Drowning At Sea - I Have A Dream

Baffle 2013

I have a dream, ladies and gentlemen, yes, I have a dream.
No, not the Martin Luther King kind, though it may seem,

that I might indeed have conjured up such a glorious triptych scheme.

No scheme, and it’s not a plan either, no grand design to conquer or win,

in some devilishly clever manner, the hearts of women and men,

nor even saving their souls, or taxing the wages of sin.

No my dream is much less laudable, far less fanciful and rare,

for my dream is simply the worst kind of scary nightmare,

where I am the hapless victim, the sacrificial lamb, in terrible danger

In my dream, I am alone in an angry ocean, of wave, after tumultuous wave.

No, I am not on a boat, or a ship, not even a raft, I am swimming, like mad, to save,

myself from drowning, from dying, from sinking helplessly into a cold, watery grave.

Yes, I imagine you have been there yourself, on occasion, permit me -

You are on holiday, had a few, went swimming, too far from the shore for safety,

you panic, swallow water, but just for a moment, it’s ok, you’re still in depth, you see.

Not me, in my dream the ocean is fathomless, deep, dark and forbidding

There is no reassuring shore, no tanned lifeguard to answer my frantic bidding

And by the way, there are sharks, all around, sharp-toothed and hungry, no kidding!

The ship that I fell off, though in my dream I can’t remember falling,

is sailing away, towards the horizon, totally ignoring my panicked bawling

I reach for my mobile, it’s on roaming, no signal, wet, no point calling

I’ve heard it said that when you’re dying your whole life flashes before you!

Not true, or at least not true for me, all I see is darkness around me, not a clue,

how did I get here, who I am, I’m alone, just me drowning again, hopeless déjà vu

Truth be told, this dream, this nightmare, visits me often, nearly every day.

At each replay, it gets worse, I’m worried, terrified, I’ve aged, I’ve gone grey.

The doctors can’t help me, prescribed everything, they even suggested I pray.

I’ve tried that of course, and I’ve found that it helps, praying sincerely

to St. Anthony for my lost life-vest,  begging St. Christopher to steer me

and St. Jude, for lost causes and hopeless cases, God bless him, he hears me

He must do, ‘cause in the dreams, just as I am about to drown, or be eaten

I am rescued by an off-course helicopter, or a pod of dolphins have beaten

the sharks, a currach skips across the waves, I’m snatched to safety, death-cheatin’.

Saved from the sea, exhausted, I drift back to sleep, though my relief is short-lived,

as each mornings news brings word of yet another family, devastated, bereaved.

The sea claims her own, but if cheated, another is soon taken, ‘tis believed.

I’ve cheated the sea quite a few times, in life and in dreams, though I still love to swim.

Floating on my back in Salthill last Wednesday, I basked in my vast, outdoor gym,

rejoicing on being alive, keeping healthy, feeling young, slim, trim with a touch of vim

Life was good, I dressed, shivering, turned on the car radio, and then heard about Niall.

A young man in his prime, so much talent, so much to live for, what caused his travail?

How dark were his demons, how deep was his ocean, what made his world spoil?

He is not coming back. His hurl and white helmet are stored. His deeds on the field,

will oft be re-told, but his phone was no use, his calls went unheard, his shield,

proved no match for the vengeful sea dragon. Drowned in an ocean, his fate was sealed.

Suicide’s not the answer to that demon called depression. That monstrous scourge,

stalks the land, randomly preying on the young and the vulnerable. Lets stop this surge!

Help is at hand. Pieta, Samaritans, St. Jude and you. Let Niall’s be the last funeral dirge.

I drove on away home, tears in my eyes. I promised I’d do what not enough of us choose,

to open my door, to reach out my hand, to reassure the lost, and not fear to lose,

to try to help others, from drowning at sea, no matter the cost, I’m spreading the news.

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Drowning At Sea - I Have A Dream

This was my poem that I entered and read in the Baffle Poetry Festival that is held in Loughrea each Halloween weekend. This year's theme was 'Spreading the news'. 
Mine was not a winner, but I felt I had to write it because so many people, young men especially are committing suicide in Ireland every week. It is truly the saddest news that is spreading. We can all try to help those with suicidal thoughts or who are suffering from depression. Simply reaching out to them and speaking with them is a start. Being open to approach and being non-judgemental is also great. Lets do all we can to prevent more young people from ending their lives this way.
I would like to dedicate this poem to Niall Donohue, who was yet another victim to the monster we call depression. He died this week, a terrible shock to his family, friends and community. They are reeling from his loss. He was only, a lovely lad, a talented hurler and has left behind a saddened and stunned family and community. Air dheis De go raibh a h-anam.
Samaritans http://www.samaritans.org/your-community/samaritans-work-ireland Phone 1850609090
Pieta House www.pieta.ie/‎ or www.pietahousewest.com/‎

For more on Niall's short life and his tragic death...see
http://www.independent.ie/irish-news/galway-hurling-star-niall-donohue-22-dies-suddenly-29695323.html
St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes, hopeless cases and depression. His saints day is October 28, co-incidentally, tomorrow. Brian Nolan

Winter 1962/63 v's 2009/2010 - Walking on thin Ice - Priceless

An old schoolmate of mine reminded me of the wonderland that was Loughrea when the lake froze over in 1963, him having heard a cautionary interview on Radio the day before about walking on thin ice.

