Laurel passed away in Northam Western Australia on 9 June 2013 after a short illness. Laurel loved to read and she had a passion for writing. Over 43 years of writing Laurel was a prolific author self-publishing eight books that included children's stories, historical romance, regency novels, murder mysteries, and her West Australian epic The Walara Series. In April 2013 she self-published the printed version of Journey from Walara. Laurel was keen for The Walara Series to be completed and the third book will be published posthumously. Her short stories and poetry have been included in several anthologies.
Laurel had a wide range of friends from her childhood, from her many years living in Hopetoun Western Australia, and from her writing. The thoughts of Laurel's many friends to her family have been a great comfort and reflect how highly she was regarded.
Farewell
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
from As My Sister Lay Dying
The Romans liked purple
gave it Royal status
edged their fine woollen togas
with its brilliant colour
for which thousands of shellfish
died.
My sister stirs and opens her
dark sunken eyes.
Sorry, she says
I must have dropped off.
She gazes at the crocheted rug
and holds the purple yarn between
bloodless fingers.
You are getting on with it.
Journey from Walara available in print soon
Friday, April 26, 2013
As my Sister Lay Dying
Three children try to save a creek from the developers. Suitable for children 7-11
www.feedaread.com
PURPLE
I crochet the rug
she had begun for her youngest
son.
She rests against the headrest
propped on pillows
her eyes closed as an afternoon
soap
plays its family dramas.
I twine the purple wool
across my fingers
and hope my stitches are as neat
and firm
as hers.
The purple yarn is dark and
luxurious
too opulent
for a young man to throw across
the back seat of his car.
www.feedaread.com
Monday, April 22, 2013
Secrets
As My Sister Lay Dying
secrets
We have secrets, my sister and I.
At sixteen
she left without telling our
mother
to live with our father in the
Outback.
It seared our mother to the bone
when she found the note
on the kitchen table.
My sister, my father’s favourite,
found our parents marriage break
up
particularly devastating.
She hurt all her life
she had wounded our mother.
I haven't told anyone about it,
she said
Not even my children.
Substitute Bride - Regency novel
Saturday, April 20, 2013
the Wolf and the Riding Hoods
THE WOLF AND THE RIDING HOODS
The twins, Catalina and Philippa, were on their way through the
stretch of bush between their house and their grandparents' farm.
"Do you think we'll meet a wolf?" Catalina asked as she
jumped from log to log.
"We
might." Philippa put down the basket their mother had packed beside one of
the fallen logs: the log had settled across two larger ones and formed a nice
little bridge.
The girls walked along its narrow surface, their arms
outstretched, hands spread, balancing.
Arthur drove along the slushy track, wet from the morning's rain,
looking for Leggatt's farm. He wondered if their bit of insurance was worth
going out of his way. Rounding a bend in the road, he saw ahead of him,
two little figures clad in red raincoats and hats, walking along a fallen log.
He stopped when he reached them.
"Hi, there, chicks," he called, grinning as he wound
down the window. Though he was nearing sixty, Arthur liked to keep up with what
he thought was the latest jargon of the younger set.
The girls stared at him then said in unison, "Hello."
Arthur switched off the engine. "Where are you going?"
"We're going to see grandma," one of the little girls
said.
"Where does your grandma live?"
“She lives in a house on the other side of the forest.” She
pointed to the track behind her, which led into the forest. “We’re having a
sleepover with her and Granddad tonight.”
Arthur’s eyes, set in a pudgy red face, glinted with expectation.
“I’ll give you a lift. It’s a long way for two little girls to go by
themselves.” He leant over and opened the door of the car.
The
little girls jumped down from the log. One of them picked up a basket. They
stood with the log between them and Arthur.
Joe Hennessey builds a sheep station in the north of WEstern Australia for his heirs.
Wind from Danyari www.omnilit.com
Monday, April 15, 2013
Chairs
Chairs
Young Burne-Jones and William Morris
rented rooms in Red Lion Square
near their mentor, Rossetti.
They wanted to furnish their rooms
in the spirit of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.
Not for them
Stick-back kitchen chairs
Beechwood Swing Rockers,
Bentwood, Windsor and the Sheraton style.
Morris designed tall backed chairs
made from deal at Tommy Baker's cabinet shop
on Christopher Street.
I imagine Burne-Jones bringing to life
the brave Sir Galahad
the knight who had no equal,
painting the back of a medieval chair
from images of Morris' poems.
