According to the back of the card, "Often referred to as the capital of the west, Galway is a cultural Mecca of sorts, attracting thousands every year to the many lively festivals hosted by the town. A few of the biggest attractions are the Galway Film Fleadh, the Galway Arts Festivak, the Galway Races and the Oyster Festival. In addition to its status as a contre of language, art, and culture, Galway is home to nearly 13,000 students during the academic year."
I visited Ireland in 2009, and stayed with my awesome friend in Galway. Her apartment was right downtown, just a few minutes' walk from this street. We went out almost every night and listened to Irish music (which we both love), except for one night when we listened to Jim Page at the Crane Bar and wrote love poems.
Galway Love Song
[**hookers = traditional boats of Galway]
Tonight you will not stop for McDonagh's chips,
nor for a loaf of Griffen's brown bread.
You will walk past the brand new bike
sunk in mud at the bottom of the Corrib,
past the hookers' rust-red sails on the Claddagh green.
You will dance around the puddles in the cobbled streets,
dodging hawkers dressed in signboards,
with tunes of flute and fiddle on your lips.
Your footsteps will begin to hurry
in the alley by the King's Head.
You brush past the knot of smokers at the doorway
with their pints of Guinness,
up the creaky wooden stairs
to where I am sitting on the balcony
with my head bowed and my eyes closed,
attention at my fingertips,
making love to my mandolin.
This is an original poem written by me. All rights reserved. You may not copy, share, or use this poem without my permission.
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