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Sally Murphy, Australian author

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Poetry Friday: Under the Sea

February 19, 2021 by Sally 17 Comments

This week I was lucky enough to have a little holiday from work – and from the world, it seemed.  I headed to Rottnest Island (which in the local Noongyar language is called Wadjemup), and spent two days snorkelling, riding a bike and relaxing.  I especially wanted to snorkel at a place called Parker Point, on the other side of the island, and hired a bike specially. Last year I cheated and caught the tourist bus.

I got up super early and was the first one in the water. It was so worth it!  I’ve tried to write about it, although the poem is still a draft. And, if you have time, I have cobbled together a video from my gopro footage.  If I had more time I would have edited it better, but hopefully you’ll get a sense of the magic.

 

Wadjemup, Tuesday Morning

Six a.m

and holidaymakers

sleep still

in cottages

languidly enjoying

their break from reality.

But I

am far from my cottage

urging my bike

up hills much steeper than they appeared

from the windows of

the air conditioned bus.

At Parker Point

I stop

feeling sheepish

chaining the bike

when there’s no one else in sight

descend the stairs

and prepare

snorkels

flippers

rashie.

At the edge of the water

I pause

wondering at my sanity

to be here alone

so early.

Too late now

I commit

lunging forward inelegantly

over seagrass

darkly stirring

just inches from my face.

Within metres

I spot my first fish

and I feel myself

surrender

to the lure of the water

and its myriad treasures.

Later

as I float

in a school of silver

that seems to never end

I wonder, briefly,

if those cottage beds

are working the same magic

on those who’ve stayed abed.

(Poem Copyright Sally Murphy,2021)

 

Ruth is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup. If you drop by there, you might be brave enough to add a fact for the group poem.

Poetry Friday: Everywhere Stairs

March 5, 2020 by Sally

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: Graffiti?

January 17, 2020 by Sally

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.

Sage Cookson’s Rottnest Ramble

July 25, 2016 by Sally

I’m lucky enough to be spending a couple of days on Rottnest Island, on a writing retreat with fellow authors and illustrators. This morning I went for a long walk exploring the island – and Sage Cookson came with me.

Copyright Sally Murphy © 2021