Another Christmas poem – today it’s a shape poem.
An Australian Christmas Song
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
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
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.
Poetry Friday: You Should Know
I am so lucky to have just returned from a visit to the Pilbara region, in the North of Western Australia where, alongside three other creatives, and staff from FORM, I was part of the Scribblers on the Road Festival.
We visited the towns of Port Hedland, Marble Bar and Newman, as well as remote community schools, hoping to spread a love of creativity, and to empower young people to tell their own stories through writing, art and storytelling. It was an amazing journey – over some verrrrrry bumpy roads and through the most stunning red dirt scenery imaginable. You can see some of the things we saw and did in this little video (look out for the bumpy road clip)
All the scenery and the great company on the trip was of course very special, but the highlight was meeting young people willing to have us visit their communities. Even though we were there to share our knowledge, we were also learning from the people we met. I learnt a lot about giving and receiving, about the stories of the children we worked with, about languages other than English, and so much more. But perhaps one of my favourite lessons was from a girl called Matilda, in Marble Bar, who asked me, after I’d run a poetry workshop, why I talked so much.
I do talk A LOT (I have ADHD) but I also value listening, and Matilda’s question led me to ask one of my own. ‘I’m going to listen to you right now,’ I said. ‘What do you want me to know about you?’ Matilda thought about this and, with some help from her friends, started to tell me about the things she likes doing. I sat and listened, but also started writing and, when Matilda had finished, I told her she’d just made up a poem of her own – and she had. I’d simply written it down as she spoke.
Later, I added a title and typed it up and, with now, with Matilda’s permission here it is:
You Should Know That
Salted plum lollies,
playing on my phone,
going swimming
or down to the river,
walking around
annoying people
playing basketball
going to the pool
or driving really fast
are all
much
much
much
better than school!
By Matilda and Sally
Thank you Matilda for reminding me of the importance of being quiet long enough to hear what is important to the people you meet, and for being willing to let me share your poem with the world.
I am home now in the South West, feeling a little cold 9winter is here! but also with lifelong memories of the amazing Pilbara to keep me warm. And, because it is now Friday, I am sharing this post with the Poetry Friday community – a group of poets and poetry lovers from all over the world who share poetry every Friday. If you want to check it out, Denise is sharing a round up.
Poetry Friday: Crisscrossed Skies
It’s Poetry Friday and I am home, after a wonderful month of travel, with a very full heart and three very full notebooks.
One of the wonderful experiences I had was a writing retreat in the South of France. It still feels luxurious just to say that! I spent six days at a French farmhouse (aptly called the French Houseparty) near Carcassonne, with a brilliant group of fellow writers, and under the tutelage of poet Anne Caldwell.
One post can’t do justice to all I learnt – about writing, and about life, with this wonderful group in this equally wonderful location. But, since it’s Poetry Friday, I thought I’d share two poems I wrote in one of the sessions. Anne had us focussing on all five senses as we took in our surroundings. Firstly, as we stood on the edge of a field of poppies. There was so much to take in, but I was especially drawn to keep looking up – the sky was crisscrossed with the vapor trails of seemingly dozens of planes, and I had to snap pictures, even while I was busily trying to focus on the exercise. 
I’ve seen vapour trails before – many, many times – but never as, on this day, so many. In fact, over the course of the morning, I lost count of how many planes I actually saw flying over adding to the pattern. It was magical. So, no surprise that when it cam time to write, that the trails made it into my first poem.
Blue Sky Day
Bumbling bee
dipping in and out
of red pockets of pleasure
hums a tale of spring.
Tottering tractor
rolls across
brown furrows
ensuring
summer’s sunflowers
are safe.
Winsome windmill
stands still
ready
for Autumn’s toil.
Crisscrossed sky
shows the path taken
by winter-weary travellers
following the sun.
Sally Murphy, 2024
The second exercise we did honed in even more on the senses, as we led each other, one with eyes closed, around the garden, and then stopped and asked our partner to tell us what they could see, hear, feel, smell and taste. I found myself saying, with surprise, ‘I can taste Spring!’ But, when I sat down to write, I was also still obsessed with those vapor trails. This is what I came up with:
Taste It
White trails
crisscross
otherwise perfect-blue sky
showing the paths of
winter-weary travellers
seeking spring.
Down below
I know
they will find it here.
The sun caressing my cheek
my legs
my soul.
The resiny pines
singing with the wind
the dove crooning –
they all know it too.
I can taste spring.
Sally Murphy, 2024
I am, as I said, home now in Australia, and the wintry weather has hit with a vengeance. It is cold and wet. But every time I think of France, I can still taste Spring!
And in other tasty news, when I got home, my copy of a brand new anthology was in the post. I’ll post more about this soon – but today’s Poetry Friday host, Janice, is not only sharing some glimpses, but has included one of the poems I have in the book. So head over there to learn about the anthology, and then you can see what other poetry Friday goodness is on offer.
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