lying on a harbour beach at noon

painting of girl lying on beach in torquoise bikini reading a book

During the pandemic I find myself turning more and more to poetry, to the reading and the writing of poetry.

My first poetry collection ‘The Cellist, A Bellydancer & Other Distractions’ will be published by Ginninderra Press in May 2022. I’m currently working on a second collection, loosely themed around mental health.

My poem Lying On A Harbour Beach At Noon was first published in Quadrant magazine January 2017. Have a read. Hope you enjoy it:

‘Lying On A Harbour Beach At Noon‘
There is an opening out of the self which happens
when the sun is high in a cloudless blue
and its warmth sinks into the body.
It occurs on a gentle beach.
It is a slow opening,
like waking up in
your own cosy apartment.
When all the tenants wake up
and the blinds snap
the windows open wide.
If you are in bed you struggle to open to the bright light.
If you are elsewhere, feeling your separateness, alienated,
you long for home and think you’re falling apart.
You are not falling apart.
You could open into your own particular self,
feel your skin move away from the bone,
your belly like an open wound tightening
then opening with everything exposed.
You know you can stop the empty grasping if you want to
because you have a deep knowing,
you open to it, and for now
it holds you gently.
Copyright © 2017 Libby Sommer

painting of girl lying on beach in torquoise bikini reading a book

During the pandemic I find myself turning more and more to poetry, the reading and the writing of poetry.

Here is my poem Lying On A Harbour Beach At Noon, first published in Quadrant magazine January 2017.

Hope you enjoy it.

Lying On A Harbour Beach At Noon

There is an opening out of the self which happens

when the sun is high in a cloudless blue

and its warmth sinks into the body.

It occurs on a gentle beach.

It is a slow opening,

like waking up in

your own cosy apartment.

When all the tenants wake up

and the blinds snap

the windows open wide.

If you are in bed you struggle to open to the bright light.

If you are elsewhere, feeling your separateness, alienated,

you long for home and think you’re falling apart.

You are not falling apart.

You could open into your own particular self,

feel your skin move away from the bone,

your belly like an open wound tightening

then opening with everything exposed.

You know you can stop the empty grasping if you want to

because you have a deep knowing,

you open to it, and for now

it holds you gently.

Copyright 2017 Libby Sommer