Lens and Lyric Tour of Ireland - Marlee Huber: Catching Moments...Releasing Beauty
On the Irish Sea in Bray

On the Irish Sea in Bray

It was after Ray Hughes announced at Bethel Church that the "trip is full; no one else can come" that I was granted the royal scepter of acceptance and joined this memory-making tour.

That is another story. Suffice it to say, that when you are supposed to be somewhere, double doors of favor fly open and suddenly, you find yourself on a flight to Dublin! The next thing you know, you are kicking off your shoes and are walking along the Irish Sea in Bray. 

Many have asked to see my Ireland photos. You can view my favorites in the slide-show. 

What I loved about Ireland was the privilege of walking this ancient land, setting foot where the Celtic Christians had walked--and raised the dead and composed poetry rich with color-dappled description--while breathing in the fresh air off the Irish Sea--some of which was way too fresh and fluid--all the while being mesmerized by Ray Hughes' storytelling. 

I love Carl Sandburg's poem about love and how it gets into the way you walk and talk and hold your head and hands. Well--that's what happens in Ireland. The land just got inside me.

In fact, it's wedged in there so deeply that I started writing verse. Ha! Haven't done that since Leonard Oakland winced at the sad little poem I struggled over years and years ago during a freshman English class at Whitworth College. I won't boast about this one only say it reflects my thoughts as I walked through these historic rooms at Bunratty Folk Park and composed this image.  I think it was the fallen petals that stopped me that morning.


Will You Sit By My Window?


Will you sit by my window and write a fresh poem

Of this land called Ireland that you call your home?


Will you dare tell your secrets, your heartaches and such

to the one who seeks to love you so much?


Will you sit my window and write a fresh poem--

A narrative of Ireland for whenever I roam?


Will you tell of your scholars, your saints and your flowers!

Will you help me to know you in your dreadful hours?


Will you sit by my window and whisper your dreams?

For the last word on Ireland is yet to be seen.







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