In My Own Words – Page 54 – The Poems of David Garlick

From gritty words to cries of hate

the war grinds on, as does debate.

The prophecy of sand and death

has been fulfilled, we are bereft.

The wounded hidden from the eye,

in places unfit for men to die.

They gave their eyes, limbs and mind

or left their tattered lives behind.

Their words screamed out, never heard,

their leaders words just sound absurd.

A prophecy becomes a truth.

The decimation of the youth.

Both friend and foe are lying dead

in sand or filth their lives have bled.

Yet still the wicked men of war

push their futile plan once more,

calling desperately for cash

to throw away, a mighty splash.

While soldiers die, rent and black,

more money will not bring them back.

And all of this a grave mistake,

faulty views, sand castles fake,

while shattered by bullet or a bomb

men dissolve and men are gone.

It is a monstrous mad device

the grinder made by men of vice.

The grinder moves and men are ground

Their sobs and screams a rending sound.

The dead are dead, we mourn for them

but learn to hate war monger men.

David Garlick, Sidney, March, 2007

Peace on the earth, good will to man.

The carols float upon the air.

Lights hang on trees or outline eaves,

to celebrate that Christmas star.

Yet somehow in our eager haste;

as rushing through the streets we go.

We find our lives have lost that theme

that was our gift, so long ago.

We race to buy, we write and sign.

We bustle, wrap and hide away.

We bake and clean and decorate

but seldom think about The Day.

For after all, whatever creed

or course that we decide to steer.

The story of the stable babe

has messages for all to hear.

So take the time to think about

a message simple yet so clear.

That all mankind could live in peace

If we could learn to love, not fear.

David Garlick, Victoria, December, 1988

To the tune of ” I heard the bells on Christmas day” Longfellow.

In thanks for love and laughter.

In thanks for a touching wedding.

In thanks for good times shared.

In thanks for thoughtful actions.

In thanks for quiet moments.

In thanks for many phone calls.

In thanks for generous sharing.

In thanks for understanding.

In thanks for Happy Marina.

And now a little grandson,

We give you thanks.

David Garlick, Denver/Boulder, August, 2005

At the time of Seth’s birth.

Have you ever cuddled a Kangaroo,

or waltzed with a Wallaby?

Have you caught a Koala napping

or seen a Possum asleep in a tree?

Have you heard a Currawong warble,

as the sun comes over the hill?

Or seen the pink and gray Galah,

as they wing overhead, it’s a thrill.

Have you fed a quarrelsome Emu?

Seen Fur Seals play in the waves?

Or crouched near Sea Lions resting –

from their labours, in a white sandy bay.

Have you ever ridden a Camel,

through dunes of blinding white sand?

Have you talked to a meter long Monitor,

who’ll take lettuce right out of your hand?

Have you watched Fairy Penguins tumble

through breakers that foam on the sand?

They have fished all day long, now in darkness,

they return to their young on the land.

If not, then try Kangaroo Island.

Rough jewel set in a blue sea.

A pleasant, warm, friendly island.

It’s a good place for someone to be.

David Garlick, Kangaroo Island, Australia, February, 1992