In My Own Words – Page 109 – The Poems of David Garlick

Blue skies that dome a Prairie plane.

Cold air that sparkles in the sun.

Poplars standing stark and bare.

Cattle steaming in a field.

A snowy owl sits white and still,

eyes staring, with unblinking gaze.

Hoar frost, like strings of brilliant gems,

festoons the branches of a tree.

Nostrils tingle with each breath,

which freezes on a frosty beard.

Cold strikes through soles of felt lined boots,

that squeak and crunch the crispy snow.

And if one takes the time to see

the beauty of a winters day.

Your eyes may fill with tears of joy,

to view the vastness of this scene.

David Garlick, Edmonton, December 1986

The buzinezz of beez iz flying and zooming.

Guzzling nectar, pollinating fruit treez.

Darting and hovering round bloomz in the garden,

backwardz and forwardz and sidewayz as well.

Pollen on hairy legz and fuzzy abdomen,

feelerz that tickle a flowerz insidez.

Dancing the wax framez, to tell their fellowz

where bright bloomz are waiting with a harvest of gold.

Filling the honeycomb. Sweeping the floorz clean.

Fanning the entrance, to keep the hive cool.

All in a dayz toil, for buzy bee workerz,

sun up to sundown, day after day.

Working so otherz may live through the winter,

to welcome the Spring with a buzzing of wingz.

David Garlick, Victoria, June 1992

To all of you who thought of me

a lying on my back.

In a quiet hospital laid low,

with a stupid heart attack.

A very grateful “Thank you”

from the bottom of my heart.

Which is okay the doctors say.

the fault’s in the top part.

David Garlick, Victoria, May 1986

He sat, dark, on low stone steps;

buried in black shadow, unmoving.

Only his staring, blank eyes

gathered light thrown by

glinting, gaudy gifts.

The blare of music did not jar his ears.

He was as a “black hole” on a step

in a market full of noise and laughter;

soaking up what was not his world

or ever would be.

Bleak, black Christmas.

David Garlick, Puebla, December 1997