My Poem, ‘Words’

June 3, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 2 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘Words’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. ‘Words’ is part of my second poetry collection ‘Flat White, One Sugar’ (Ginninderra Press) published earlier this year.

I hope you enjoy it.

Words:

Belly expansions and contractions,

turning our attention to sensations,

we remember the three things you said:

breathe light, breathe slow, breathe deep.

We take control. Above us

the air conditioner hums.

At your own pace,

no need to rush.

Next door a conference

of 43 dentists learn

sensation management.

I swallow the urge to laugh.

A full exhale,

let it all go.

Your words give comfort

as they enter the gaps

between in and out,

slowing down.

Everything will

be just fine.

Afterwards, the morning looks different.

Good work everyone.

Well done.

We roll up our mats,

head for our cars –

safe from the pain,

for now.

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My Poem ‘Twisted Tea’

May 21, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 7 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘Twisted Tea’ first published in ‘For Ukraine: By Women of the World‘, a collection of powerful poetry and prose by all who identify as women about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine led by Russia’s President, Vladimir Putin.

I wrote the poem in 2022. ‘Twisted Tea’ is also one of the poems in my second poetry collection titled ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘, Ginninderra Press.

I hope you enjoy it.

Twisted Tea:

I splattered the last of my favourite

loose leaf tea all over the floor today,

when I lost my grip on the lid.

Twisted Oolong produced in Ukraine

it said on the label.

But it is a time of such sadness,

a spilt canister of loose leaf

is hardly worth mentioning.

So many shattered tea sets

buried in the rubble.

Ceramic pots and porcelain mugs,

smashed.

Fierce railroads bombed, buildings, farms.

Civilians tortured.

“Filthy scumbags,”

said President Zelensky.

“What else can you call them?”

I watch a woman sob on camera.

“Their soldiers are barbaric.

They don’t understand.

They are murderers.”

It is hard to consider sipping tea

without crying into the cup.

Will the small tea plantation

—out of the line of fire for now—

be spared?

I’m holding as tight as I can

to the thought that one day

we’ll be able to celebrate

with a pot of rare twisted oolong loose

leaf tea produced on a small farm

tucked away somewhere

in a corner of Ukraine.

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My Poem, ‘Holding On’

April 30, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 2 Comments

Have a read of my poem, ‘Holding On’ first published in Old Water Rat Publishing. ‘Holding On’ is one of the pieces in my second poetry collection recently released by Ginninderra Press titled ‘Flat White, One Sugar‘.

I hope you enjoy it.

Holding On:

When we are wet and cold,

we shelter under umbrellas & awnings.

When a lizard is wet and cold—often seeming

frozen or dead—they drop from trees, stunned.

They’ve shut down, no longer able to hold on.

It’s true they like to wake up in the warm sun,

just like us, even though they are cold-blooded.

Maybe a blue-tongue lizard’s easy-going nature

is what makes them a popular pet.

Maybe it’s their striking blue tongue.

You see lizards climbing the brick facade

of your house as the rain keeps pelting down.

They may hibernate in a hole in the ground,

or maybe a tree trunk or a fallen log.

City living is challenging if you’re

clinging to walls & windows. Scaling

a windowpane without falling off is one thing.

When enemies approach, some reptiles,

nicknamed the Jesus Christ lizard, can run on water.

If surprised by a predator, some lizards can detach

their tails or change colour to escape their enemies.

Others can look in two directions at once.

We’re looking in the direction of human predators

executing genocide far away in a war.

We can’t make it stop.

Is there nothing we can do?

To hang on, lizards have evolved

larger and stickier feet, while wild winds

blow your umbrella inside out. These reptiles

have come to grips with their changed lives.

Maybe we don’t want to keep looking at

images of suffering. Rather, we could

get ourselves a biodiversity conservation licence

and keep an eye on a blue-tongue

backyard buddy,

or not.

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My Poem, ‘My Friend Is Swiping & Scrolling’

April 15, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 4 Comments

Have a read of my poem, ‘My Friend Is Swiping & Scrolling’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. I wrote the poem during the pandemic and it is included in my debut poetry collection, ‘The Cellist, a Bellydancer & Other Distractions‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

My Friend Is Swiping & Scrolling:

My friend in the dark hour before dawn. My friend with the ragged stomach who had a bad night. In a different hemisphere he is turning on the bedside light, rolling out of bed, pouring a cap of antacid at the kitchen bench. My friend who hasn’t left his neighbourhood all year. My friend in London pining for how things used to be, for the Eurostar crossings to speak German and Spanish.

My friend scrolling through Facebook to see the faces of his family. My friend living alone who aches with aloneness. My friend the glass-half-full-kind-of-guy listening out for the early morning train thinking, we’ll get through this, in time. My friend who sits through forty Zoom meetings every five days. A rush of nostalgic reflections but is everything nostalgia? We’re all in this together.

The extroverted friend and the introverted one scrolling & swiping at home, the teenage friend whose father is hospitalised for a third time, my friend in China who sends me a red envelope, my friend in France dunking a croissant as she swipes left in greyish gloom, my friend in kurta pajamas beating a tabla drum, my friend in activewear driven to over-exercise, my friend who is addicted to social media like I am.

My friend in Israel my stressed-out Barista friend behind a coffee machine my friend with only one kidney my friend in palliative care under a sign I do not want visitors my young friend who was warned at school about swiping & scrolling my friend next door, who wonders if we are complaisant already my friend who is feeling lethargic my friend who hopes everyone will go back to work soon my friend who tells me she has a problem wearing a mask my friend who pretends not to see me on the street, even she must be on Zoom with others by now, so I let her go.