And Rossetti coming to visit,
taking up a brush for amusement,
painting the unfaithful Gwendolen
of the golden hair.
Morris kept the kettle boiling on the hob
poured cups of tea,
chatting with his companions,
not dreaming the chairs would reside one day
in America's Delaware Museum.
What would they have thought of chairs
made of Malaysia's rainforests
and plastic chairs from China
pressed out in their millions.
www.smashwords.com
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Saturday, April 13, 2013
The Plumbago Hedge
The
Plumbago Hedge
Our
mother grew a plumbago hedge.
The
mauve wispy flowers moved in the hot still air
And
was always in need of trimming.
We
want some privacy, our mother said
When
the next door neighbour came home drunk.
We
sat into the late evening
Watching
the picture crowd go home.
I'd
forgotten how hot it was in Northam.
We
ran a milking cow down the back on our half acre.
My
brothers took turns in milking
and left bowls of milk on the back of the
Metters.
Our
mother scooped the thick clotted cream
Over
stewed black plums
Picked
from the overhanging branches of the neighbour's tree.
A
high steel fence separates out neighbours this second time round.
The
air conditioners hammer into the night.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Wittenoom
WITTENOOM
They sit in plush
leather chairs
In glass plated
offices
These high priests
of Industry
and make their
offers.
My hand is pale
upon the sheet
As I measure the
cost of a life.
Husband, children,
mother, father
Sister, brother.
We played in the
sun
Picnicked in cool
gorges,
sang away summer
nights
thinking it would
last forever.
The Reaper too,
Sang his song
Hidden from us,
by time.
One by one
Unasked, he came
for them
scorning the three
score years and ten,
tearing them away
from life,
from family, from
friends.
The nurse is jolly
Pumping pillows,
asking if
I'm ready to see
my son.
He comes with new
creases on his brow.
There is fear in
his eyes
When he tells of
the lesions on his lung.
He grasps my hand
Seeking reassurance,
begging comfort.
I feel his
strength and terror
but I am attuned
to them
who have gone
as I wait
for the Reaper's
song.
Coming if Hippolyta
Coming of
Hippolyta - short story
Madge Kelly
went onto the back verandah to empty the teapot on the hydrangea growing in an
old tub by the wooden steps. In the darkness, she visualized the plant's lush
blue flowers: to her, it was an old friend.
She had
bought the plant as a cutting in a jam tin from a stall in town the year she
married Ern and had propagated it many times, but the parent plant meant more
to her than its offspring growing around her garden and in the neighbours'
gardens.
She glanced
to that part of the evening sky where the planet Venus usually appeared.
Below the
planet, another bright star suddenly materialized. Madge thought it was the
light of a jet, but it moved too fast. To Madge's startled gaze, it grew larger
and brighter while she watched and seemed to land beyond the strip of bush in
the north paddock.
Ern, her
husband, called from the kitchen, "Hurry up, Madge. We're waiting for our
tea."
Madge
backed away from Venus and tripped over the doorstep into the kitchen. "I
think I've just seen a spaceship land."
Her two
sons, Kev and Ron, looked startled, and then laughed. "You read too many
stories, Mum," said Kev, the eldest son.
Madge gazed
timidly at him, amazed she’d produced this huge young man who towered head and
shoulders over her and was already overweight at twenty-two.
Ron, the
younger son, who was nearly as large as his brother, jumped to his feet. His
chair went flying backwards. "I want to see this spaceship of yours,
Mum," he said, pushing past her on his way to the door.
Madge winced
as the door slammed after him.
"You're
a fool, Madge," Ern said good naturedly from his place at the head of the
table.
A few
minutes later, Ron stamped back into the kitchen. "There's no spaceship
out there, Mum."
Read rest of coming of Hippolyta on www.authorsden.com/laurellamperd
new email laurellamperd@gmail.com
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Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Waiting Women
WAITING WOMEN
She saw the young woman
Seated next to a lamp
A painting by Harunobu
And knew it was her
Waiting for her lover.
In her case
He was her boss.
He didn't say
He would divorce his wife
But she hoped he would.
Sometimes she saw a news item
About him and his wife
At the ballet or opera
And once at a political dinner.
She smoked non-stop
With a bottle of Chardonnay
At her elbow
Listening for his steps
waiting for him
looking like the young woman
waiting next to the lamp.
www.barnesandnoble.com
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Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Retreat of the Drought
Retreat of the Drought
Late evening the rain came.
It hovered on the horizon
Hidden in the darkness.
