In My Own Words – Page 49 – The Poems of David Garlick

The sky was full of stars, their brilliance, the light of yesterdays –

sent on their way, millions of years ago to touch youthful minds.

The beach glowed, still warm under foot.

The moon in purdah on this Arabian night.

A small adventure, a first of its kind for the young woman,

recently married and far away from her English home.

A treat kept as a joyful surprise for her, now to be fulfilled.

He hoped that the spirit of all young lovers would smile on them.

He dived first, into the warm sea, leaving her to watch the magic.

As he surfaced she shouted in joy to witness the fire of his path.

Then running, she too dived, to become surrounded in green flames

the phosphorescent light that painted the dark waters.

This beautiful happening, a memory that surfaces unheeded,

to fill a mind with happiness and warm thoughts.

David Garlick, Sidney, September, 2007

We have lost our way.

The path has faded and

dust blows in our eyes.

Up hill we stumble,

looking for the meeting place.

Once it was here at the top

of the steep mountain trail

but now there is no gathering place

only sand and bleached bones,

skulls stare at the sky.

This is no place of joy and song!

I thought this gathering was for shining youths.

Drugs unheard of, cheating unthinkable.

I thought of it as friendly competitions.

I thought that the youths would learn

from each other, in joy and cooperation,

I thought it was for the exchange –

of ideas, of how to improve our world.

I thought that this was to be The Prize.

I was wrong.

I was wrong, because I am old fashioned?

I thought dread lessons of racial superiority

would have taught us enough shame.

I thought but I was wrong.

I thought that The Games would not

involve Professionals among those taking part.

I was wrong. How silly of me, how ironic!

I thought that taking part would be honor enough

for any youth, a trophy of immense value, of joy.

But I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong.

But still, in my heart, I know that I am right.

Taking part is reward enough, it is uplifting.

Some man said, “Winning is the only thing.”

He was wrong, he was wrong, he was wrong

and stupid to boot!

“Winning is not the only thing.” He was wrong!

Taking part is fun and important and uplifting.

Winning is also fun but it is only an outcome –

of two or more people or teams playing a game –

to the rules and in harmony and generosity of spirit.

Professionals are paid huge sums of money to

win games in any way they can.

They are brutal and like Bull Fighters,

they maim and kill for money.

The frenzied onlookers, as in Ancient Rome,

scream for more blood! Yes they do.

That is not uplifting, just savagery.

That is a business not a philosophy.

They should not be allowed

to take part in the Olympic Games.

Instinctively and philosophically

I know that I am right!

David Garlick, Sidney, February, 2010

I have a funny tale to tell

about a stout Baboo.

An Indian Civil servant,

very bureaucratic too.

His post was on the Kashmir road

to act as Customs Man.

To stop the flow of illegal goods.

He called it “contraban”.

For Kashmir State, when I knew it,

was ruled by Hari Sing.

A Hindu monarch, strict but fair,

who insisted on one thing.

No beef or any cattle parts,

unless alive could go,

into the happy Kashmir vale,

in deference to the Cow.

However strange that it may seem,

’twas quite beyond my ken.

The population of Kashmir

was mostly Mohammedan.

So eating pork was also banned.

For pigs are quite taboo.

So you can see our Customs Man

had lots of work to do.

Spirits too must be declared,

as well as beer and wine.

So everyone declared their booze,

in fear of princely fine.

The Baboo loved his powerful job

and could wither with a look,

all those who tried to break the law

according to his book.

His regulation manual

was a tome of massive size

and into this, majestically,

he checked for tax excise.

One day, for fun, a man declared

a package of “Bulls Eyes”.

A candy striped and peppermint,

like a “Humbug” in disguise.

The Baboo gazed at him sternly

and read him from the book,

the chapter and the verse involved

and said that he must look.

The man produced a tin of sweets,

to show it wasn’t bull.

The poor Baboo realized at last –

that his legs had, had a pull.

Magnanimous in his defeat,

he said with baleful stare.

Of course I knew that they were sweets,

what else must you declare?

I have some “Cocktails” in my bag,

they’re just for my own use.

I’ll check the book, the Baboo said,

turning a little puce.

He searched and searched for any sign

to indicate to him,

how much, if anything at all

was due in tax for them.

At last he came back to the man,

still waiting patiently there.

And said with ill disguised dislike,

No tax on tail feathers sir.

David Garlick, Victoria, 1986

Soon enough we are born.

We grow; we live our various lives,

we love.

Soon enough we have children –

and many good friends.

Our families stretch and

Joy is a gift received,

soon enough.

Soon enough but often too soon –

we grow old or find that

it is time to leave, to go.

We can take nothing with us

but the love we have shared.

We will be remembered,

for this love, always,

soon enough.

David Garlick, Victoria, December, 2001