Scrolling will distract me from uncomfortable emotions as the cafes near me say takeaway only and the stores where I used to window-shop have empty frontages with To Lease signs and the famous writer I wish I’d had the courage to speak to when I had the chance, is diagnosed with dementia in another country, I snatch at memories of post cards sent back and forth. So who else should I pick up the phone and dial and say, Are you okay? Who else might I never see again?

All of us scrolling & swiping in the mornings and the afternoons and in the evenings near the hotel with the old TOOTH’S SHEAF STOUT Keeps you fit! poster telling us a tantalising beer with a dry finish and a medium body.

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My Poem, ‘Regrets’

March 31, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 8 Comments

Have a read of my poem, ‘Regrets’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. ‘Regrets’ is one of the poems in my recently published second poetry collection, ‘Flat White, One Sugar’ (Gininnderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Regrets:

Driving through the streets of the city

on a Sunday, we’re talking about

our crazy mistakes, the men we separated from,

the ex-husbands who remarried and married again,

those we shouldn’t have let go.

‘Yes, it’s hard having no-one to turn to,’ you say,

reversing into a “no stopping” space.

The signpost doesn’t mention Sundays.

You turn the ignition off

and cover your face with your hands.

‘I’m so hopeless at parking,’ you cry. ‘He used to tell me

we’d need to catch a cab to the kerb.’

I laugh and pat your shoulder.

‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘You’re sticking out a bit in front,

but you can try again … or not. Nothing’s perfect.’

My words surprise me,

rising above the rush of traffic,

a sweet fortune cookie prediction,

forgive yourself,

you did your best.

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My Poem, ‘Hostilities’

March 18, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 4 Comments

Have a read of my poem, ‘Hostilities’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. I wrote the poem during the pandemic. It is one of the pieces in my debut poetry collection, ‘The Cellist, a Bellydancer & Other Distractions‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Hostilities:

I worry about the ones

who disbelieve in science,

the ones on social media

with no qualifications

but a good command

of gobbledygook,

and the one who said

she’d had enough of wimps like me.

Scientists observe and calculate,

study the risks,

wave us across

as we wait by the side of the road,

even though the science of pandemics

is incomplete.

It takes a lot of guts sometimes

with those who are close to us.

Relatives, old school friends, intimates …

Anti-vaxxers still find arguments

to fire at us. I think of Aristotle’s warning:

there is only one way

to avoid criticism –

do nothing, say nothing,

and be nothing.

Photo by Edward Jenner on Pexels.com

My Poem, ‘White Ibis’

February 11, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 2 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘White Ibis’, first published in Quadrant Magazine. ‘White Ibis’ is one of the poems in my debut poetry collection ‘The Cellist, A Bellydancer & Other Distractions‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

White Ibis:

We wish that nature could stay put

in their home, far away …

not urban tip turkeys, bin chickens –

not like us,

scrounging for a living in cities,

but stay where they thrive,

feeding in swamps, lagoons,

floodplains & grasslands

their black downward-curved bills

digging for crayfish and mussels.

The farmers’ friend,

featherless black heads

flocking in V-shaped flight

to locust-afflicted areas,

gorging on ravaging hordes of insects.

Unlike us, they can eliminate

plagues with ease.

There are nights when we fall asleep

dreaming of ibises

flying back home.

Photo by Luis Arango on Pexels.com

My Poem ‘Survival’

January 23, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 2 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘Survival’ first published in Quadrant Magazine. ‘Survival’ is one of the poems in my debut poetry collection ‘The Cellist, a Bellydancer & Other Distractions‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Survival

More gusts of wind

through new high-rises

sharped-edged.

More traffic,

more construction dust

much overshadowing

in grey & black.

Newly-planted in the local streets

the bottlebrush should know why it exists:

nectar feeding of insects,

of butterflies & birds.

East of the city

blue beaches dazzle & swell.

They re-emerge

in a spring break out

giving hope to the lone crimson flower

squeezing through densely-packed leaves.

My Poem ‘Jogger At My Heels’

January 10, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 5 Comments

Have a read of my poem ‘Jogger At My Heels’ first published in The Canberra Times. It is one of the poems in my second poetry collection, ‘Flat White, One Sugar’ due for release by Ginninderra Press this year. 51 new poems by me, 21 illustrations by my granddaughter, Natasha Sommer, a graduate of The National Art School.

I hope you enjoy this poem.

Jogger At My Heels:

Each morning he races up the steep

steps of the gully and then down again

on the path I take

to buy my daily newspaper.

I recognise his exhalations just behind

and apologetic grimace running back,

urging me to move aside

to let him through,

but today I understand him

more fully than before.

Hearing my own heavy breathing

as I walk up the gigantic slope

I’m sure he’d like to say, Don’t rush

don’t rush.

… but he’s in too much of a hurry.

Copyright 2024 Libby Sommer

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My Poem ‘Here’

December 12, 2023 ~ Libby Sommer ~ Leave a comment

Have a read of my poem ‘Here’, first published in Blue Fringe Art & Literature Exhibition 2021 Collected Works. The poem is also part of my debut poetry collection ‘The Cellist, a Bellydancer & Other Distractions‘ (Ginninderra Press).

I hope you enjoy it.

Here

Each night the train

you cannot see

sounds a final journey

and the lightness which lifts you

in its healing promise all day

lets you down.

Now you pace,

heating up rooms,

pulling down blinds.

Into the silence