In slow time
it marched towards the homestead
crossed hills and valleys
coming down with a steady drumming
on the corrugated iron roof.
The earth rebelled as pools formed
Until overcome
it let the invader into its womb
where the seeds of life are stored.
Rivulets of water
swelled into streams
gushed into dry dams
the water rose
covered the bones of drought stricken sheep.
All night
The farmer lay awake.
Listening.
Crossroads at Isca
Novel set in Roman Britain. Two young women's lives are changed forever.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Military Musems
MILITARY
MUSEUMS
The photograph hung
Amid dusty Great War uniforms.
The caption read -
Name unknown
Died of wounds
Passchendaele.
I asked the woman
At the desk
about the photograph.
She said it had
arrived anonymously in
a box of army relics.
I had a great uncle
Who died at Passchendaele.
He was my grandmother's twin brother.
I imagine him
smooth cheeked, clear eyed
like this forgotten soldier
willing to die for
King and Country.
After her death
My grandmother's possessions
were packed in boxes and
distributed among the family.
All her precious little treasures
her little bits of remembrance
some of them maybe
to reside in military museums.
Three children save a creek from the developers. For children 7-11
Friday, March 22, 2013
Shanti
Shanti
I met Stephanie, the new arts teacher, the week after
I saw Caroline on the plane to England.
"I'd like someone's help to hang my paintings?"
Stephanie said at morning recess after everyone had introduced themselves.
"I'll give you a hand," I
said, attracted by her vivacious pixie face framed by short dark hair so
different to Caroline's cool blondeness. We made a date that evening.
Stephanie's eyes lit up. "Thank
you. Come for dinner."
Nigel, the manual arts teacher, a gangling one
hundred and ninety centimetres, leered at us in his usual inane way.
I knew what he thought: Caroline has been gone
a week and you aree already on to another.
Stephanie's front door was open when I arrived
at her unit on the second floor of a three-story block of flats. Receiving no
answer to my knock and call, I went in.
She sat on the mat in the living
area wearing a pale blue sari, edged with silver and red trimmings, staring
through me as if in some subliminal trance.
I went outside and lit a cigarette, wondering
whether I should go home. I'd finished my second cigarette when she came out.
"Oh, there you are. Do you want to hang
the paintings before or after dinner?"
During my few minutes in her unit, I hadn't
seen a sign of a meal in preparation. I glanced at my watch: seven o'clock. I
was hungry. Caroline and I always had dinner at seven. I did most of the
cooking. Caroline decided the time.
“Have we time before we eat?”
Stephanie nodded, confirming my fears
that dinner would be much later.
Substitute Bride - a Regency novel
www.smashwords.com
www.feedaread.com
Monday, March 18, 2013
Doctor and Patient
Doctor and Patient
We sat at the
table
Watching Chekov
performed
as a dinner
adjunct.
Little intimate
things she knew
about me -
pap smears, breast
examinations
the vagaries of an
aged parent
and a philandering
husband
but she was an
enigma to me
so we sat in
silence.
Wind from Danyari
Joe Hennessy builds a sheep station for his heirs in Western Australia
Friday, March 15, 2013
Skulls
SKULLS
Skulls adorning a landscape of hills
Teetering beside chasms
Cut brown into green softness.
In the foreground, a folding of green
like my green crumpled dress
which I wore
when I went out with Robbie
who doesn't want me anymore.
I thought of the skulls
And how one day I'd be one.
Why wait fifty years?
They are flying above me
Against the skyline
Like balloons of methane gas.
I want to be up there with them
looking down on my desolate world.
Murder Among the Roses
Murder detective novel set in Western Australia
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Koombana Bay
Walking along
Koombana Beach
To Port McCleod
The sun setting
beyond Rocky Point
On Back Beach
I watch for the
dolphins
But they are away
Frolicking upon
some far off wave
Catching a last
fish for the day.
I look to the west
again
You came from
there
To our rendezvous.
I reach the spot
where we met
And try to
remember you
fifty years ago
slender
long hair tied in
a ponytail
firm brown legs in
shorts
but images of our
granddaughter intercede
and I see her, not
you
as you once were.
Memories are
fleeting
Tiny cameos
like rain drops on
spring mornings.
Suddenly you came
Sneaking from
beneath the image
of our
granddaughter.
I hang onto your
smile
as desperately as
I held onto your life
but the smile has
gone
as you have
and I walk alone
beside the
darkening waters
of Koombana Bay.
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