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
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
He’s a fine man, tall, though a Gringo, but then no ones perfect, it seems. He improves his Spanish daily, though words create problems, you’ll see. So many sound rather similar. The verbs Ser and Estar, confuse. Practice is the only solution, though the locals we seem to amuse. He wanted his […]
When a candle flame withers from orange to blue and the light it gave us dwindles. When the scent of burnt wax fades on the air and the warmth it shared cools. Will we remember it? Words written in it’s light, remain. Books read by its loom can be felt, the ideas, alive in […]