Storyweavers' Rap by Deborah Oberon StoryWeaversVisionQuest2020: We weave you in line by line by line We tell you sweet juicy stories Time after time after time….. Haux! Haux! LissenUp! LissenUp! We GrandmotherSpider and Her CouncilONine And we got sum stories to share [...]
We sit down at the table carrying our bowls of beef curry and rice with cucumber and yoghurt. As the boys hoe into their food, I (fresh from a weekend of chi kung and an acupuncture session with Roy and a walk under the stars) [...]
I dream we go to a lake hoping to see dolphins and whales – or perhaps it is an inlet from the sea. As we enter the water, we see a dolphin and a whale. I am there with J-P and Samuel. I caution Samuel [...]
I used to be a person who was afraid to speak my truth. I used to feel as though words were all tangled up inside me, like old ropes washed up by the sea on the coarse sand of my aching throat. I used to [...]
I had this dream pre-2009, and it now seems very significant, since 10 years later, in 2019, I’ve realized that I was born to be a storyteller and my vision now is to help revitalize the oral storytelling tradition. I spent years, pointlessly trying to [...]
“Oh Mum, Mum,” cried Samuel urgently, “I need a dollar ‘cause tomorrow they’ve got a special stall at school and they’re selling sex cookies.” “Sex cookies - that doesn’t sound right. Are you sure that’s what they’re called.” “I’m sure. I’m really sure. Sex cookies.” [...]
"I hate you, Mum." I am preparing the dinner: grilling steaks, chopping up broccoli for steaming - and I wonder where this sudden outburst has come from. "Is it because I rubbed out your homework?" He had scribbled in his homework book earlier - luckily [...]
Once upon a time there was a little girl who did not belong. The villagers found her lying on the banks of the great green river that flowed into the sea. She was found one morning after a night of heavy mist, her long brown [...]
Milmeray is a haven of peace and tranquility, a sacred place known and walked within for thousands of years. We are not the first to have found solace in the lichen-embroidered granites, the soft winds slipping between Xanthorrhea, Marri and Jarrah, the silver-threaded tapestry of [...]
