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Sally Murphy, Australian author

Poetry Friday: Leaf it Alone

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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: Tiddely-Pom!

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It’s Poetry Friday, and it seems an age since I last posted. Who could have known, back in January when I promised myself I would post every Friday this year, just what a year 2020 would be – not just for me, but for the whole world.

But today as I was walking on the beach, I found myself, as I often do, reciting a favourite poem – and, of course, knew it was a sign that I should share it.

The poem? The Winnie the Pooh poem, ‘The More It Snows’. Why was I reciting it? It was not snowing (we are, finally, in the early stages of Spring in my part of the world). My toes were not cold. In short, why that poem came to my mind, I don’t know. But there I was on my beach ‘tiddely-pomming’ my way along. What better way to share it than from the voice of the bear himself:

back home, as I thought about the sunshine and the beach and the joy a poem can bring I decided to have a go at writing my own tiddely-pom poem, as an ode to my beach.

Upon the sand
(tiddely-pom)
Life is grand
(tiddely-pom)
Come take my hand
(tiddely-pom)
And frolic.
Cos you’ll soon see
(tiddely-pom)
That by the sea
(tiddely-pom)
It’s hard to be
(tiddely-pom)
Melancholic!

Do you know about the Tiddely-Pom Effect?  It’s also, more boringly known as the Snowball Effect. Basically, the more you focus on something, the bigger it gets . This can be a good thing, or a bad thing – depending of course if you are focussing on a positive or a negative. This year it’s sometimes been hard to find positives, but, today, I’m going to tiddely-pom my way through the day and look for more positives. I hope you’ll join me. and, if you’re in need of a little beach therapy, I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse of my beach from earlier this week:

Now I’m off to tiddely-Pom my way around the net to see what other poetry goodness I can find. Bridget, from Wee Words for Wee Ones is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup – and pondering all things orange.

Poetry Friday: Angry Ocean

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If you drop here in often you will know that I love my beach walks and, in the past few months, especially, I have been incredibly grateful for being able to walk everyday. On Instagram I have been sharing one minute of my beach every day for two months. Until this week.  This week a series of storms have rendered my beach inaccessible – because  so much sand has been washed away that the stairs  end well above the sand line, and the footings of those stairs are hovering mid air.

Versions of this problem occur right along the coast, but I did manage eventually to find the one point where the beach is accessible, about ten kilometres from here.  You can imagine I was already feeling sad about my own favourite beach being out of bounds for the forseeable future, but when I did get onto this other beach, I was doubly sad when I saw all the rubbish washed up by the storm – plastic of all shapes and sizes, ropes, bottles, fishing tackle, you name it. I stomped around the shore collecting what I could and ferrying it up to the bin, and came home a little cranky about people who litter and pollute our oceans.

But later I paused to wonder if there was any good in this. All I could come up with was that I was giving back. The beach has been my sustenance these past few months, and now I was returning the favour with giving the damaged beach some care.  From that, I was left with the seed of a poem.

Here’s that poem (or its first draft, anyway):

Naughty Corner

All summer

You have frolicked on my shore

Swimming splashing diving

In my nourishing waters.

You’ve felt my sand between your toes

And taken deep breaths of my essence.

In boats

On skis

And boards

You’ve glided across my depths.

 

And I have welcomed you.

 

But I have not been fond

Of your discards:

Wrappers

Straws

Rope

Baskets

Bags

Casually left

Carelessly left

Dropped

And forgotten

By all but me

(It’s hard to ignore the sick rumbling

Deep in your stomach)

Now, at last.

I’ve had enough.

All night I’ve raged and rumbled

and now your waste

Is spewed upon

Those very shores

You’ve wandered.

 

Take it back.

I don’t want it.

 

As punishment

I’ve also reclaimed  some of my sand.

If you are very good

And show you’ve learnt your lesson

I might give it back some time.

Maybe before next summer.

(Copyright Sally Murphy 2020)

 

Funny how writing a poem always makes you feel a little bit better. I do still miss my beach though – so I went looking for another poem I wrote (and recorded for Poetry Friday) a few years ago about the things the sea leaves us:

 

I look forward to more treasures – hopefully I don’t have to wait till next Summer! (Although I do know, especially now, that being unable to walk on the beach is a very first world problem!)

If you want more poetry treasure, Mary Lee is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup at A Year of Reading.

Poetry Friday: My Shadow

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Last Friday I shared some of my favourite poems from my childhood. I chose just three, but there were some really fabulous ones that didn’t make last week’s post, including one that ranked a few mentions in the comments: My Shadow, by Robert Louis Stevenson. Coincidentally, I’ve been aware in my many beach walks over the past few months, of how often I capture photos of my own shadow – either deliberately or not ( I call them shadow selfies, except, because they’re of me, they are SALfies).  So, I thought I’d collect up some of those photos and share them, with the poem. As you listen, see if you can spot the dolphins – a mother and her new calf, who I spent an hour walking with a couple of weeks ago.

And, here’s the poem, which is in the public domain:

My Shadow
by Robert Louis Stevenson
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.
He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepyhead,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
When I came to post this video and poem I realsied I shared a poem with my shadow once before when I wrote a poem to a Stingray I met on a walk
– and the ray’s response:
Today’s Poetry Friday roundup is hosted by the amazing Carol Varsalona, who is offering gorgeous poems and images from her Nature’s Nurtures  Gallery, as well as her ow not to Mother Nature. Head there now for your Poetry Friday fill.

Poetry Friday: Childhood Favourites

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It’s Poetry Friday and, in the midst of writing and talking and thinking about my new book baby, I’ve also been thinking about the poems that lead me to love poetry.  I spent a lovely afternoon rediscovering my favourite childhood collection, and decided to share a few, and why they appealed to me.

You can find each of these poems, which are in the public domain, online:

The Purple Cow, by Gellet Burgess

Eletelephony (which I am sure I mispronounce in the video) by  Laura Elizabeth Richards  and

Forgiven, by A. A. Milne

There are so many more wonderful poems in this treasured collection that I would have loved to share, and perhaps will in future. There is something warm and comforting about poems from childhood.  It isn’t just the words or the rhythms, it’s the physical sensation of the memories they invoke.

What poems do you remember loving as a child that have stayed with you?

 

And, speaking of warm and comforting, there are choc chip cookies on offer at Jama’s blog, where she’s hosting the the Poetry Friday roundup, with find links to loads more poetry goodies.

 

Poetry Friday: Definition Poems

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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.