In a recent exchange with a writer friend – a poet – I mentioned that writing had taken a backseat. She replied that she hoped it would be back in the driver’s seat soon, so here’s to a renewed journey starting with news of my poem, Without the Boys, being published in the next Romanian-Australian Anthology Contemporary Poetry and Prose– Seasons.
Here’s the introduction to the poem. I will share the poem when it’s published:
Without the Boys – Summer 1973 – North Coast NSW. Travels from Lismore to Ballina on the bus arriving mid-morning then covering ourselves in coconut oil and lying in the sun – all day! Adolescence. Revelling in the freedom.
This will be my fourth outing in this anthology. Previous contributions are: poem, No Room (On the Wallaby Track, 2017/2018); poem, The Universal Orchestra (Street Musicians, 2022); and prose, The Dance of Puff and Little Jackie Paper (Dancing Dragons, 2023).
The Romanian/Australian anthologies of poetry and short prose are published by Mihaela Cristescu as collaborative, not-for-profit projects, with support from the NEW Writers’ Group Incorporated (NWG).
My involvement with NWG began in 2013 when I went along to my first meeting. The guest speaker for the meeting couldn’t make it and I was asked if I would fulfil that role. I fortuitously had a copy of my most recent publication, The Only Constant, (2012) so spoke about it and my writing life.
That first meeting started a wonderful relationship with the group that included winning third prize for my poem, Parramatta Morning, in ZineWest 2013 joining the committee in 2014 and the selection panel for ZineWest 2014 and editing the group’s 2015 anthology.
Although I returned to Albury in 2016, my connection with NWG has continued through the Romanian/Australian Anthologies. I will always be grateful for the role the group has played in my development as a writer.
You can read my prose piece, The Dance of Puff and Little Jackie Paper below.
The Dance of Puff and Little Jackie Paper
‘Sing it to me, Mummy. Sing me the Puff dragon and Jackie Paper song.’
I put down the storybook with its illustrations of the magical dragon, pirate ships, and the friendship of a little boy and a fiery dragon. It came with a QR code to download the song to Spotify. It’s a more upbeat version, not the Peter, Paul, and Mary lullaby I remember my father singing to me.
I start. ‘Stop, Mummy!’ Perhaps he needs the version that suggests adventure. I hear the gentle whirring of his imagination.
‘Do you want me to play it on my phone?’
‘No. What does fro-licked mean?’
‘Danced. It means danced.’ I am about to start singing again when another question comes.
‘So, Puff’s a dancing dragon?’
‘I guess he is.’ There is barely a pause before the next question. ‘So,’ his blue-grey eyes widen, heralding a flurry of questions. ‘Did he dance with Little Jackie Paper? What dance did they do? Did Puff stop breathing his fire when they danced?’
‘Remember Jackie is his friend, so he doesn’t breathe fire near him.’ I bring my son in closer. ‘What dance do you think they do?’
‘Well,’ my son pauses, bringing his finger to the corner of his mouth, ‘Puff has to be careful not to tread on Jackie’s toes. So, do they do a dance where everyone bows?’
‘They might, but what about a tango where Puff swishes his tail? Very carefully. Like the frills of a flamenco dancer’s dress.’
‘No! Puff’s a boy and Jackie’s a boy.’ He quietens. ‘I like the bowing dance.’
‘There’s another dance where Puff’s wings could be like a matador’s cape and Jackie pretends to be a bull.’ I flick my hands.
‘No! Because Jackie wouldn’t hurt his friend.’ I start the song again.
‘I know!’ my son interrupts. ‘A flying dance! Puff could put Jackie on his back.’ Winglike, he spreads out his arms. ‘Mummy, I could do the flying dance with Puff!’
Yes, my love, you could because anything is possible in the land of dancing dragons.
‘I think I want to go to sleep now, Mummy.’
I kiss my son goodnight and pull the covers up over his dragon-scaled skin. I turn out the light, knowing that I will not sleep again for fear of hearing his screams from the too-hot bath water.
Want to read more of my writing?
Copies of The Only Constant and Single Shots are still available in my shop
