"galway" poems
A lost castle
In Galway called Lynch's,
Long lost
Its princesses and princes;
The blood took its chances
On foreign Romances,
Now Lynches
Spread over the globe.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Today is the anniversary of another trip around the sun for the woman I love more than any other.
Happy Birthday to my mother, Elise
who drew me a picture of the female reproductive system
and labeled the parts
and explained the process
of ************
before my body ever had a chance to frighten me
who taught me the word
******
and taught me that there was nothing silly, or shameful, or icky
about the word
or having one.
who taught me
that people are inherently the same
and humans are valuable
and the meaning of the word
humanity
and the value of justice
and the meaning of the word
"injustice"
and consistently confronted it
often uncomfortably
but un-apologetically
whenever we found ourselves in its presence
Who responded to compliments
about my appearance as a child
with humble disinterested grace
and taught me with intention
in everything she said and did
that what is valuable about me
is my mind
and my heart
kindness
spirit
ethics
righteousness
some may say too much of the latter
who taught me about Janis, and Sylvia, and Frida
and Roe v Wade
and punctuation and articulation and diction
and the Serenity Prayer, and that Galway Kinnel poem about what is still possible...
I love you Mom. I could go on forever. My love and my gratitude for you - and what you have gifted and instilled in me - is bigger than the universe and eternity and possibility.
So glad you are with the sweetest child in the whole wide world this evening.
Loving and sending you love and bright light so hard.
Micah Haverly 2015
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Going to the mountaintop
nothing to keep
to see, an explicit wonders
a blissful dream
only, holding in my hands
a flute withstand
when I reach at top of peek
I inhaled a scent
that nobody ever breathed
with full air I blew
forces of nature awakening
*A Galway style comes out
music bars slithered
all across coming
down my feet
guiding notes far & near
peace touched to
the rivers warring
solitude filled the valleys
fairies and goblins
in delitescent
filled with great joy,
the mountains were vivified*
At the end of my song
I blew a soaring note above
and caves opened
some going here and there
hopping, waving
trees bowed with splendor
And all I saw comes frolicly
sigh of full relief
my phantasms has finished
on my way home
leaving my flute up a stone
hoping someday,
someone, would be willing
-enough to play
to hear my song over again
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
there was a little elf he came from galway bay
across the sea in ireland not to far away
he lived in the forest in the hollow of tree
always very happy a happy elf was he
one day on his travels along the forest track
he saw his friend the hedgehog lying on his back
hedgehog had rolled over and his spikes were stuck
in to the forest floor his little spikes did tuck
elf he had a ***** the he carried round
he began to dig into the forest ground
elf he freed the hedgehog he dug away the muck
hedgehog he was free again and no longer stuck
they strolled along together along forest floor
hedgehog he was happy and free again once more
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
A Galway and Suffock ram.
Both employed on our farm
to ****
When the midwife is due
Larry and Barry are left to themselves
and 2 in to Alpha doesn’t go.
Over the years, I noticed,
every business blow
reduced blood
from torrent to trickle.
When Larry developed meningitis
he was taken into care,
Barry had a look
that struck me dumb.
I can never be able to tell Barry
I was there
when life left his body.
A mountain crumbling into nothing.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
THE Colonel went out sailing,
He spoke with Turk and Jew,
With Christian and with Infidel,
For all tongues he knew.
"O what's a wifeless man?' said he,
And he came sailing home.
He rose the latch and went upstairS
And found an empty room.
The Colonel went out sailing.
"I kept her much in the country
And she was much alone,
And though she may be there,' he said,
"She may be in the town.
She may be all alone there,
For who can say?' he said.
"I think that I shall find her
In a young man's bed.'
The Colonel went out sailing.
III
The Colonel met a pedlar,
Agreed their clothes to swop,
And bought the grandest jewelry
In a Galway shop,
Instead of thread and needle
put jewelry in the pack,
Bound a thong about his hand,
Hitched it on his back.
The Colonel wcnt out sailing.
The Colonel knocked on the rich man's door,
"I am sorry,' said the maid,
"My mistress cannot see these things,
But she is still abed,
And never have I looked upon
Jewelry so grand.'
"Take all to your mistress,'
And he laid them on her hand.
The Colonel went out sailing.
And he went in and she went on
And both climbed up the stair,
And O he was a clever man,
For he his slippers wore.
