In My Own Words – Page 14 – The Poems of David Garlick

Today I glanced in the mirror.

A child looked back at me.

His nose is freckled,

his hair is fair,

he sticks out his tongue,

and laughs at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror.

A schoolboy looks back at me.

His nose still freckled,

his hair combed flat.

He thumbs his nose

and grins at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror.

Adolescence looks back at me.

The freckles have gone,

the hair unkempt.

He loves a girl who doesn’t love him.

He scowls at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror.

A young man looks back at me.

The face is brown,

the hair is fair,

He feels alone, too young, too old.

He sneers at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror.

Today is my wedding day.

The face is happy,

and so debonair.

He waits for his bride

and smiles at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror,

a father of three today.

A face that is older,

a face with crows feet.

The look is vacant and far away.

No response to reflection there.

Today I glanced in the mirror,

middle age stares back at me.

The face is longer.

The hair flecked with gray.

Contentment at last!

He smiles at reflections there.

Today I glanced in the mirror.

David Garlick, Mazatlan, January, 1990

The dank and chilly breath of early day.

Cold drips of drizzle trickle down a neck.

Tendrils of mist wrap wetly around bones

and dog bitten boots, leak, soaking socks.

But in the hand a mug of steaming tea.

A Marmite butty, bites an eager tongue.

Ears are woken to a choir of birds

and ducks swim arrows; hoping for a crust.

The rain has left the grass a billionaire.

A ragged heron poses as a bush.

The dripping trees shake their heavy coats.

and tangled roots drink deeply from the cut.

Soon other boats will wake to test the day.

Toss lose their fetters from the muddy banks.

Engines will cough; to chug with smoky breath.

Slow turning props, wash swirls of turgid silt.

All is strangely loud after the rain.

Friendly noises, greetings and farewells.

The light will rip the gossamer of dawn;

and boats will weave the sounds of budding day.

David Garlick, Montsorrel, September, 1999

We salute Maurice,

who gave his youth for us.

What the reward?

Yes, fifty years ago.

They took away his treaty rights!

Who was the enemy then?

Those, who’s evil creed hung,

as a stinking blanket, over us?

Or you, who fought for freedom,

far from home.

To leave friends

dead on a foreign field?

How could this be?

I do not understand.

Is this gratitude?

Is there no shame?

Forgive those who

have wronged you.

For in forgiveness

light will shine.

You are shown a man.

A man who gave freedom to us

You are a warrior,

tall on the grassy plain.

Wind in your face

we will remember you.

Thank you Maurice Desjarlais

and other men as brave.

David Garlick, Lethbridge, June, 1995

Written in honor of Maurice and others who may have been deprived of their birthrights. Some reward for men who fought for the freedom of all. Shame is our legacy.

The other day in quiet mood,

I sank into a reverie,

contemplating timeless truths,

ships of state, a navel gaze.

And focusing upon my lap,

which lay revealed to meet my needs;

my thoughts in thanks dwelt upon

the uses of my folded self.

Anatomically a useful shelf,

for all those things we do whilst sat;

but magically it disappears

once to our feet we rise to stand.

Where does it go, the wondrous tool?

The lap we see has gone perhaps,

to somewhere, where it slips away

and thus a lap is said to lapse.

David Garlick, Victoria, January, 1996