Here’s one for the kids – nothing to do with being a TCK, but just ‘cos it’s fun and I feel like posting it!
Monster-Man
Last night, when I went to bed,
I really did try
to tell my Dad the awful truth –
I hoped he wouldn’t cry.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘A monster lives
underneath my bed!’
‘Oh!’ he said, and flicked [...]
‘I’m a published writer!’ The shriek echoes through our house.
No, I haven’t got a book contract with Penguin or Knopf Doubleday – or anyone else for that matter. I am very excited because my blog article ‘I don’t knit!‘ (re-titled ‘Crochet by any other name‘), has been published in Passionate Hookers, a magazine-book put out [...]
Memories, you say? Well, I have plenty. But they are mixed up and out of focus.
Besides, they aren’t all for public viewing. Like the one of the verandah bordered by leafy trees where the teachers used to gossip. This was the scene of a childhood misdemeanor, and one of the few times my father punished [...]
Minette Marin has written an excellent article on creative writers and political commentary.
Continue reading about Perspectives: Can creative writers comment astutely on politics?
Last Monday I was special
fine hair
fair skin
I wished they wouldn’t touch, stare
my mother made beautiful clothes
with patterns from overseas.
That wasn’t home.
Today I am not special
plain hair
mottled skin
now I wish they’d look in my eyes
my mother makes outmoded clothes
with patterns ten years old.
Where is home?
© 2008 S D Haydon
This poem is about cultural transition, re-entry, [...]
Continue reading about Special (a poem about cultural transition)
How reliable are memories?
Africa
empty sky
dun earth
plain dwellings
few chairs
broken cars
hot sun
dusty cities
picked pockets
Africa
timeless space
rolling plains
shining faces
cheerful voices
jewel clothes
open arms
fragrant stew
fading memories
© 2008 S D Haydon
Acknowledgment is made of the assistance received as an Adelaide Centre for the Arts TAFE SA student in developing this poem.
How words can mean different things in different places. This is from my African childhood.