And when they came to the top stair
He ran on ahead,
His wife he found and the rich man
In the comfort of a bed.
The Colonel went out sailing.
The Judge at the Assize Court,
When he heard that story told,
Awarded him for damages
Three kegs of gold.
The Colonel said to Tom his man,
"Harness an *** and cart,
Carry the gold about the town,
Throw it in every patt.'
The Colonel went out sailing.
VII
And there at all street-corners
A man with a pistol stood,
And the rich man had paid them well
To shoot the Colonel dead;
But they threw down their pistols
And all men heard them swear
That they could never shoot a man
Did all that for the poor.
The Colonel went out sailing.
VIII
"And did you keep no gold, Tom?
You had three kegs,' said he.
"I never thought of that, Sir.'
"Then want before you die.'
And want he did; for my own grand-dad
Saw the story's end,
And Tom make out a living
From the seaweed on the strand.
The Colonel went out sailing.
2.2k
there was a little elf he came from galway bay
across the sea in ireland not to far away
he lived in the forest in the hollow of tree
always very happy a happy elf was he.
one day on his travels along the forest track
he saw his friend the hedgehog lying on his back
hedgehog had rolled over and his spikes were stuck
in to the forest floor his little spikes did tuck.
elf he had a ***** that he carried round
he began to dig into the forest ground
elf he freed the hedgehog he dug away the muck
hedgehog he was free again and no longer stuck.
they strolled along together along forest floor
hedgehog he was happy and free again once more
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
theres a place in ireland its name is galway bay
full of lots fishing boats you can see along the way
you can watch sun as it begins to set
as you watch the bay become a sillouttte.
you can see white horse has there riding by.
riding on the waves beneath a moonlit sky
a picture of tranquilty that warm can the soul.
a perfect work of art thats so full and whole.
the beauty of the bay the splendour of the sea
a memory i hold so very close to me.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's end,
Old Dublin merchant "free of the ten and four"
Or trading out of Galway into Spain;
Old country scholar, Robert Emmet's friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor;
Merchant and scholar who have left me blood
That has not passed through any huckster's ****
Soldiers that gave, whatever die was cast:
A Butler or an Armstrong that withstood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne
James and his Irish when the Dutchman crossed;
Old merchant skipper that leaped overboard
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay;
You most of all, silent and fierce old man,
Because the daily spectacle that stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say,
"Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun";
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake,
Although I have come close on forty-nine,
I have no child, I have nothing but a book,
Nothing but that to prove your blood and mine.
1.8k
THERE where the course is,
Delight makes all of the one mind,
The riders upon the galloping horses,
The crowd that closes in behind:
We, too, had good attendance once,
Hearers and hearteners of the work;
Aye, horsemen for companions,
Before the merchant and the clerk
Breathed on the world with timid breath.
Sing on: somewhere at some new moon,
We'll learn that sleeping is not death,
Hearing the whole earth change its tune,
Its flesh being wild, and it again
Crying aloud as the racecourse is,
And we find hearteners among men
That ride upon horses.
1.8k
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's end,
Old Dublin merchant "free of the ten and four"
Or trading out of Galway into Spain;
Old country scholar, Robert Emmet's friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor;
Merchant and scholar who have left me blood
That has not passed through any huckster's ****
Soldiers that gave, whatever die was cast:
A Butler or an Armstrong that withstood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne
James and his Irish when the Dutchman crossed;
Old merchant skipper that leaped overboard
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay;
You most of all, silent and fierce old man,
Because the daily spectacle that stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say,
"Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun";
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake,
Although I have come close on forty-nine,
I have no child, I have nothing but a book,
Nothing but that to prove your blood and mine.
1.6k
Fluid like the Guinness that flows from the oil rust taps, rapid and white battered. It laps quickly between every bridges thigh, whining as waves do in captivity. The air is thick and dewy in the Galway harbor. Each breath tastes saltier than the next. The rush, the rapid race signals the open sea. Spring could not come sooner than is demanded. Still six old rust stained fishing boats bob along the mossy stonewall. Untouched. The flow churns quicker; the longer the eye stands in gaze. A ***** yellow sign signals caution –a stolen ringbouy, a stolen life. And there amid the unrest I like to rest and reflect beside fettered waters whose tempest surface hides my face.
