A New Land for Early Morning (Alainn Tir)

Along bearded roads we barrel
past sunset rusted chippys
and stale graffiti;
past the drunkards lair,
heading toward the sea at 2am
where graves are not as quiet,
or earth as thick.
Buzzards hand us to gulls
as roads give way to waves,
and a orange glow of the ferry port
tilts us closer to heather fringes.
Over mighty, boiling water
a fearsome soup,
we sail on the edges of dawn,
seduced by faithful promises
only Eire could give wing.
Land of bailead!
Such potent beauty to assault
the human frame,
so genorous a land to strangers.

God speed the engines
that shudder under feet
like a Kraken itself taking us
across the leather smacked seas;
pulling toward rising shores
with welcome bosom and froth.
Oh starry Gaelic soil,
a honeycomb for bards
and fitting bed for heroes,
our ship approaches.
The water shrugs off its black skin
and trails sink behind dawn;
beyond gangplank into hearts alive
where wakes rejoice unfazed by limit...

@Steven Francis poems 2009