In My Own Words – Page 21 – The Poems of David Garlick

We colickty-clack past shabby houses,

clinging together in rows;

cringing as trains rattle past.

Tin tubs hang on walls.

Grimy urchins playing games

are sheltered from the sun by the

green gasometers gray shadow.

A cloud of dust and smuts

speckles off white washing.

Pale faces peer and disappear,

as light glances off windows.

A network of wires,

spun like spiders webs,

criss-cross the scene,

cutting it into moving angular pieces.

The red sign on a pub

swings listlessly.

David Garlick, Victoria, 1987

To those of you who know me,

It will come as no surprise.

That I will go sailing

In boats of any size.

I’ve built them and restored them,

with the sweat of my own brow.

But the strangest craft I ever sailed

Was a little Arab Dhow.

I called her Jamelah.

Which is an Arab word –

for beautiful and that she was

in every lovely curve.

But when it came to sailing,

I can tell you here and now.

That off the wind she was very fast,

though to weather, a real cow.

A lateen rig is fine off shore,

with a wind that’s on the beam.

But if you have to tack them

their performance is obscene.

Still I loved that little boat

and cruised her many miles.

On waters blue and sparkling

Among the Bahrain Isles.

David Garlick, Victoria, 1986

If you must be critical,

be critical of yourself.

If you must be judgmental,

be judgmental in the time frame.

If you must feel slighted,

check your point of view.

If must feel abandoned,

think of a slave ship.

If you must feel alone,

go to a mountain top.

If you must feel rejected,

visit an orphanage.

If you must feel inferior,

look at those in power.

If you must look inwardly,

be generous.

If you must condemn,

check history.

If you must,

then, there must be a reason.

What is it?

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, February, 2001

I’ve soared the mountaintop of love.

Lived in the valley of self-blame.

I’ve sung the songs of happiness,

wept scalding tears of shame.

I’ve swum warm seas of self-deceit.

Plumbed depths, of nameless fears.

But now with you upon a lake

that has an endless curve.

I see the beauty, feel the wind,

find flowers everywhere.

And hear the ring of notes long gone.

The peace, of time to share.

David Garlick, England, 1997