In My Own Words – Page 93 – The Poems of David Garlick

I love the pungent scent of sun drenched pines.
Bell sounds uttered by mountain stream.
Soaring eagle holding up the sky.
Fleeting glimpse of marmot, mink or goat.
I thrill to vicious tug of taken lure.
Lift of sagging sails to quickened breeze.
The set of edges, carving out a turn.
Peace of camp fires in the grainy dusk.

I love the clean warmth, children, at bed time.
My turn to read, with feeling, ancient tales.
Golden fleece on pillow, dragons teeth asleep.
Lips softly open, speak in gentle dreams.
A child’s help that doubles all the work.
Touch damaged tools, scarred so long ago.
Now pride in watching skilful stroke of axe.
Or subtle move of tiller to the wind.

I love the clash of colours, flowers make.
Spicy smells of herbs crushed under foot.
Whirring wings, buzzing bees, sleeping snake.
Raccoon who watches me, Bandit hid.
The Fall, golden leaves, bonfire smoke.
Shrieks of laughter harvested with rakes.
Fog to wake the deep voiced channel buoy.
Tangles of kelp, sculptures on the beach.

I love the roll of sounds to phrase a thought.
Pens spill words quicker than fingers write.
Ideas that spring like tigers from the grass.
Memories wrung with tears, our deepest hurts.
Dyslexic’s dream, to see it written down.
Wonder of child’s face, favorite poem.
Sparks float in adult eyes, once mired dull.
Holes etched by words in waiting minds,
scream.

David Garlick, Victoria, February, 1995

Yesterday I heard butterflies laugh,
as they spiraled in the sun,
wafted by breeze or mood.
Wings russet and iridescent green, blue
flashed in a tangle of colour.
A duet of flight and merriment
to the music of rasping grass stems
and seed castanets, rattling in dry pods.
Cricket bowed his leg fiddle,
a wedding anthem, song of the wild.

David Garlick, Chalula, Mexico, December 1997

¿Adonde vas? old man.

Sun is still behind the hill.

The rooster has not spoken.

I walk away from sleep

and all the ghosts that haunt there.

I leave them in their dark to, seek the light.

Pero, ¿porqué vas?

There is no need to journey.

She will make bread and you may sit at ease.

I go to the mountain top,

to watch the rising sun and

raise my arms in greeting.

¿Porqué? amigo mío.

The sun will come to you.

The way is steep and you are old.

Si, tu dices la verdad.

Yes I am old and dying.

It is time to walk towards the light.

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, March 1999

She sat there smoking cigarettes,

in a sort of home made hell

and through the started layers

of smoke that floated free

her eyes flashed from a ravaged face

as she fixed her gaze on me.

Why have you come, what do you want

I’ve nothing left to give?

My beauty has long vanished from

the life I used to live.

And while I sit alone in thought,

I live those years again,

Thinking of those who shared my youth

in glory or in pain.

No longer do they stand in line

to hear my songs of love.

Or wait transfixed in awe to see

the beauty of each move,

in dances of the Seven veils,

as one by one they fell.

Revealing each sweet limb and curve

as my soul was bared as well.

Oh sorry fools your folly was

the thought that I saw you.

Or cared if any one at all

was there my form to view.

I lived in my own dream world,

which I thought would never end

and now it’s gone, my youth is spent

and I am all alone.

Oh dancer of the Seven Veils.

Sweet singer of lost love.

I too did dream alone and lost

but never made a move

to tell you what you meant to me,

mortal that I am;

while you a Goddess glorified

beyond the reach of man.

And thus my youth was also spent

but still my love untold,

burns in my soul, bright searing pain,

as your story you unfold.

And I am glad, that now at last,

I may offer what I can.

To a Goddess, no, a woman.

From me a mortal man.

David Garlick, Victoria, February, 1991