Rebecca Newman

Rebecca Newman had a childhood filled with nursery rhymes and poetry. Now that she’s a grownup she can’t push a child on a swing without reciting ‘The Swing’ by Robert Louis Stevenson at the same time.

 

Rebecca wrote her first poem when she was nine and never stopped writing. Her poetry has been published in The School Magazine (Countdown, and Blast Off) and Alphabet Soup magazine. You can read some of her poems at Poetry Tag — a website she shares with another Australian Poet, Sally Murphy. When she’s not writing poetry, Rebecca is also the editor at Alphabet Soup’s website www.alphabetsoup.net.au

Rebecca’s website is www.rebeccanewman.net.au

Her poems are often inspired by the rhythm of everyday things — pushing a swing, walking, brushing teeth, grating carrots …

 

A FEROCIOUS POEM

One ferocious summer’s day
I took a ferocious walk,
I passed a ferocious garden gate
and stopped for ferocious talk.

I browsed at ferocious markets,
I bought a ferocious scarf,
the ferocious woman who sold it to me
laughed a ferocious laugh.

A ferocious lunch was needed to fill
the ferocious hole in my tum
I climbed aboard a ferocious bus
I hummed a ferocious hum.

I found two ferocious curries
left by ferocious Gran,
I heated them to a ferocious heat
in a ferocious frying pan.

A brilliant if somewhat ferocious sun
cast its last ferocious ray.
I pulled my ferocious pyjamas on —
What a ferocious day!

© Rebecca Newman

 

BULLOCK

This team of oxen,
under relentless Australian sun
we pull —
leaders at the front, polers at the back, near the wagon.
Two by two we move
by dry creek beds,
two by two
along dusty tracks
and the bullockies crack their whips.

The bullockies shout curses
because of the flies, or the ridged track
worn too far one way or the other —
mustn’t tip the wagon-load of wool and wheat,
“Git over!”

At night the bullockies
squat by flickering firelight, under starred skies
and leave us to find feed,
leave us to drift, to dream.

What are a bullock’s dreams?
I dream of green grasses,
cool waterholes,
and freedom —
walking without another shoulder yoked to mine.

© Rebecca Newman

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Rebecca Newman

  1. Pingback: Poems in Print | REBECCA NEWMAN

  2. Amazing! These poems are terribly rich and so fantastical and- its almost like I’m in a dream, but its also so real. Great work Rebecca!

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