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, ‘Transience’

July 16, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 14 Comments

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

I hope you enjoy it.

Transience:

A luminous, tangerine, and blazing expanse

burst out to the left of the blue

from the harbour to the city as the western light

lowered itself behind concrete high-rises.

We watched from the hill,

took a seat on the park bench,

the lawn with its after-the-rain moistness

too wet to lie back on.

We knew we had to seize

this fleeting moment.

We were spectators of that sensational

display, after enduring the restrictions

that made us change and mutate,

shape-shifting during the months,

then the years, of the pandemic,

wearing us down, teaching us

adapt, adapt, adapt,

change, change, change.

Today we search for the brilliance

unfolding in the sky.

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

in a vase. I belong to

that discreet sect of law-breakers

who snip buds over a fence. A close escape

gives me an adrenaline kick.

My Poem, ‘What Happened to the Sun’

June 17, 2024 ~ Libby Sommer ~ 6 Comments

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

I hope you enjoy it.

What Happened to the Sun:

We took that hot ball of glowing gases

at the heart of our solar system for granted,

so much intense energy and heat

bearing down on green city spaces

when she went out to walk the dog,

winter warmth brightening her face. Sometimes

under a large red gum she stopped

to watch a mother and son

play cricket or an elderly tennis player

limp towards the courts, ‘No running

today, eh?’ calls out his opponent. ‘I’ll keep

the ball on your forehand.’

Difficult to stay upbeat sometimes

when you see so much change. You

wish for things to be how they were before,

nourished by moon on water,

first stars, mountains, ocean,

a dog pulling on a lead under a bright sky,

beneath a cache of clouds,

wanting the time before,

before polar bears were in danger,

when, ignorantly, you basted your skin

in coconut oil on the hot sand,

before we were all bound by rules,

distanced in unusual ways

burning in the sun side by side

on a crowded beach.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by koko rahmadie on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Jana on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Tofros.com on Pexels.com

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.