Hope for the cold-hearted

It's winter in Melbourne - finally, swiftly - from the hottest July day to the coldest in one swift sweep. But that can only men one thing, Spring is close at hand (well maybe a few months away, but we all know how time flies).

So over the past weeks, with the hope that comes when thinking about the inevitable seasonal return, I have been thinking of growth, change and the joy of the ground bursting with colour.

Yesterday afternoon I went shopping, and I could not help but notice everyone seemed to be carrying bunches of flowers. They were coming out of South Melbourne market, then Woolworths, and on the way home I noticed people getting off trams and sitting in cafes all with arms full of colour.

I started to wonder if it was Mother's Day, or that maybe Kate had finally had her baby, or something.

I can't have flowers in my house. As soon as I have brought them home and arranged them nicely, Leo starts attacking them. Even if I put them up really high he will find them. He's an amazing little cat to watch with flowers, he goes troppo.It starts slowly- with a sniff or two, then a rub, then one paw comes out and 'POW',  a flower is shaken, another hit and it's usually well on the way to disintegration. It's usually at this point that I will notice what he is up to and remove the flowers to the back room and close the door (effectively removing the reason for having flowers in the first place).

One night recently after I had a friend over for dinner I made the mistake of some lovely tulips on the coffee table. The next morning I looked over at the corner of the sitting room to see petals dotted all over the furniture and floor, headless stems still upright in the vase - I remembered Morticia Addams, she would have felt right at home.

It's funny, but Leo doesn't seem to attack flowers that are still growing. So now as I wait for the bulbs in my front garden to start blooming so I can take delight every time I leave and re-enter the house.

So here's a flower-inspired poem:

A Poem for Celebrating Winter

Flower sales are up this month,
I predict a rise in shares
The market gardeners will delight
Our houses colourful and bright
And if anyone despairs
A bunch will ease their cares.

So get some now while there's still time
They can't last long, when the warm sun shines
These winter flowers that brave the cold
Will not survive as summer unfolds
So don't wish yet for sunny days
There's beauty now to find.

© Julie Farthing 2013

What do you call a writer who doesn't write?

OK so it is nearly nine months since I finished full time work  on 21 September 2012. I didn't start to write straight away, because I was exhausted. I was organising a seminar, so October came and went. In early November I intended to take advantage of the long weekend to sort out the stuff that was to become the raw materials for my writing projects - old, incomplete drafts of stories, titles that presented themselves as 'writing ideas', reference materials and lines of inquiry that lay, spaghetti-like, boiled but bland, a gluggy congealed mess inside my head.

On Day 1 of that weekend I was called to Sydney as Dad was very frail. Three weeks later I was there again, this time with my husband and daughters, for Dad's funeral. Less than two weeks after that, on my youngest daughter's birthday, I ordered my husband out of the house, unable to deal any longer with his alchoholism. My eldest daughter's birthday, then Christmas. In early January, David went into rehab for a month. I was there to support him. He did well - the 'star pupil'. He moved into the unit on the Mornington Peninsula - removing the opportunity for me to escape there when I needed peace and quiet to write.

The excuses have built, layer upon layer as the year progressed - a new project involving a series of events to organise, Ella (28)'s wedding, Kat  (26) sorting out her life again, going back to the US for summer camp in a new, leadership role, and deciding that next year she will (finally) go to uni to get her degree, and will therefore be living with me for another 3 years or so (which I am happy to be party to, already craving company).

It is mid-June and the project is coming to an end, and I have a trip booked for September. Yes I need and deserve it, and yes it will interfere with my writing plans.

So I have twelve months of excuses for not making any real progress in my writing career.

I still like to think of myself as a writer. In a way I never stop writing - emails, reports, and I must have written a million break-up songs during January, and who knows, one day they (the songs, not the reports) might be sung by someone who sounds, looks and acts like Taylor Swift (I hope they make as much money as she does!). You'll find one at the end of this blog.

At the moment, I feel like anything but a writer. I have lost the mindset, my creativity is just about non-existent and along with that I feel l like I have lost my soul. But, as my personal trainer would say, there is only one way to get back the writing fitness I require to progress - i.e. DO IT!

I realise that, despite my procrastination I am not despairing at the very long list of writing projects that lay before me and am actually quite excited about the prospect of becoming a 'real' writer (which may be interpreted as 'I have no other income support so it better bloody work!'), but also a little bit frightened - of airing the dirty laundry; of the inevitable criticism that comes from being published; and yes, of success as well. I am sure you other writers out  there will understand.

But a writer must write, and not just a blog. Write I will Luke - may the force be with me.

Anyway, I promised a break-up song, and even though I have moved past this point, I still remember the power behind the words:

You treated me like a piece of shit

When challenged, all you did was hit.

You forced me to drink your cup of lies

It was never you who apologised.

I stayed with you, dying inside

Trying to survive but victimised

Not seeing that you were already dead

The funeral march was playing inside my head.

