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Marilyn Humbert

Marilyn Humbert lives in the Northern suburbs of Sydney NSW Australia. Her Tanka and Haiku appear in many international and Australian journals, anthologies and online. Her free-verse poems have been awarded prizes in competitions and some have been published.
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Schism

the river dividesyour space and minewhere currents undercut the bankripples hide the undertow. our words erupt freestyleacross the water and tanglein river gum brancheslike giant birds upside downwings spread, beaks snappingblock a way forward. on opposite banksour footprints in the muddy edge.I
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Shadows in Grey Light

Day folds into nightshe holds herself stillthe sharp angular linesof his cheekbones and the fire flares in the hearth –orange-tinged blue flameshis temper burning fast and hotlike the gidgee wood he mills. don’t pull that sullen face sonbeware his mood…Mother and sonwait…for
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Noh Mask

lost this moonless nightwithout a starry guidewhere the black dog herdsand the midnight cat’s clawsclick across weary stones.lost where whiteno longer exists.gloom’s black fingerscurl and stretchscratching away layers,the regrets and misstepsuntil my noh mask slipsand I am undone
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The Drifter

When autumn wind sighs over mitchell grass downs I look for you stencilled black against the coppery glow. We speak of simple things living a lifetime in small moments, daily doings, a dripping tap, the leaky pipe. Shifting the kettle to the
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Moonflowers

night is alive with stars watching moonflowers’ unfurling petals I sit among their shadows my feet trammels dust waiting for your return long ago moonbeams touched my face or was it you whispering, setting my blood roaring my head spinning.
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Windfall

Behind a ruined cottage ghosts endure among untended trees. Imperfect fruit weighs down gnarled branches. The shadow of a child skips rope, each turn clips hard-packed clay. The sun slips lower. A hungry child her ice-blue eyes, a frenzy of curls, gathering
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Silence of Crows

A black line of clouds expands upwards above the trees. I watch in confusion. Your boots crumble honeycomb-cracks stepping across the yard towards me. Your frown deepens, battered hat in hand. My smile falters. The stifling heat. On a day like this
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Shield

We dodge sedge and thistles through overhanging branches on the riverbank kangaroo trail, stirring dust of ancient artisans. I see their shadows, stone axes ready as they scan red gums for smooth trunks with the perfect girth. Sure-strokes chime, stripping
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Walking Away

beyond the window a net of roots stitches the creek bank to battered earth. red dust swirls, seeds lie in cracks and crevices patient for rain. paddocks of brittle stalks fill the space between us, overhead a crow flaps its
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Impasse

sound of rain fills the gaps between one blink and the next waiting for the storm to pass among shadows in their heads thunder a crescendo of drumfire lightning jags rupture the bloated sky viewed through muddled branches in the
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The Swan

from the ledge George Street traffic throbs vehicles thread towards sunset crowds weave neon flashes noise ebbs and flows there’s peace here among clouds among cooing pigeons returning to roost far from demands and fists a helicopter hovers overhead she spreads her
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Leaf Whispers

I find him barefoot moon-silvered face tilted to forest canopy scrabbles luminous eyes in my torch beam. Now the lightning eastern sky stirs currawong chords breeze prickles bare skin. I shiver. the slap of his unclenched fist still stings,
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Sea Eagle

On the banks of the Manning a sea eagle high in the conifer balances on a bare branch shreds and devours its writhing catch. Scales, bones, entrails. My hands deep in my pockets, not like early days of love when you
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The Maze

On a day like this dawn hauls herself upright pink fingers curling above the rim   on a day like this queuing for basics among empty shelves spilt frozen peas scrunch underfoot   on a day like this navigating the
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Whispers

Don’t go to the river mother whispers last days of harvest under the molten sun air is still, breathless waves of heat distort the view beneath boundary trees this drowsy afternoon my toes cooling in the trickle don’t go
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From An Australian

I’m not a displaced person living in uncertainty marginalised and not heard. I have the right to vote freedom of speech hard-earned by my migrant ancestors. My children have married into other cultures chosen other religions blessing our family with
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