I am not alone,
the troubled waters
call my name.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 3:04 PM UTC
Something made me think of you
while on a late-night train
I suppressed a smile while by myself
I shouldn't think about you again
As we rattled into our first stop
I thought of our first kiss
the carriage was warm but lonely
like you, on the Dublin to Galway express
We trundled on to station two
you crowded my head once more
I reminisced on our second summer then
when you used come to my door
By the time we arrived at station three
my thoughts were bitter and shrill -
you'd taken my heart, I'd forgotten that part
and leaned in for the ****
Before my stop, the train broke down
and grinded to a halt,
giving me time to reflect on what I used call 'perfect'
things that are now, undoubtedly, faults
Once the train started up, my mind was clear
as a summer Sunday sky. I alighted the train,
as it moved on in the night,
I saw
that so had I.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
It's half past eight. In this housing estate,
Dooradoyle, Limerick cars are stirring, going to work.
God I'm so ****** Spent the night watching
9/11 conspiracies, South Park and Family Guy.
I sent you a txt at five past one.
Wish I could have whispered it into your ear.
I know it will be hours before you wake.
The thing with having small arms —
it drives you to reach the top shelf.
The moment you were born, Charlie Lennon
composed The Dawn Chorus
to signal a day; glorious,
still far from over.
When I stay over, you’re 9ft away —
alone in another room. May as well
be a mile past the edge of the universe.
You give me your jumper to take to bed,
to touch, to smell. And again,
as I am leaving home; as now —
sober, on a bus back to Galway. It's raining,
but I'm in love with you.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
the first time you told me you loved me was in a tiny hotel room by the river in limerick and i remember your ankles hooked around mine, our bones clanking together under the starch of the sheets. the second time your voice was warm from several pints of guinness and you were playing me fairytale of new york on your old piano that will be forever just a step out of tune. i could only laugh in response because i suddenly forgot how to use the words that i’ve spent years trying to comprehend. the third time you were out on your back patio, smoking a cigarette before heading to bed and the fourth on a freezing night out on a busy street in galway. i know you can hear the hesitation in my voice, the mild fear that shakes at the end of every exhale. you never mention it but you still keep using the words i love you as if you’re attempting to teach me a phrase in a foreign language in the hopes that one day i’ll pick up on what you’ve been trying to say to me all this time.
28 nov, 2012
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
theres a place in ireland its name is galway bayfull of lots fishing boats you can see along the wayyou can watch sun as it begins to setas you watch the bay become a sillouttte.you can see white horse as there riding by.riding on the waves underneath a moonlit skya picture of tranquilty that warm can the soul.a perfect work of art thats so full and wholethe beauty of the bay the splendour of the seaa memory that i hold so very close to me.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
It's been a while since I last saw you. When I got a good look at your face, it's like everything changed and everything stayed the same, all at the same time.
It was six in a very cold evening. We shared a cigarette even though you had a cold and a nasty cough because that's what we usually did when we were together. We'd talk about how you were doing with college and how I did because that's what we do, at least, did.
After a couple of sticks, we got back to my place. I thought it was a bad idea since it'd bring up a lot of things but that's the last thing I thought of as you walked in my room.
You saw my mattress was on the floor because it was a new place and I couldn't afford a bed frame at the moment. Still, you took off your shoes and jumped on it, saying "good night" because you haven't had much sleep because of school. I got my extra pillow and I hit your **** with it and as I expected, you still didn't budge.
I whipped up some instant noodles since that's all I had and I knew you haven't ate yet and as soon as I got it on the plate, you instantly got up my mattress and just ate it all. You yelled and got mad at me for not warning you that the noodles were hella spicy. You rushed to my counter to get some water and I laughed my *** off.
I got up and grabbed my guitar and I sang Galway Girl and you told me you didn't like the new album. Still, I continued playing then you just sang along by the chorus.
The night went on along with a couple of more songs. You still had that graceful, thin voice even though you smoked a lot. The voice that I really liked a lot because it calms me. I even showed you that I still had that recording of yours singing that Lily Allen song in which I forgot the title and you scoffed at me for saving that track.
With all that, bursts of nostalgia came rushing at me. I looked at you and I could say it looks the same for you. Our eyes met and you smiled.
