The Poems of David Garlick
In my house there are rules for spiders. We may come and go as we wish. But if we foolishly wander the flag stones; underfoot, we may end up as squish! It’s OK to live in a corner, in a crack or under the fridge but hang from the light or the curtains. […]
There’s a dragon that lives in our basement. He sleeps right under the stairs. I know he’s there ‘cos I’ve seen him and smelt his breath on the air. At night, when it’s quiet, I hear him. For he breaths with a rumbling noise. But I’m not afraid of our dragon for I’m told […]
India, my India, how I remember you. Not as some soldier or wide eyed tourist awed by your ancient culture – and your milling multitudes. Nor fascinated by the riches of a maharaja, horrified by mutilated beggars in the streets or shocked by the teaming destitute that throng the Kashmir Gate. No I remember […]
Mr. Penhaligan said to me. Would you like to come to tea, at my cottage by the sea? Mr. Penhaligan said to me. Mr. Penhaligan said to me. I never eat bread and butter for tea. Only scones and cake, you’ll see. Mr. Penhaligan said to me. Mr. Penhaligan said to me. […]