sallymurphy.com.au

Sally Murphy, Australian author

Poetry Friday: A Look Back at Summer’s End

by

It’s Poetry Friday where I join with fellow poetry lovers to celebrate all things poetry. This week, Carol has challenged Poetry Fridayers to find an end-of-summer photo and use it as the inspiration for a poem.

In my part of the world it is not the end of summer. In fact, it is Spring here, and the first hints of Summer are starting to show.  But I love a challenge, so I looked back at the photos I took at the end of the Australian summer, in March.  Additionally, since I am very much a Summer person, and feel a little sad when Summer ends, I thought it would be good to only look for moments of joy.  Turns out, this wasn’t so hard.

Firstly, every year towards the end of Summer, swans visit  the lake in my street. I’m told that they drop in because they are flying from somewhere South of here, to their breeding grounds North of here. Not all stop by – but, when they do, they are usually there for a while.  I love watching them, and they always make for good photo opportunities.  So, here’s my first effort at Carol’s challenge:

When friends drop by

it’s a good time

for a toast.

Bottoms up!

(Poem and photo copyright Sally Murphy, 2023)

Some other friends who visited me in March this year were some kookaburras. I often hear and see kookas around here, but I had never had them so obligingly sit on my (slightly scruffy looking) fence. It was a moment of awe, and of joy.

Summer may be over

but the laughter isn’t.

(Sally Murphy, 2023).

And then there’s George. If you follow me on Instagram you may be very familiar with George (who also has his own Instagram account).  He doesn’t care less about what season it  is, as long as he gets a walk,  and his favourite walk is on the beach –  though to be more accurate it’s a frolic rather than a walk. His more sedate owner does the walking.  Here’s my third effort:

Summer might be over

but that’s okay.

the beach is still here

and so am I

reflecting

on life’s wonders

as I walk each day.

(Poem and photo copyright Sally Murphy, 2023).

All of this reflecting on the end of Summer has been good for me, but I have to confess I am still looking forward to the coming of the new  Summer, and the chance to swim and snorkel and other Summertime pursuits. So I am cheating a little on this challenge and sharing a photo taken just this week. My leucospermum is flowering and, as each little pincushion starts to open, my smile grows.  I love the way my pool fence intrudes into this photo, framing the flower, but also reminding me that soon the pool water will be warm enough for a dip.

Summer is coming!

Golden orbs

herald changing season

filling me with joy!

(poem and photo copyright Sally Murphy, 2023)

Thanks so much Carol for the challenge, which made me smile at memories, and moments to come. Speaking of which, I am off to look at the Poetry Friday roundup, to see what my fellow Poetry Fridayers have to offer on this lovely day.  You are welcome to follow along.

Poetry Friday: Leaf it Alone

by

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.

 

 

 

Poetry Friday: Definition Poems

by

Welcome to Poetry Friday. What a week this past week has been!  I have to admit that I was very worried about releasing a new book in the midst of this terrible pandemic. Why, I thought, would anyone be interested in my little book in the midst of such awful stuff happening. But the love I’ve felt – for my book, and for me, too – has really made me remember that people need good stuff to celebrate in the midst of bad times just as much as they in the midst of good times, or even in-between times. So thank you for your well wishes, your support, and best of all your enjoyment of my videos and ramblings and sharings.

Last week, as part of my release day post, I shared a poem which I term a ‘definition poem’. It isn’t an existing form – just something I played with as I wrote Worse Things. Here’s the one I shared:

BROKEN

[bro*ken] (adj)

Ruptured

torn

fragmented.

No longer whole

or functioning.

In need of repair.

(Copyright Sally Murphy, 2020)

And here’s another:

 

BELONG

[be*long](Verb)

To be part of

Appropriately placed

A piece of the whole.

To fit in

Match up

Meet up.

Appertain

Associate

Apply.

To be apt.

(Copyright Sally Murphy, 2020)

 

If you want to see what these look like in the book (and don’t have a copy at hand) you can see the spreads in this video, which was put together for the Walker Books website. Broken appears at 0.47 and  Belong at 1.24.

 

I had a lot of fun writing these definition poems. First I identified key words or themes that I was exploring at different points of the book. Then I got out my dictionaries and thesauruses and looked at the definitions and similes. Then I simply played with the words and phrases, perhaps adding new phrases,  until I had a poem that I felt both defined the word and also connected with what was happening in the text.

