In My Own Words – Page 37 – The Poems of David Garlick

A village where washing blooms.

Bougainvillea shouts a welcome.

Where plastic refuse is driven by wind,

to lie in vulgar heaps and windrows;

along cobbled streets.

Children with happy faces grin whitely.

They play football well,

shouts of glee.

Never a fight.

Naked babies crawl in the dust,

having escaped mothers cocoon

of woolen clothes and bonnets,

shoes and blankets.

It’s only thirty degrees, C.

No flies, they must be on holiday.

Dogs skulk thinly.

Mangy curs, bag of bones, unloved.

Dust clouds the window.

Adios amigos.

David Garlick, Mexico, January, 1998

On the hard, a car

up to it’s axles

in the flooding tide!

Quick the rise,

Anxious the motorist,

Locals grin behind hands.

Shoes off, socks off,

White feet, toe dip, cold.

Police car flashing, serious fun.

In 1020 King Chanute

tried to teach us.

What did we learn?

Nothing of course!

David Garlick, Bosham, Sussex, England, October, 1996

My Max, a very special friend;

among so many we have known.

Who radiates a vibrant joy

that adds more colour to our home.

She is a fragrant Fleur-de -Lis

and all her Gallic ancestry,

wells up in kindness and in love,

to spill like Champagne from her eyes.

How can, we in the West be blind

to all the goodness in these folk.

Who came to plant the flag of France

and stayed to be a nation fine.

My Max can never be my own.

Like a wild bird her time will come –

to fly away to other parts.

Leaving her mark of beauty there.

But she leaves me a song of joy

that I will sing across this land.

Helping us from East and West

to know that we together stand.

David Garlick Victoria, April, 1986

Like rain that drips from leaf to leaf,

descending on a scale to mother earth’s

bass waves of sound. Catching each drop,

each note lovingly, to give it back

in delicate mist, shrouding the trees.

A mystery, a slowly ascending phrase;

music to the senses, nature alive.

A breeze sways a branch, a cascade

of drops snaring a rainbow;

sunbeam, jewels of sound, a delight

to the mind’s eye, soothing to an ear.

Dark chords, somber shade, damp patches

sewn with bright notes of hope.

The never – ending gift of life.

David Garlick, Sidney, January, 2005