The Poems of David Garlick
You know, it doesn’t hurt much when you are dead. But then you do a lot of lying still. You know, you don’t fear much when you are dead. But perhaps there is no adventure left to thrill. You know, you do not hunger much when you are dead. But then you do not need […]
As Spring’s soft fingers caress my furrowed face. My thoughts warm to birds and bees, forgetting snow and ice. Soon seeds will stir, within my soil, bulb spears will greenly show. Then I will bask in mellow winds and smiling watch them grow. David Garlick, Victoria, May, 1991
To ski ‘s, like flying down a hill, white snow, the clouds beneath your feet. The skis are wings, that guide your flight, pulled down the hill by gravity. Control, instead of headlong dash is how we learn to stretch these wings. Then swooping as the eagle does, we swing and push to make a […]
There is a dunny that I know and it could have a wondrous view, with star shapes cut into it’s door or a tiny window pane or two. Instead in darkness, all alone, I sit in lordly splendor. To rue the day they did away with the friendly “double ender”. Oh muse, who’s […]