My Poem, ‘Bewildered’

June 4, 2025 ~ Libby Sommer ~ Leave a comment

Have a read of my poem ‘Bewildered’, first published in Quadrant Magazine and one of the poems in my collection, ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘ (Ginninderra Press). The book is illustrated by my granddaughter, Natasha Sommer, a graduate of the National Art School.

I hope you enjoy it.

Bewildered:

When I was four

I asked my big brother

Is mum the wicked

queen from Snow White?

He fell about with laugher,

then wrestled me to the ground

using his knees to pin

my shoulders to the floor.

My brother, the bully.

But I loved him.

Years later, when our mother said she

had heart problems, my brother told her

it was impossible.

How can you? he said.

You don’t have a heart.

The questions still disturb me to this day.

My Poem ‘What Could We Say?’

December 17, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ Leave a comment

Have a read of my poem ‘What Could We Say?’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. It is one of the poems in my latest collection ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

What Could We Say?:

Before dawn’s soft lightening,

rain stills itself on flat roofs

in pools of stagnant water.

Each morning we hear

a car speed up the hill

and dark recurring dreams

which tossed and turned

our restless selves, leave us

twisted in the sheets.

Now we start

warming rooms,

opening blinds.

Into the silence,

tight with the unspoken,

our thoughts pokerfaced

– space enough not given or seized –

moments hang,

more half-empty

than half-full.

My Poem, ‘Flat White, One Sugar’

November 15, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 2 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘Flat White, One Sugar’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. It is the title poem in my latest collection ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Flat White, One Sugar:

Up above is special to the birds.

A new craft beer is special to schooner-lovers,

who know it will have a unique aftertaste

before they’ve even had a sip.

The beanie warming the newborn

is special to the mum

swaddling her in hospital.

The cough is special, wretchedly, to the throat.

The wish you hold secretly inside yourself

is special to your being.

The gumboots are special to dry feet,

more special than the joggers,

which are special only in the gym.

The video of the runners

is not special to the owner of the phone

but is special to the competitors in the race.

I don’t want to be special to baristas

who ask how was my weekend,

or people bent over hand-held devices,

not special to those who don’t listen

when I answer their questions.

I want to be as special

as a morning coffee addiction,

but in the way a scarf is special,

or warm gloves,

not because they stand out from the crowd,

but because they know

they give comfort to others.

My Poem, Electioneering on the Mall

September 21, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ Leave a comment

Have a read of my poem, ‘Electioneering on the Mall’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. ‘Electioneering on the Mall’ is one of the pieces in my recently released second poetry collection, ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘ (Ginninderra Press}.

I hope you enjoy it.

Electioneering On the Mall:

Actually, I know which party

I will not be voting for.

I am a true blue Australian

hammered by our land of droughts

and flooding rains.

When it’s election

broadcast blackout time

I breathe a sigh of relief.

What? Please move so I can get by.

Yes, I know about early voting.

No, you won’t get me to

swing a different way.

My Poem, ‘On the Path’

August 17, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 11 Comments

I hope you enjoy it.

On the Path:

It’s green out here.

There are cliffs with straight up-and-down faces,

high-rise breeding havens for mud nesters.

I’m wanting to know

what the birds have to teach us,

but their calls are intermittent,

faint and repetitive, shrill and squawking.

I gaze over the cliffs and across the valley,

a sacred mountain range turned blue

by forests of eucalyptus, where tourists

of every colour crowd the lookouts.

Are they seeking spiritual wisdom

from the mighty mountains?

I would like to know how a lyrebird

learns its complex songs,

or how to laugh heartily like a kookaburra.

We could find vantage points

above daisies and banksias,

butterflies and mountain devils.

On this bush track – the signposted path

to a waterfall – down steps made of logs,

a man stops unexpectedly in front of me.

He squeezes and inhales the leaf of a tea tree.

I too am a believer in the healing power

of plants and in mythical mountains

and holy pilgrimages.

A majestic wedge-tailed eagle

whistles a soft peal

before soaring above us.

The sound of the waterfall

draws me onward.

My Poem, “When Will It End?”

July 31, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 6 Comments

I hope you like it.

When Will It End?

The woman is weeping for her husband,

his ashes lined up with the unclaimed

urns at the crematorium.

How could this happen again?

The man is weeping for his dead wife

& unborn child stretchered out from

the bombed maternity hospital.

The woman says, “We had to flee. His ashes

were left behind.”

What use is a city of rubble?

The brother is weeping beside his mother at the grave

of his twin. The brothers had strapped on fatigues,

taken up weapons, knowing they may die—sons,

brothers, husbands & fathers.

Each day the mind grapples: no power,

no water, starvation,

but Ukrainians, bigger than their fears,

face the Goliath. Church bells ring

calling the world to stand beside them.

Look at this man in body armour on the news

saying farewell to his wife and child.

Last week a teacher of children, today a soldier,

when will he see his school again?

My Poem, ‘Breaking Out’

July 4, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ Leave a comment

Have a read of my poem ‘Breaking Out’, first published in the Canberra Times Panorama Arts Section. ‘Breaking Out’ is one of the poems in my recently released second collection titled ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Breaking Out

See that white terrace house?

You could live in the attic there.

Yes, I like an eyrie, looking

out on the world. I wanted to be locked

in a tower, a princess in a fairy tale,

when I was a child.

I’m still the girl dreaming of breaking out.

Maybe she’s learnt to abseil now.

Some terraces have small colourful gardens

at the front. I prefer fragrant cut flowers