You’re changing now and mending your ways

But it’s too little too late, we’re past the days

When I would have forgiven, would have stayed true

Our love has died, my hope has too.

My only chance is to move away

And make my way to a brand new day

Where I can reclaim who I used to be

You’re not on the chart, you’re history.

I plan to spend the rest of my life

Making up for the trouble, toil and strife

And try not to think of the time I wasted

Waiting for us to be reinstated.

©January 6, 2013

Inspirational poems

I am not a huge fan of inspirational poems as a rule. They often lack something, or trivialise life. So it is odd that I have just written what I would classify as an inspirational poem.

Of course, there are some great inspirational poems. 'If' by Rudyard Kipling is one of the most notable, of course.I have also included Robert Frost's 'The Road not Taken' in this blog a while back. One of my all-time favourites is by Dr. Seuss (did you know he was a career counsellor! - so I am not the first career counsellor-poet, oh well) - do you know which one I am talking about?

'Oh, the Places You'll Go' is perhaps the ultimate career counsellor's poem. I gave my eldest daughter a copy when she graduated from secondary school, and she has gone many places, physically and metaphorically. Dr. Seuss would be proud of her. I didn't give my second daughter a copy because I knew she wouldn't read it, but I encouraged her nonetheless and she has already been to 28 countries (and she just turned 26!).

So I should have been finishing one of the many books I want to have ready for publishing, but instead I was inspired to write this poem through a conversation with a friend. I wrote it quickly - which I am coming to think is the best way to write a poem. My friend has had a tough time lately and is not coping too well just at the moment, so this one is for you Deidre. I used to worry about rushing off a poem in an hour or so, but was delighted to find out that John Keats, another of my poet-heroes, said 'Let a poem come easily, or let it come not at all' (I think I have said this before!!)

So here is the poem. It is a tribute to my muse and mentor who speaks to me from the grave - thank you Dr Seuss! I hope it inspires someone - if it inspires you, let me know!

Things to do when you are feeling blue

You’re stuck in a haze and your mind’s in a daze

You’re feeling quite blue and you don’t know what to do

There’s no future in store, no direction that’s sure

That’s OK - now’s the time to find you – let’s explore.

There’s a thousand things that you can do if you try

But you don’t have the get up and go. Why oh why

Are you still sitting there in your funk, it’s no lie

That it all starts with you starting something. So fly

In your mind to a wonderful place

Where the world’s full of sunshine and roses and grace

Where you do what you like and you like what you do

Yes you can! It’s all there and waiting for you

To get firm, tell yourself to get out of your funk

Cleanse your mind from that meaningless negative junk.

But you can’t do it here, looking at the four walls,

There’s a step you must take, NOW, and acknowledge the calls

Of the things you can do to stop feeling so blue!

Take a walk in the park, that’s the least you can do.

Have some music to brighten each step on the way

Take a book or just stay there and watch the kids play.

If you wish you can take a friend’s dog, that’s all good

Throw a stick so he runs and comes back with the wood.

You’ll feel better with air in your lungs, you’ll soon find

That you’re wondering what to do next  - that’s no grind!

Take a look up the road, there’s some things you can do

They stare you in the face, they’re just waiting for you.

There’s a place where old people just sit, sit, sit, sit!

You could read them a story, or the news, for a bit.

Is it culture you need? View some art, have a feed

Try a library for books that you’ve wanted to read

But never had time, (but you do have right now)

Or a movie that’s new, or a live band or show.

Do you want to indulge? Have afternoon tea

Or get your nails done, book a massage or see

About tasting the latest wines and some cheese,

Buy some nice clothes or shoes, just yourself to please.

There are thousands and thousands of things more to do

To give you a lift and stop feeling so blue

So get out of that place and you’ll soon start to face

One or two of those things and you’re back in the race!

©Julie Farthing, 2013

Visioning poems

I don't know if anyone else has used the term 'visioning poetry' but for me this refers to poems that portray a dream or vision of the future as experienced by the poet. As such they are deeply personal and often confronting, as they expose the poet's hopes and wants.
Visioning poems are also very powerful, and can turn dreams to reality.

Here is a visioning poem I have been working on this year. I hope you like it.

HOME IN FOUR PARTS

Over here is a spot

Where I can put on a pot

And throw in some herbs from the garden.

To enjoy the season with an iced-mint tea

Or a warming kumquat brandy.

To the front there’s a sunny room to write

With music and cushions and a cat,

With a door to the yard so fresh and bright.

And a table set up for a chat.

That way is the kitchen

So large and complete

With every appliance and tool.

A stove and stocked pantry

Makes for laughter and fun

While cooking our favourite meals.

The garden is colourful, textured and bright

With patches of dapple and corners to hide

There are scents that surround and a path that confounds

And a bench near the pond with the frogs.

©Julie Farthing, 2012