Since I finished writing Worse Things I haven’t played with the form again, but this week I thought I might give it another go, inspired by  things seen on my daily beach walks. First there’s this one, inspired not just by the gorgeous Flo, but by all the pups I watch on my walks (including the recently departed Skipper, who is sadly missed).

Here’s what I came up with.

DOG

[dog] (noun)

Mutt

Pup

Pooch.

Tale-wagger

Stick chaser

Guide

Guard

Shadow

Man’s best friend

 

[Edited to add: yes, I do know dogs’ tails are spelled that way. The misspelling is a deliberate play on words!]

Beach

[beech] (noun)

Sandy shore

Oceanfront

Margin

Between sea and land

Coastline

Retreat

Embodiment of peace.

 

You might be able to pick the couple of lines that did not come from either dictionary or thesaurus. I especially found the definitions for beach a little inadequate for just how much it means to me.

So, over to you. I’d love to see if you have a word you’d like to define poetically?  I like to think it’s a fairly simple challenge,because the dictionary and thesaurus are a wonderful starting point for finding lots of fodder.

Not up for the challenge? That’s okay. There’s all sorts of other poetry goodness on offer around the interweb, courtesy of my Poetry Friday friends. You’ll find the roundup over on Michelle’s blog, Today’s Little Ditty. See you there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry Friday: Graffiti?

by

It’s Friday, which means it’s Poetry Friday and, once this post is written, I will have managed to post every week this year! Of course I do realise it’s only week 3, but still a good sign that I’m going to do better this year).

First up, thanks to everyone who visited last week, when I hosted the weekly round up, and for all the lovely comments and messages of support for Australia. Like many Australians, I am blown away by the generosity coming from around the world –  not just in the form of donations, but also messages of solidarity and hope as well as so many statements urging leaders to wake up and take more drastic action to prevent climate change and start saving our planet.

Onto the poetry. This week I set the goal to write something – anything – every day, preferably before heading out the door to my dayjob. And I managed to write something everyday.  More pleasing, most of it was poetry, including progress on a verse novel I started before Christmas. Early days, but it’s just lovely to be creating.

On Monday, on my early morning walk, I spotted some words carved into the footpath – obviously done while the concrete was still wet. I snapped a photo and walked home pondering what would lead to someone carving those words there. More often you see initials, or paw prints or – and I love spotting these – the prints of leaves that have fallen onto the setting concrete.  I was so taken by these words that I didn’t even notice some spelling quirks (which is most unlike this teacher!).

So, when I sat down after breakfast to write,  it didn’t surprise me that my thoughts went back to that footpath. I wanted to explore not the meaning of the words, but the intention of the scribe.  Here’s what I came up with:

The poem reads:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Scribe

Wet concrete

Opportunity knocks

Chance to make my mark.

A footprint?

Too sticky.

A tag?

Don’t have one.

My name?

Asking for trouble.

Something to make people wonder?

I pause.

I breathe.

Grab a stick

And write.

(Copyright Sally Murphy, 2020)

It was only later that I remembered I had written on a similar topic before and went searching for those poems, first drafted on a visit to Rottnest Island (off the WA coast and home to the world-famous quokkas). I was there on a retreat with SCBWI pals, and on a sketch and scribble we stopped under this tree, which, from memory, may have been a young Moreton Bay Fig. I was drawn to the many names carved into the trunk and initially a bit cross that people would do this to a tree. That’s where this poem came from:

The poem reads:

The Name Tree

You are a thing of beauty

stretching grey-brown limbs skywards.

A testament to your will

to stand

against stiff sea-breezes

and salty spray.

But I don’t get why your trunk

must be scarred

by careless humans

wanting to leave a sign

that they were once here:

Ron + Therese

Sue

Hadly, Tony and

KC

all were here.

But now they’re not

and all that’s left of them

is their marks

scratched into your bark.

(Poem copyright Sally Murphy)

After I’d written that I had a little longer to sit and think. At the time I was working on a collection of poetry with paired poems, each pair looking at the same topic from differing perspectives. So I started to wonder what the other perspective was here. And I started to think about why we have this urge to  leave our mark. Tony’s name was the most prominent, and I started to think of him as a small boy wanting to make a big mark, in the hope those who read it would imagine him as perhaps bigger, more accomplished than he saw himself. This was the result:

 

The poem reads:

The Tony Tree

I’m nobody

from nowhere special

no chance

that anyone will remember me

for anything in particular.

