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Sally Murphy, Australian author

Poetry Friday: Everywhere Stairs

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It’s Poetry Friday, and I’ve been thinking about stairs. Why? Because I seem to keep stopping at the bottom of them of late. My recent treks have seen me pondering (and climbing) these stairs

on Rottnest Island, a place less known for its stairs than for its gorgeous beaches and, of course, quokkas. But the stairs form part of its military history and thus I climbed them as part of a tour.

Closer to home, I often climb these stairs

when I leave my beach – and often pause to snap them, even though I know it isn’t the first time, and won’t be the last. They are my favourite stairs because of their location, but I must confess to preferring going down than going up.

I also, recently, came across these stairs on my morning walk closer near the Swan River in Perth. From the bottom I called them rainbow stairs, but wondered whether someone had just spilled paint down them.

From the top, however,  I could see some deliberateness, including the yellow heart at the bottom.


Lastly, at my dayjob I work on the fourth floor, and must confess that I take the lift far too often, but this week have challenged myself to climb the stairs at least once per day. It’s hard work, but I’m hoping it will get easier. Maybe when I love the stairs more there will be a photo, but for now, you’ll just have to take my word.

So, with all these stairs featuring in my thoughts, it seemed logical to attempt a poem about them. Here it is.

Everywhere Stairs

Stairs
They’re everywhere
Beckoning me up
Calling me down
Obstacle
Challenge
Or invitation
Depending on mood
Or location.
I do like stairs
But sometimes
When I’m halfway up
I wish I’d stayed down
Or just taken the lift.

(Poem copyright Sally Murphy, 2020)

 

Rebecca at Sloth Reads is hosting this week’s Poetry Friday roundup. So step over there, or step right up, and check out what other poetry goodness there is to see this week.

Poetry Friday: First Swim

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It’s Friday which means it’s Poetry Friday.  The weather here has been summerish for weeks, even though Summer isn’t officially here till Sunday.  I love the warm, especially since it gives me an excuse to swim- beach or pool, doesn’t matter, I just love to swim.   But there is nothing like that very first outdoor swim for the season and this got me thinking about how, as a child, I would be so excited when the town swimming pool would finally open for the  season.  The anticipation of that first swim – and the joy of finally jumping in!   Here’s a little poem I wrote a while back to celebrate that memory – and, because I don’t have a photo to go with it, here’s one of my favourite photos of something a little bigger than me having a splash.

 

First Swim     

This whale tail is completely unrelated to all of my books, but it makes me smile.

Summer’s here

and I rejoice

to see the OPEN  sign outside the pool.

Blue water beckons

and once I’ve paid

I dump my towel and rush

to greet my old friend.

SPLASH!

Bliss bubbles and bibbles

as I plunge into icy depths.

 

(Poem and photo  copyright Sally Murphy)

The Poetry Friday roundup today is hosted by  Bridget. Pop by, check out the round up and be sure to wish Bridget a Happy Thanksgiving – she’s far from home as she celebrates.

 

 

 

Poetry Friday: A Lucky Home

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I am so lucky to be part of the Poetry Friday community – poets and poetry lovers from all around the world who post poetry goodness especially on Fridays. I am especially lucky that there are not rules in this community about the regularity of  postings. Every week since my return from Hanoi I  promised myself  this would be the week I finally posted something. But life has been busy – a wedding (my son’s), a new baby (different son), Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, swimming training. And that’s just the personal stuff. Professionally, I have been busy teaching online, and preparing for a return to oncampus teaching in February, as well as preparing for a new book baby out February 1, running picturebook workshops, and trying to work on the things I drafted in Hanoi.  Phew.

This week, however, I have been espousing the wonders of poetry to my students (future teachers), so it seemed to be the week that I HAD to make the extra effort to get on here and post for Poetry Friday.  Then Friday rolled around and I still hadn’t written anything new and really didn’t know what I would post. Lucky for me, when I went out to water my plants this morning, I found the very inspiration I needed. There, nestled in the branches of my jade plant, was a wasp nest. I grabbed my camera, and took some snaps, and almost instantly had an idea – based on the very reason the jade bush is on my front verandah.  It’s supposed to be lucky!

So, here you have it – a little bit rough , because it’s hot off the press – my first Poetry Friday poem for 2019.