Though just a kid I remember being part of a group walking across the lake from Long Point to Cooreen, via Island McHugo and the Bishop's. I was just talking to my sister about it yesterday, recounting Norman Morgan's attempt to prove that Volkswagen Beetles were capable of floating...well of Ice-Roadin' at least, before the car went through the ice at the Grove at the County Home. She told me about the parties the teenagers had on the smaller Islands beyond the barracks and the few Tynagh Mine-brats' who actually had real Ice-Skates. One couple had brought real snow Skis from Canada with them! What were they thinking when they emigrated to the west of Ireland?

Dad built us a toboggan, a wooden sled on which he dragged a bunch of us across the frozen lake pulling the rope with one hand, while holding four rather bemused looking greyhounds on leashes with the other. I remember being simultaneously terrified of drowning in an icy hole in the middle of the lake, while wishing this magical dream would never end!

My memories are those of a child, no doubt exaggerated and inaccurate, but I remember what seemed like the whole town being out on the ice that time. I still have memories of skimming stones at Flaggy Meadow, the stones bouncing and skidding for hundreds of yards across the frozen lake waters. The bigger boys competing, 'can you make the island with the next stone' and 'mine went a half-a-mile, way past yours'. The eerie echo of the ice cracking and the stones zing-ing, ricocheting and thunking across the unexpected artic plain, and the silence only punctuated by the nervous excited cries of children with their mouths agog at the impossibility of walking on water.

Later on I remember the ice thawing and our parents being more cautious about letting us wander near the lake. Nonetheless I remember an older boy crashing through the ice at Flaggy Meadow, opposite O'Briens and watching in horror as he struggled, knowing for sure, he was going to drown, watching helplessly as a child does, recording his inevitable demise, only to see him rise like a phoenix, as he successively clambered up on, and broke through plate after plate of ice, until he reached a shallow enough point to finally get back up on the ice. Funny thing I remember going through the ice myself at the back of the Temperance hall, sliding along the frozen slides and suddenly being neck deep in very cold water. The thing is, I don't remember going home to change, we just continued playing on our new winter playground. No wonder I had asthma as a kid!

But no-one died, nor even had a bad fall it seemed, only great gobs of innocent fun! No X-Box back then!
I recall visiting the islands in our boat years later and seeing the remains of the bonfires the older teenagers lit to enjoy their illicit beers and late-night sing-songs and surreptitious snogs on a heretofore inaccessible part of their town. The scandal of what went on at those parties seems to have been more the talk of the town than the absolute lifetime event of being able to Jesus-walk across the lake to see the Bishops Palace!

Yes indeed, looking back now, we really did have an impoverished and dull childhood in Loughrea in the sixties. Nothing exciting ever happened back then! Duh!

And so, yesterday, and admiddedly, initially with great trepidation, I walked and kicked a soccer ball from Long Point to Fair Green, with my 10-year old son David, his buddy Breffni, and my friends, Brian and Paddy, on the frozen lake at Loughrea. This is the first time since 1963 that the whole lake has frozen so completely over, though it did freeze pretty hard too in 1982 as the younger Paddy and Brian reminded me, the old man.

Dull, sleeting and very cold...but the lake was a magical playground. Frozen completely, up to 4 inches thick where we checked one ice-hole off Long Point where someone tried ice-fishing in...though not all of the lake is walkable especially near Island McHugo, where a fiercely audible ice-crack sent us scampering like frightened lemmings back towards the relative safety of the Point.

Hundreds of people were wandering on the ice all day (indeed all week apparently)...we saw 2 teenage girls with ice skates, that were capably navigating the biggest ice-rink in Ireland. One guy with snow skis, (he's from Tynagh, brought them back from San Francisco 3 years ago...what was he thinking when he remigrated back here?) and a carefree geezer on a push-bike, buzzed us twice, meandering happily all over the lake, beaming in his hi-viz jacket!

Poles, Brazillians and Latvians mixed with equally bemused locals....it's become quite the tourist attraction...even the guardai were chilling...not interfering. No sign of anyone taking a car out on the ice yet, though I suspect it would bear it. Baffle were preparing for a hot-wine and poetry reading sessiun on the little crannog island behind the Barracks at 4.30pm.....I wish we could've waited!

Perhaps little David will catch it next time round, maybe with his son! There are some things money just can't buy! Walking on thin ice with your son...Priceless!