But perhaps

if I carve my name

in this trunk

then in years to come

someone will read it

and know I was here.

They will wonder

who Tony was

and where he was from

and what he was good at

and maybe

they’ll remember

the me I could have been.

(Poem copyright Sally Murphy)

 

On another walk on Rottnest, this time alone, I came across some rocks on the shore where, again, people had been carving their names. I sat on one of these rocks and just breathed in the amazing view, but I couldn’t help but again wonder about the need to leave a mark. I had no urge, but my younger self probably would have, and I wondered what could justify needing to carve like that. What would someone crave that would really speak to future visitors? This is what I wrote:

The poem reads:

Grafitti

Why carve your name

on a rock

on an isolated beach,

leaving nature scarred for all days?

Will anyone,

stopping to view the scene,

care that

Tammy woz here

or that Max

found a stick

just right to gouge his name?

Will they want

to know who Lizzy was

and, if they do,

will they ever

learn the truth?

But, still,

I have the urge to carve

and so I do,

leaving my words for all to see:

Contemplate, while you can.

(Poem copyright Sally Murphy)

I imagined some philosopher, wanting people to use those rocks to seize a few moments for quiet contemplation, but can also see now that that ‘while you can’ could also be a bit of a warning – ie contemplate this natural beauty while it’s still here.  And it’s only while I write this post that I wonder if my imagined philosopher was also the person who, years later, left those words in the path for me to see?

So I am poeming  once more – with new poems and reconnecting with older ones. – and this is good. Just in time, too, because this week I am having an ‘In Conversation’ with my amazing poet friend Rebecca Newman at Paperbird Bookshop in Fremantle. If you are nearby, drop by to hear us chat all things children’s poetry (or as much as we can fit into one session!). It’s a free event, to celebrate the end of Rebecca’s residency at Paperbird. You can book here.  And, if you are across the country or across the world, I’ll share some highlights next Poetry Friday.

Phew. What a long post. I’m sure you are itching to see what other poetry goodness has popped up around the blogosphere today. the roundup is over at Reading  to the Core, thanks to Catherine who is hosting this week.

Poetry Friday: Photo Bomb

by

It’s Poetry Friday and this week Christie has issued a challenge for Poetry Friday: she has asked Poetry Fridayers to share a bird poem.

I instantly knew just what I wanted to write about. I had a perfect photo of a bird, which I have shared here on my blog previously. Except it was never supposed to be a picture of a bird. It was supposed to be a picture of a lighthouse. But, in a moment of perfection I could never have planned, just as I snapped the photo, a seagull ducked (seagulled?) in front of my camera and ‘click’ I took the shot – and I had a photo which will always be one of my favourites.

With all that in mind, knowing what to write about to go with the photo was very easy. I give you:  Photo Bomb.

 

Thanks to Christie for hosting this week’s roundup at Wondering and Wondering. Head there now to see lots more poetry, birdy goodness.

 

 

Poetry Friday: Rug Hug

by

Some weeks it takes me ages to come up with a Poetry Friday post. Other times it’s easy. This week was one of those.

Last Friday, as I read and commented on  fellow Poetry Friday-er Kimberley Hutmacher‘s  poem about her granddaughter’s Blanket Buddy (you can read her poem here), the opening line of my own rhyme about my own blanket came to me. See, although I am maybe too old (what? never!) to carry a blanky around me, I DO have a ruggy, which I make good use of cold days to snuggle on my recliner. So, I just had to write about it. Then, as I wondered how to get a good photo of my rug to go with my words, I remembered that only a week before I had snapped a photo of Murphpup who, very naughtily, had borrowed my rug for a hug of his own.  Perfect!

Here’s the result.

 

The guilty look on his face is because he was caught – but how could I growl at a (slightly scruffy but nevertheless cute) face like that? And its is very wintry here at the moment.

This week’s Poetry Friday roundup is hosted by Mary-Lee at A Year of Reading. I’m snuggled up under my rug, ready to explore lots of poetic goodness. 

sallymurphy.com.au