The Poems of David Garlick
In a graveyard, a crop of headstones had sprung up, shiny black; epitaphs written in white, with perfect plastic flowers faded by the sun. The new head markers stood beside old leaning ones, gray and pockmarked with age, that staggered drunkenly, pathetic. Unkempt, their tributes of long grasses with bowed heads. Remembered people, forgotten. […]
They’re leaving, one by one, those people, of my distant youth. I see the women then, in bright printed cotton. The men, bronzed by the desert sun, gleaming with youth and vigor. Now they slip away, leaving us the fewer. The keening wind blows – the dust and sand. Songs of days long gone. […]
He came to me from somewhere fine. Perhaps a Georgian home, white pillared front that overlooked a quiet tree fringed square, where children ran in ancient noisy games and nannies in light gray, wheeled stately prams. He came to me, smart, in his uniform. Pale and distant, hollow eyed, deep set, sad. Unwilling to share […]
There comes a time when happiness deserts my heart, leaving behind desolation in my soul. Words held captive, as water in a mountain, bubble through the fissures of my mind to run unheeded down the slope of life. They gather in tiny pools, each bright as the sky. Reflecting twinkling sun dust, or […]