The Poems of David Garlick
Old as a bottle of vintage wine, young as the taste on your tongue. Old as the river that swoops to the sea, young as the brook in the hills. Old as the mountains that touch the sky, young as their dusting of snow. Old as the gem won from the ground, […]
Once a month, never more and more often less. He took a shower in his Stanfield’s undress. It was woolly, long sleeved, had a flap at the back. Red as a rose, course as a sack. He showered in song, as well as in water. His voice was off key, the words too, sort‘a. […]
I had forgotten how beautiful they are. Sleek of skin and limbs without the blemish of time. Bodies straight, colts full of fun! Clear eyed and determined. Unspoiled by too much or too little. Poems in the writing. athletes in the training. Our future, their responsibility. David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, March 1999
Whether the wether was wet, the weather certainly was. His fleece, not his fleas, which fled, fleeing the weather; whether the wether’s withers were wet or not. The wether wondered whether wandering was fun as he wended his way with a flock on a fell. He fell into step with a sheep that […]