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.