A bad idea popped in my mind but before dismissing it, I find myself leaning closer to you, and simultaneously, you lean close to me. I smiled and thought, we really do think of bad ideas. With that, I find my lips touching yours.
It goes on for minutes and you suddenly stop, move back and say we shouldn't because... I'll get your cold. I smiled and moved my face closer to yours again. You hit my shoulder with your hand and smiled, and kissed me again.
We lay on my mattress for a few more moments, thinking of what we did and if it was the right thing to do. A part of me says I missed this, another says this was a really bad idea and before I could make up my mind, you get up and tried to get your things. You said you remembered you had to go and do your school thing. I got up as well and I accompanied you until you got a ride home. I waved goodbye as you went for the bus.
Suddenly, I sneezed and coughed then I laughed. I laughed because I knew I caught your cold. And the worst thing is, I laughed because I knew a cold isn't the only thing I caught. I sighed then I smiled and I hoped that cold medicine could also take away the other things I caught....
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
You and me, and Molly Malone
In Dublin city, so far from home
Looking over the Liffey
That's when it hit me
My love for you, had only grown
In Galway Bay, we couldn't stay
The loyalty, love, and friendship day
Rainbows at the Cliffs of Moher
The Blarney Stone we can't ignore
Waterford Crystal and...Cabernet
You and me, and Molly Malone
Is the memory, that I've carved in stone
Dancing in Dublin
You've got my heart bublin'
My love for you, had only grown
Guinness, whiskey, cider
I got sick on chowder
Hanging out with Wilde
Don't forget that child
Ten thousand years and...no they're not
You and me, and Molly Malone
Here comes the time, for us to go home
Even though we're leavin'
We will leave here knowin'
My love for you, had only grown
(My love for you, had only grown)
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens,
the neck opening so small he has to ***** them on—
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.
In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.
Galway Kinnell, “After Making Love We Hear Footsteps” from Three Books. Copyright © 2002 by Galway Kinnell.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
There is a woman in Europe who drinks coffee at midnight. She has purple hair, but once upon a time, it was brown and she cut it under the table in first grade and let another girl get in trouble for it. She never said a word, let the guilt eat through her bones at night for weeks.
There is a woman in Ireland who is afraid to drive on the left side of the road, although she once ruled the California freeways in her blue pumpkin-turned-purple carriage. With a negative sense of direction and a never ending supply of menthols, she got lost so many times that she had no choice but to be found.
There is a woman in Galway whose skin is laced with ancient spiderweb scars. Years ago, they were angry, open tubes of crimson paint that children had stomped on when no one was looking. But everything fades, even acrylic paints and ancient pains.
There is a girl in Kinvara who is practically a professional at destroying nice things. She tried her hardest to make something beautiful but she was never much use at creation; better at cremation. Burning, bleeding, bruising-- these are her areas of expertise. She has learned to stop hiding from her secrets and her sins and her skin, that it is okay to be made up of matchsticks. She washes her hands too often, but that's okay, right? There are worse things a girl can do. At least, that's what they tell her…
But she's had enough of the poison they've been trying to sell her.
s.h.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Love, loyalty, friendship
all promised in a ring.
Shimmering on your hand,
pointed inwards for me.
On one knee in Galway,
I have so much to say.
I’ll just ask, “Will you be
mine on our wedding day?”.x
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
I saw us again in Galway,
And again it felt as if you weren't dead,
You were young,
And I was younger than today,
You had your journalist's notebook and pen,
And so many things to say,
You looked ahead,
I melted away,
Past the crowd of gathering wolves,
Through the cinnamon rain,
To the narrow road winding through the hills,
Like a fleeing possum's tail,
Never still,
A pulsing membrane,
A hospital bed,
A naked, dying flame,
The road you chose to take,
Red with sweet precipitation and pain,
I still remember when you told me you were ill,
I want to die, you said,
What I wouldn't give to know once more your head,
Where your thoughts used to play,
The way your body swayed,
When you saw life's ugliness but refused to look away,
For your spirit I yen,
Faintly remembered by the markings of your pen,
In notebooks in an attic,
Living words floating above dead eyes,
Shrouded by the spice of time,
I desire to wipe it away,
But I'm so terrified of what I might find,
In dreams, I still see your face,
What if in wakefulness, I find an emptiness in its place
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 11:50 AM UTC