Rainy Days

Writing some more poetry and maybe songs..

Pearlz Dreaming

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Rainy days are a time to find the inner music
that leads to journeys with the muse
up and down the rythmic patterns of the
rain drops caress of the leaves

June Perkins

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Thankyou

Thank you so much to all those following Ripple Poetry.  Just sharing a milestone for the blog – we now have 50 Followers.

More dear guest poet friends coming soon.

This week I had the great honour of interviewing and spending time with Alesa Lajana, a fabulous song writer with heart, conviction and immense talent. She is so humble.

Alesa shared her organic creative process and some information about a very special inspirational Hidden Histories project, which we are all going to be hearing a lot more about in months to come.

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For Alesa

Some we know for years
& never really know

others we meet for a moment
& understand

Some take the road to understanding

whilst others forever run from
truths that set them free

It’s woven in stories
in the hearts of those we meet

& shifting in the rhythm
of their journey feet

By June Perkins

You can check out Alesa Lajana’s work on her site 
She has two albums, Celtic Gypsy and Secret Garden.

 http://www.alesalajana.com.au/

Riddle Me

Embarking on writing a life story book, here are it’s beginnings.

Following the Crow Song

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My cultures seem clearest to me in objects and values my parents had in our house when I was growing up, many of which are still there.

I think immediately of string bags, grass skirts, shell necklaces, bush knives, and Dad’s cheap reproductions of Gauguin paintings of women in the tropics.

I remember being sent to care for old neighbours and baby sit other people’s children for no payment so my mother could show her generosity and teach me the value of service. I remember cooking family meals and being the little mother to my brothers from a young age.

As I think back on these objects I think of the riddles they hold, and want to go deeper under the surface to explore what context they have in the present and past.

The values my mother taught me were sometimes explicit and other times hidden in the objects and…

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