Monday, February 4, 2013


 Writing On Dark Afternoons, brought back memories of my grandparents farm near Caron, West Australia and where I used to spend most of my school holidays. The second verse is one of my memories of them among many others. Grandma would cut a slice of the hot bread just taken from the oven. I'd spread it with butter and the light as thistledown bread, melted butter would dissolve in my mouth.

The poem has had a considerable publishing history. I'm glad to publish it here again on my blog and website.
Northern Perspective - another literary magazine which has folded.
Pixel Papers - stopped publishing
Anthologies - Moving Out, Moving On
The Ink Drinkers
The Japanese Grandmother



I read about a woman
Wandering along grassy banks
On dark afternoons
seeking her past. 

In my mind, I see them.
My grandparents in that house
Of bush timber.
He smoked a pipe
While she kneaded dough
and set it
wrapped in a blanket
by the fire to rise. 

The dusk sweeps
Gently at my window
As in my mind
I travel from town
to farm and back again.
And the night grows darkly
by my door. 

Laurel Lamperd

Buy print copy of Crossroads at Isca from
When two young British girls meet two Roman tribunes from the great fort on the plain their lives are changed forever.
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