What a busy few months...

I've had my first taste of taking workshops in Queensland and met some wonderful audiences and teachers.

Here is a lovely face from Toowoomba and the wonderful library.
Hello Anne!

 I also took two weeks of poetry workshops at Sydney Boys' grammar and had the delightful experience of my verse novel 'Ratwhiskers and Me' set on the goldfields chosen as a term read for year 5 boys.

Li, the lovely librarian stacking the books ready for distribution to the boys.  Wonder what they thought of the novel?

In between travels and a massive workload of writing strategies for new workshops, I lost my father.

But was so glad I took a plane back to be with my mother and family at dad's bedside.

Here is a poem I wrote a few years ago, remembering the hard work my father did on our little poultry farm.  It was read out by one of my son's at Dad's funeral.

A Drink

On an afternoon when

the concrete path

burned our bare feet,

we hobbled along

on shade shoes,

past the limpness

of the gum trees,

past the long sizzle

of the chook pens

where dust corded

the heat into visible

corrugations.

We carried a beaker

of lime cordial

to the bottom fence

or to the sheds

where ever our father worked.

 The promise of thirst slaked and abated

sang in the tinkling music of ice,

in the slithers of cold

that didn't melt.

We presented the drink

to our father, but the blisters

of sweat needed more

than one beaker full

to begin the translation

of hot, to warm, to cool.

Thanks was all the breeze

we craved as we scampered

back the way we came.

(c) Lorraine Marwood