In My Own Words – Page 75 – The Poems of David Garlick

Wally’s, Woolly Mammoth mother

was worried about Winter.

Would the woollies she had knitted

keep out the Arctic chill?

Would his head be warm and cozy

and his trunk all pink and rosy

or tears run down his freezing face

to drip upon the snow.

The drips would soon make icicles

that glinted in the Arctic sun

and slowly they would lengthen out

to freeze him to the ground.

So with this picture haunting her

his mother knitted furiously

making warm and woolly things

to keep the cold winds out.

She knitted him a Fair Isle coat

that fitted him from tail to throat,

in colours, bright as rainbow arcs

that came when Spring was there.

She knitted him a scarlet toque

a pom-pom sewed on top of it

and warm ear muffs, the size of sacks,

to hang his dear ears in.

And yards and yards of muffler scarf,

to wrap around his neck and chest,

that matched the Fair Isle coat and vest,

I mentioned once before.

So when the winter came at last.

Wally braved the coldest blast

and facing winds in Arctic storm

Wally’s wardrobe kept him warm.

David Garlick, Victoria, February, 1994
For Bradley Larue and his wonderful picture.

Foam was rich, like froth on beer,

crash of waves on the bar.

Lights on the shore;

reflect stars in the heavens,

footsteps just a pause in the hour.

Faint scent of night blooms,

a shawl in a breeze.

Sound of strings strummed in the night.

Trill of a trumpet, the sigh of a voice,

a touch of a hand, oh so slight

Fear of rejection, the joy of a smile,

words that don’t say what we mean.

Clatter of heart beats, a tingling pulse,

fear it will end when we part.

Soft touch of lips on a cheek in the moonlight,

pressure of finger to palm.

Pause on the doorstep,

the death of a question,

the void of a fear in the dark.

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, February, 1999

I wanted to buy you a bright red Porche,

a diamond ring, an Arab horse

but all I have to give is love

and this I give with all my heart.

For twenty years a plant may grow.

A little flower thats pure and white.

Sometimes it’s petals wither and fade.

sometimes the dew like diamonds shine.

Sometimes the bloom is whole and good.

So do not fear the sun or frost.

Each in it’s turn will give you life.

Rejoice in other lovely blooms;

we can not be adored by all.

The things that last within the heart,

are worth far more than fussy fads,

that come and go in rust and death,

leaving their trash along the road.

Look for that tiny flower of love.

High on the mountain, bravely free.

It does not ask for more from life,

Than that which lets it give it’s best.

David Garlick, Victoria, Fall, 1986

Oh what a tail wagging, heart thumping, joy a new friend is!

I remember a warm time; when there was another friend.

She smelt of security, love, milk and other warm puppies.

I think she must have been my first friend, “a Long Tongue.”

At that time, long ago, I could not see; only sense and smell –

the love and devotion of this friend who looked after me.

Something tells me that being a Long Tongue is special.

Perhaps one day I will be one. How wonderful that would be!

In the mean time, I have a special friend, who waits for me,

plays with me, romps with me, whiffles and sniffles with me,

shares her food with me, then lays down to rest with me.

She is not my Long Tongue but I know that she loves me.

When I go in the car I always hope that we are going there.

We don’t always go there. Sometimes we just go shopping.

Other times we just go to see other “Long Legs.” They are kind.

They play and cuddle me but they are not Long Tongues.

When we do go to the place where my special friend is,

I know, a long way off, by the scents in my nose, the noises,

the bumps in the road, the trees and flowers that grow

and bloom near that special place where my friend lives.

So I sing a song of hope and longing to be with my friend.

What a joy to turn that last corner to where she lives.

My heart thumps. Tears of joy flow from my eyes.

Soon I will see her standing, tail wagging, waiting for me.

My Long Legs open the car doors, they laugh with us.

They make strange noises; they pet my friend.

They are kind people. I think they almost understand-

how important, how wonderful my special friend is.

Then my whole, bright world is shining like the sun.

My tail wags without me wagging it, my body too.

Somehow I feel as if my own Long Tongue were there.

Then I know the feeling of almost bursting with love!

David Garlick, Sidney, August, 2000