Angele Toomey Poetry

After quite a long hiatus, I felt the return of a familiar sensation – the scratching of an idea, a phrase, yearning for physical manifestation. The inspiration came from observing verdant hills, their tips hiding in low cloud. Ticky-tacky houses clinging to their bodies like barnacles emerging from the harbour. I then began thinking about what motivates people to build houses on the sides of hills that are most likely prone to slips.

On slipping away 
Ambitious mountains reach for the skies 
Their faces escaping to finer air 
And we simply cling to them, trying as we might, 
To avoid falling onto the depths of the harbour’s despair. 

From time to time, nature will have her way 
Allowing tracks of unneeded skin to fall away. 

We are left with the scars, carrying the loss 
But we steadfastly remain and rebuild 
Imagining that those paths won’t again cross 
Our hubris, our hope are so deeply instilled. 

Again, we will be shocked when nature has her way 
And our curated lives are made to fall away.

The mountains don't experience disasters like this
They know that to grow they have to change
Nature's cycles do not need to reminisce
And mountains care not if our lives are rearranged.