In My Own Words – Page 103 – The Poems of David Garlick

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 message

of that pain.

Every now and then

a twinge of discomfort.

Something I would not have

noticed before. It could be

just nothing at all

but it could be a crack!

Wake up Glass Man!

Take hold of what you

have and be grateful.

You are a coward if

you can’t face facts,

stupid if you give in.

David Garlick, Victoria, March. 1996

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.

So we denied this strange new love.

A love not like a forest fire

but rather as a match, intensely bright.

That hurt as deeply then as it would now.

A sweet, warm flush that thrilled my heart,

when hand met hand in fleeting touch or clasp.

In that brief ecstasy of secret love

for us to hold and cherish in the breast.

Oh what a sorrow that to hate or scorn

was more important than our flowering love.

And that our shame could make us fear

the jeering of our youthful friends.

David Garlick, Victoria, May 1989

Petal soft, the feel of youthful skin,
warm, pliant, sensuous to the mind,
the thrill of human purrs, in reply.
Exchange of subtle moves, lips that meet
as if by magic, in their welcome.
The years swing round the warming sun.
Magic is still there despite our age.
Eyes tell loving lies to pleasant dreams,
lips still, soft as velvet memories.
More setting suns, more loving thoughts.
Hair that blooms in white; sun opened bud.
Wrinkles, hiding place of happy mirth.
Word of love, welcome now as ever
and gentle thoughts, fill the loving years.

David Garlick, Revised, March 2007
(on way to sonnet.)