In My Own Words – Page 38 – The Poems of David Garlick

I stood upon a golden hill,

rolling land sparsely treed.

A lake smooth as tinted silk

reflected all that I could see.

So still the lake but in my mind

I see the Paddle Wheeler’s wake

and on its decks bold people stand,

beside the trade goods, piled high.

This was their only highway then

Before the railway and the road.

Which born of steam, mother like

sacrificed and now long gone.

Steam whistles thrill my inner thoughts,

still conscious of those times long past.

I now see Diesel Engines strain,

along the margin of the lake.

There, like memories of older days,

reflected in the lakes smooth face.

The freight cars clang on shrieking wheels.

Good and bad and endless stream.

Upon my hill, beside the road.

I stand in awe of men long ceased.

Who by their vision joined this land

in links of bright steel, West to East.

David Garlick, Kamloops, April, 1993

She came to sit on my lap.

She does not always do this

but today she wanted to.

She is a very independent creature.

Her name is Penny.

She is an indoor out door cat.

She pleases herself, very dignified.

Recently she has had a haircut,

It is called a Lion cut.

Her fur became matted –

with resin from Balsam trees.

Her fur is soft and deep.

Need I say more?

But today she wanted to sit on my lap!

She purred as I stroked her back

and scratched behind her ears.

She has long white whiskers.

When a kitten, like Manchu,

now they stick straight out.

They are remarkable.

Don’t mess with them.

Her claws are sharp!

Penny is a hunter and trophy taker.

She presents her trophy gifts to us.

Most of the time they are alive.

They may be small mice with large eyes.

or a patterned Grass snake, coiled, quick.

Birds of various sizes, missing feathers.

They fly around the house until

captured under a glass tumbler.

Good for spiders too, or bumble bees.

They are all beautiful and pleased to “escape”

We are happy to set them free.

David Garlick, Sidney, October, 2009

The light has gone out in my eyes but still I see your face

The light has gone our in my eyes but still I hear your voice.

The light has gone out in my eyes but still I scent you.

The light has gone out in my eyes but still I feel your love.

The light has gone out in my eyes but still I know you are there.

The light has gone out in my eyes but still your love surrounds me.

The light has gone our in my eyes but still your arms comfort me.

The light has gone out in my eyes but still warm hands touch me.

The light has gone out in my eyes but there is no need for fear,

for you are there and when you are there, then all is well.

David Garlick, Sidney, October, 2003

Grief that poises us upon a precipice,

to dash one down without the joys of flight.

Grief that shakes bent shoulders endlessly,

leaves tattered shadows, deep remorse.

Kind hands or blessed solitude –

to break the chain of dreams and doom.

Remorselessly time moves across the sun,

the soul is sated but still fragile,

waiting for understanding to stem the tide of tears.

Recalling the wealth of happy times stored –

deep within hungry memories.

Soul washing tears; thank thee gentle salve.

We will be whole again,

afloat, once more, upon the sea of life.

David Garlick, Sidney, November 2007