As we draw nearer to Christmas, it seemed appropriate to throw in a yuletide-themed piece, this time something different - a poem! I'm not a poet! This was just something I threw together at short notice when my writer's group were gathering for an end of year celebration. Throw Up Thursday. Christmas 2014. Waiting for Santa
by Daniel Murphy As I prop my cold nose upon my chequered quilt I quietly hope that the chimney is well built Wearily, my dad arrives to say goodnight I won't be drifting off right now. I'll put up a fight! Here comes Santa landing in his sleigh No, that's just a possum scrambling to hide away That must be Santa ringing that bell No, it's carol singers! Couldn't you tell? Definitely, that's the reindeer, sliding through the snow No, that's just the wind! Surely this you know! Dad leaves the room, tired and upset I'm not going to sleep tonight I'll even make a bet I bet you I'll stay up all night keen for all my presents Filling lunch, yummy food, soft drink effervescence Sparkly presents all wrapped up Maybe chocolates in a cup A kitty cat or a little pup An action figure that says Wassup? Mum opens my door just to take a peep Santa simply will not come unless you go to sleep!
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To complete the set from 1997, The Pirate Christmas. If you can find the bit that's about Christmas then let me know. Throw Up Thursday. Late 1997. The Pirate Christmas
by Daniel Murphy One day there was a boy. He was a teenager. He was 18. His Dad had died and he wanted to be a pirate. His birthday was in June and it was March. He had to wait for two months and he wasn't very happy. Finally June came. He was very happy now. Then the sad bit came. The end of the day. "19 at last" he said and he got to 20 but he didn't get to be a pirate all the other years. This story comes just three months after my last one, the one about the girl looking for a home. This time, I drew on my own experiences after breaking my arm. I think in just three months my writing had come a long way! And the twist at the end is spectacular! As you may be able to tell, speech marks were the focus of this piece. A bit of overkill through the middle but I was trying my best. Throw Up Thursday. 19 June 1997. No Title
by Daniel Murphy One sunny morning a little boy was playing football in his backyard when he slipped and broce his leg. One of his friends called his mum and she said "I will fhone for the ambylance" and so she did. Soon he was off and away. When he got there he said "What's first?" the dockder said "We are going to make you go to sleep to put plaster on you" "But how" "We just do" she said. She gave him a good x-ray and said "These are your bones." "Look" "See this" "This here is broken" "Were" "Here" "Oh I can see a bone that is twisted" "That is the broken bone." I got weeled into a room with lots of other people in it. Then I saw a sick magic person and I said "Can you get me better" and he did. He went back home and saw his mum. "I love you mum" and they cuddled each other. The year is 1997. I am in grade 1. I am six years old. And I have no idea what this story is really about. A writing sample from my grade 1 assessment journal. Montana Drive can be found close to my primary school. I can't recall a Yappy Road. Throw Up Thursday. 3 April 1997. No Title
by Daniel Murphy One night a little girl went out in the middle of the earth and she wanted a home. She was very sad because she wanted to have grone ups and a house. She looked in the contry. She looked in the city. She looked in the towns. She looked in dead end roads but she could'dnt find a home. She found a person walking along the footpath and said to her, "Where is a nice house to live in" "I've seen one down on Motana Drive" "Thanks" So she went to Yappy Road to Matana Drive. She had found a home. When she groow up sheed have children. So she did. And lived ever after. It's still Winter, so I thought I'd throw a little warmth about with a one hundred word (exactly) story about the beach. I submitted this to the Australian Reader's Digest a couple of years ago. Throw Up Thursday. 22 December 2014. Like a Party Horn
by Daniel Murphy After a classic day on the beach – swimming under the jetty, chasing the seagulls, building magnificent sandcastles – Dad takes us up the esplanade for ice-cream. My sister has been pestering me all day. She dunked me in the salty water, threw gritty sand in my eyes and even trampled my four-bucket, six-towered sandcastle. I choose chocolate. One scoop. She chooses strawberry. Two scoops. I bite off the bottom of the waffle cone ready to slurp through the last of the ice-cream but change my mind. I turn to face my sister and blow into it like it’s a party horn. |
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