In My Own Words – Page 99 – The Poems of David Garlick

In the end only love

is really important.

Forget the noisy lamentations,

the outward signs of grief.

Save these for private

moments of remembrance.

Quietly weep –

to wash the soul of pain.

When those who are close

try to console you,

allow them their moment –

to show their love for you;

for this is their way

to share the grief –

that is not only yours.

In that moment remember,

it is only love that

makes life worth living.

Allowing us to hold the soul

we thought was lost.

David Garlick, Ladysmith, July 1995

Waves born, as ripples, beyond the horizon of time,
eventually break on the shores of life.
The damage they do or the pleasure they give
is a measure of our ability to live.

David Garlick, Victoria. September, 1995

Fall has arrived!

Trees, splendid in their autumn finery,

dance with the wind.

Branches weave and bow

making the streets gay

with brilliant confetti.

Children shriek in delight

as they scatter mounds of leaves

patiently piled by adults.

The tang of bonfires bites nostrils.

Dogs retrieve long lost bones –

found in cleared flower beds.

Birds flock, making patterns in the sky.

Tires hiss on wet paving.

Leaves plug drains

forming deep puddles

that brim bright rubber boots.

Fathers grin, Mothers despair!

Dogs bark, shaking soaked coats.

Cats test wet spots,

flinching as water dampens paws.

Mist hangs on the air,

wafting up from the shore.

Street lights gleam mysteriously.

A fog horn moans,

answered by the bleep of another;

lost in the deepening dusk.

People drift indoors

as light fades to evening.

Fires brighten rooms –

with leaping flames.

Smoke pours from chimneys –

like Genies from a bottle.

Hot baths warm chilled bones.

Hot soup warms chilled tums.

Security warms the heart.

The word family, is born again,

in the years declining days.

David Garlick, Victoria, October, 1988

One minute a bustling person,

next a mere mortal.

She is my friend,

we have been together

thirty six years.

I am afraid.

What would I do without her?

What of all those plans we have

the places still to see?

The people we hope to meet,

the exotic foods to try,

small adventures

for our latter years.

These the thoughts that

flash through a mind,

face to face with

mortality.

Lean on me,

I am here for you.

I always will be.

You have given me so much,

now in my turn.

let me be the anchor

to hold our small ship safe.

David Garlick, Victoria, February 1996

In the end only love

is really important.

Forget the noisy lamentations,

the outward signs of grief.

Save these for private

moments of remembrance.

Quietly weep –

to wash the soul of pain.

When those who are close

try to console you,

allow them their moment –

to show their love for you;

for this is their way

to share the grief –

that is not only yours.

In that moment remember,

it is only love that

makes life worth living.

Allowing us to hold the soul

we thought was lost.

Waves born, as ripples, beyond the horizon of time, eventually break on the shores of life. The damage they do or the pleasure they give is a measure of our ability to live.

Fall has arrived!

Trees, splendid in their autumn finery,

dance with the wind.

Branches weave and bow

making the streets gay

with brilliant confetti.

Children shriek in delight

as they scatter mounds of leaves

patiently piled by adults.

The tang of bonfires bites nostrils.

Dogs retrieve long lost bones –

found in cleared flower beds.

Birds flock, making patterns in the sky.

Tires hiss on wet paving.

Leaves plug drains

forming deep puddles

that brim bright rubber boots.

Fathers grin, Mothers despair!

Dogs bark, shaking soaked coats.

Cats test wet spots,

flinching as water dampens paws.

Mist hangs on the air,

wafting up from the shore.

Street lights gleam mysteriously.

A fog horn moans,

answered by the bleep of another;

lost in the deepening dusk.

People drift indoors

as light fades to evening.

Fires brighten rooms –

with leaping flames.

Smoke pours from chimneys –

like Genies from a bottle.

Hot baths warm chilled bones.

Hot soup warms chilled tums.

Security warms the heart.

The word family, is born again,

in the years declining days.

One minute a bustling person,

next a mere mortal.

She is my friend,

we have been together

thirty six years.

I am afraid.

What would I do without her?

What of all those plans we have

the places still to see?

The people we hope to meet,

the exotic foods to try,

small adventures

for our latter years.

These the thoughts that

flash through a mind,

face to face with

mortality.

Lean on me,

I am here for you.

I always will be.

You have given me so much,

Waves born, as ripples, beyond the horizon of time,
eventually break on the shores of life.
The damage they do or the pleasure they give
is a measure of our ability to live.