The Nap

My eyelids weighed

all that was in my head.

They battened down

as your fingers tapped

a lullabye on the keyboard.

I didn’t want to leave.

Here was a harbor,

a waveless haven,

where my dreams

would not tidal.

In my dress and stockings

and handbag, I curled.

Head down, eyes closed,

breathing rhythmed.

Pastel psychedelic waves

rolled over frantic

brain activity, soothing.

And I fell.

The Tale of Old Galway Bay

The storm battered     

the length of the coast

unearthing oak, pine and birch.

Tree stumps preserved in

the thick of the muck

staring straight at the sea’s approach.

A fast rising sea first raged

over five thousand years ago;

taking forest and sands to dig,

the shores that formed Galway Bay.

The forest rooted

undisturbed in time

holding firm to Western sky.

A carpet of mire

exposed in the depths

built of the settlers’ lives.

A fast rising sea first raged

over five thousand years ago;

taking forest and sands to dig

the shores that formed Galway Bay.

The rocky cladach built

sat on the  river’s mouth

men fished and bears roamed.

Legend has a young lass

drowned in the Gaillimh

Himself the chief of the town.

A fast rising sea first raged

over five thousand years ago;

taking forest and sands to dig

the shores that formed Galway Bay.

The first Galway was known

as the city of tribes

fourteen who were the law.

Akin to the crown

‘til the pride flamed up

the men let the Union Jack fall.

A fast rising sea first raged

over five thousand years ago;

taking forest and sands to dig

the shore that formed Galway Bay.

The storm battered     

the length of the coast

unearthing oak, pine and birch.

The story of  old Galway

was found in the storm

sure as the tale’s been told.

A fast rising sea first raged

over five thousand years ago;

taking forest and sands to dig

the shore that formed Galway Bay.

My George Clooney

On the slick page,

he looks wistfully

into his new lady’s eyes.

I know that look.

But it isn’t his adoring

that meets mine.

Some may not see it,

but it isn’t it for them

to find between us.

Whether stormy gray

or cloudlessly blue,

your eyes find mine.

And when they do,

I am in the picture

hair blown, sun dewed.