relatives, but once I could write, it moved on to pen pals, and letters to and from my siblings and boarding school.  The pen pals were a part of my life for many years, and I miss the regularity of those letters.

These days I rarely get letters in the mail – occasional fan mail, from a young reader, a very occasional invitation or card and, perhaps mostly of all, unexpected postcards or notes from friends. As for sending them – I too am sporadic. I try to send postcards to my grandchildren when I travel, and last year when I was away for a month, sent postcards to friends and family, which garnered some replies when I got home.

While we live in an age when we can message and receive replies within seconds or, of course, pick up the phone and talk, and social media lets us see our friends’ every move (if they choose to share), I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow the excitement of receiving a real life letter in the mail. So, while I wait for the Summer Poem Swap to work its magic, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote some time ago.

Mail

When Mum was little

people wrote letters

to each other

to say hello

or share their news

Or say happy birthday.

Letters were delivered

by the postman

days or even weeks

after they were written.

Nowadays

people send

texts or emails

that come straight away

and the postie

mostly just brings bills.

(Sally Murphy, 2015)

When was the last time you wrote a letter? I think I might send another one today – after I’ve checked out the Poetry Friday roundup, which is hosted this week by Tabatha who, coincidentally, is the hard working organiser of the poem swap.

sallymurphy.com.au