And, because the orange font is a little hard to read, here is the text version:

 

A Lucky Home

Ancient wisdom says

If you plant jade bushes

at your front door

and your back door

good luck will come your way.

But if you are a wasp

and you fix your home

right in the midst

of jadey treasure

all your doors

and all your windows

even your attic

and basement

have lucky views.

And if that jade bush

is on my front porch

you are doubly in luck

as I will let you stay.

(Poem and Image Copyright Sally Murphy 2019)

Now, lucky for me, I get to go and see what my fellow Poetry Fridayers have been up to. You can too, by starting at the round up on Tricia’s Blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect. Trica’s post is a lovely tribute to Mary Oliver, who will be sadly missed by poetry lovers everywhere.

Poetry Friday: Footpaths

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Since arriving in Hanoi I have spent a lot of time walking. Sure, there are lots of other ways to get around, but where possible (in the heat and depending on distance)  I like to walk, because then I get to see and hear and experience so much more.  But walking around a busy bustling city is not always easy. Many streets have no footpaths and, when they do, often the footpaths are used for anything but walking.  So often the walking has to be on the road, which can be perilous. But hey, I like an adventure!

 

Here is a glimpse at some of the things happening on Hanoi’s footpaths:

 

 

And, of course, my thoughts on all these sights  spurned a poem so that I had to hurry home from one of my walks to draft a poem about Hanoian footpaths.

Footpaths

Footpaths are for

cars and motorbikes

and more motorbikes

and even more motorbikes;

bicycles;

selling stuff

spread out on cloths on the ground

or piled high on stalls;

little stools;

food stalls

bia stalls

tea stalls;

dogs

and cats

and chickens;

rubbish;

sitting on

sleeping on

exercising on;

trees;

signs;

more motorbikes;

and

very

very

occasionally

walking on.

 

(Poem copyright Sally Murphy, 2018)

In spite of the cluttered paths, I’m certainly clocking up some steps on my step counter. In fact, I’m off now for another walk! But later I’ll be stepping out around the blogosphere reading the other Poetry Friday posts. You too can see this week’s roundup at The Poem Farm.

 

 

PS. This post, and my visit to Hanoi, are made possible by the amazing Asialink Arts Program, and with the funding support of the the Western Australian Government through the  Department of Local Government, Sport and Cultural Industries.

Poetry Friday: Rug Hug

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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. 

Poetry Friday: The Apostrophiser

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Welcome to Poetry Friday. I’ve had a busy week this week, including a lovely visit to Helena College in Darlington, my first school visit for the term. The year ones and twos were very curious when I told them I was officially Doctor Murphy, and amused when I told them I’m a Doctor of Poetry  (weeeeell, it’s complicated to explain that I’m technically a Doctor of Philosophy, but that my topic was children’s poetry).  The rest of the week I’ve been busy with my university job and also preparing for my upcoming trip to Vietnam.

In all this busyness, I wasn’t quite sure what I would share for Poetry Friday. But, as often happens, a poem idea presented itself to me, this time as I muttered to myself about yet another misplaced apostrophe on a sign I read. As I muttered and grumbled to myself – and wished I could reach the sign to correct it – I realised that there was a poem just waiting to be written. So, instead of defacing the sign, I came home and drafted this little offering. I do feel better now, but can’t vow not to keep apostrophising (or de-apostrophising) when the need arises.

Image from clipart-library.com

The Apostrophiser  

She could never ever stand to see

A misplaced, misused apostrophe.

Hanging somewhere that it shouldn’t

Trying to do that which it couldn’t

 

To see this item thus abused

By a punctuator so confused

Left her feeling rather sad

Or, oftentimes, a little mad

 

Her editing hand would start to itch

An overwhelming symptom which

Would see her reaching for a pen

And correcting errors again and again

 

On pamphlets, posters, leaflets, signs

Apostrophes are everywhere!

Anything with errors in its lines

In menus, notes home, emails, books

Not caring if she garnered looks

 

From embarrassed kids, or passers by

Or angry owners who wondered why

She couldn’t let the errors rest

Instead of fixing them with zest

 

But her red pen was always ready

Her apostrophising hand  ever steady

Ridding the world, one at a time

Of dastardly apostrophe crime.

 

(Copyright Sally Murphy, 2018)

 

Today’s Poetry Friday roundup is at Reading to the Core, where you will find links to lots of other poetry goodness.

Enjoy!