The Poems of David Garlick
In the basket of their arms, their lips, two halves of a peach. Soft sobs and moans a language, they thought, never spoken by another soul. A love so new and deep, never plumbed in all time. An ocean! David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, January, 2001
Large soft eyes and sleek skins. Udders quiver pleasantly. Hips swing. Ponderous minds. Rhythmic jaw movements; sliding and rolling; occasional bubbles! How cow-like gum chewers are. David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, March, 1998
From further up the beach they looked like stranded whales. Closer, I could see their northern pallor’s pinking to the sun. Quivering, hairy bellies and ripe bosoms bursting bikinis. The scent of cheap sun blocks soothing consciences. They almost sizzle, basking in the sun’s violent smile. Hot dogs on concession rollers, waiting for bun […]
I hear the sound of wind in trees. Leaves rattle and talk to the night. Soon they will fall, harvest of gold. Rain on the roof, what does it say? Drum beats in a forest, words for me? A flurry of tears, voice in the dark. Soon snow will whisper soft sounds. […]