The Poems of David Garlick
I dreamt of a tear, on a face in a park, a face that watched passers by. It witnessed young lovers. Welcomed their children. It helped those about to die. The face in the park was hewn in stone and that tear would never dry. David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, January 1997
At night, when silence wraps the house words hover over me and I must set them down – or they will drift away. For slumber steals those first thought words, the best, the poignant. Ignored they seldom survive. I do not understand this. The theme persists but those precious drops from the thought spring […]
I’m not ill any more, perhaps I never was! Why then do I feel so frail? I used to do so much. Now I’m molly coddled into doing very little. I sit and read a lot. A glass man, fragile – but not convinced – that I will break. Yet I fear the […]
Somehow between the sea and sky, the colour of our being exists. It varies with our changing moods, from sun lit mauve to sullen gray, as our aura’s mantle flares, to show the spectrum of our souls. David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, January 1997