In My Own Words – Page 26 – The Poems of David Garlick

What is sadness, what is joy, what is love and what is hate?

What is kindness what is greed, what is fear and what is brave?

What is play and what is real, what is easy what is hard?

What is beauty, what is ugly, what is good and what is bad?

What is here, what is there, what is near and what is far?

What is now and what is then, what is life and what is death?

What and why and when and where are we?

Does it really matter in this unknown universe?

David Garlick, Sidney, November, 2002

There is a magic carpet

that wafts us round the world.

With classic form, flowers gay

and glorious colours swirled.

Of texture soft or rugged,

of silk or finest wool;

so skillful in it’s weaving,

that snags will never pull.

It has a thousand borders

where patterns play their roll;

with a multitude of tiny knots

important to the whole.

An artifact of priceless worth,

for all of us to own.

We ride this magic carpet,

as if it were a throne.

We may not ever master it

or use it very well,

while it helps us to communicate,

where sounds of Babel swell.

Now and then, with harshness,

or softness nearly sung;

this magic carpet carries us

on the words of every tongue.

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, February, 1999

Ripples laced with blue and green.

Hulls reflected, quivering.

Trees that cling to crumbling cliffs,

etched by rain and sun and waves.

Tapestries of living rock,

hung beside round, powdering caves;

where birds have nested through all time,

their stains of white a history.

Seals, like logs, along the shore.

Cormorants dive, to catch a fish.

Eagles rise so high and free,

borne by the updraft of the cliffs.

Sun beats on an evening line,

that softens all that you can see;

as slowly we enjoy the scene,

that never, ever seems to change.

How pleasant is this changing land,

that holds us in it’s vibrant grasp.

To quiver like a frightened bird

or fly, to soar to any height?

David Garlick, Gulf Islands, 1987

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed

to the faceless camera.

Also to us, who had

so hoped for a miracle.

Elvis, there is no need

to say sorry.

You have given so much

and we love you for it.

With love, there is

no need to seek forgiveness.

We lived how hard you tried.

What more could we ask.

You, who have continued,

injured and hurting.

How can we expect more of you

who has carried the flag so long.

Now we hope you will heal

and if possible, thrill us again.

If this is not to be, then

we will be sad but content.

For you have climbed a mountain

and pulled us up with you.

The journey was exciting.

The peak wondrous,

the future full of promise!

David Garlick, Victoria, March, 2001