Angele Toomey Poetry

Here are some old ones from the archive. I have a new one to share closer to the day!

Christmas

The half finished

embroidery lies

where it was placed

in the wicker basket.

An ancient coffee stain

holds onto the side table.

The room that no-one 

walks into anymore:

Disturbingly undisturbed,

the moment frozen in time

under years of dust.

There is a Christmas tree

in the corner.

It's brittle fingers hold onto

crumbling decorations,

waiting for the children 

to return.



The week before Christmas 

Sweat beads are running down my back 

Air conditioning is struggling to push out cool air 

But babe we're on track to get to Thorndon Fair. 

A week ago we ate hot soup and yearned for blankets 

Now we are overly bathed in sunshine, heaven sent. 

The pohutukawa has popped its red 

Speaking to summer, sunburn and holidays remembered. 

For now, a fresh breeze is coming off the harbour 

But nerves will fray as temperatures grow higher 

Last minute festive shopping 

Learner drivers bunny hopping 

"I was here first"

Strangers hard cursed. 

Yes, it is the week before Christmas 

The town is dressed up for festivus 

Our oscillating year about to swing around 

Today we are on the cusp, still time bound. 


The pavlova

Soft peaks obediently rose only to be covered,

weighed down by expectation and a history of disappointments.

It's little wonder we all

crack a little 

under the pressure.

Life's confection: 

overly reliant

on a saccharine finish

and false compliments 

to the chef.

A temperamental beast

that demands too much

attention at every stage,

and greedily pushes champagne 

out of the way.

A dessert I do not like

but the ritual dictates

I ask for seconds.

It is declared the best

iteration ever, by those

more worthy than I.

Intolerable heat deserves

an intolerable show pony.

so here I am

with a second helping

slowly cracking 

under the pressure.