The Poems of David Garlick
Emma has a “stand up stool,” it makes her almost tall. which is really rather useful when you are very small. She never needs a helping hand, to see what’s on a shelf; she never asks ”Please lift me up.” It’s, “I can do it by myself!” She drags the plywood platform […]
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
The Oleanders smelled so sweet as home from school we, hand in hand, walked and talked of childish things and felt our friendship grow to love. Then jeers and laughter spoilt our dream. To love was shameful, not for us – who were just children in a world where cruelty was part of life. […]